“My business, Brody. When I go to ye, ye’ve got shite to do.”
“Aye! Ye’re a snooty, hotshitecareer lad. So,witam I, chopped fish guts? I’m supposed to sit around ‘til ye ring me?”
I wave him on. “Ye never answer, so ye canfeckoff.”
He opens the door to my house. “Och! Haggis and neeps and mash. The two of ye have at it.”
Just as Brody slams the door in my face, I hear him shouting a pleasant greeting. “Awright, yaweebawbags!Feed me!”
The surface of my skin burns, and my hand is at the knob, ready to tackle him down. “That disrespectfularseholeslammedmyfeckin’door inmyfeckin’face!”
Erika touches my arm. “Ye’re up tohigh doh,Leith.”
“I’m not riled up—”
“Ye are! Now, let it go because if ye give that lad a skelp,he’ll skelp ye back! Then ye’ll forget all about the help I’m supposed to giveya.”
“Nae!”
“Okay, Leith.” Erika crosses her arms. “Looks like ye’re ready for me to go. Likego, go.I can watch our bonny Chevelle and keep her safe, but I can’t eat? Nae?”
“Did I say that? Get in the bloody house, Erika.”
She stands a little taller. “Leith, ye’ve got something to learn about letting the clan help.”
“Did I askye to hide a body for me?”I snarl.
“Nae, ye asked for cement,” she snaps, matching my aggression. “But ye did ask me to watch the girls while ye’re away. Seems someone should’ve watched ye instead.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Chevelle will have myfeckin’arseif she learnswitI did. Okay?”
Erika lifts her hands, imitating a calming exercise, then she pats my shoulders. “All I’m saying, Leith, is I’ll help. Yer clan’s mine too. I can do more than provide cement—I’m not friggin Lowes or The Home Depot.Wit’syer plan?”
“Hmm, let’s see. There’s a bloody ocean in my backyard. Ye figure it out, Erika. Now, shut yergeggie‘bout my business!”
Erika shuts her mouth, then mimes zipping her lips, and I let her inside. On our way into the dining room, I clamp Erika’s shoulder. I bring her scrawnyarseby the kitchen so as not to surprise Chevelle with her presence. Erika’s father would take a bullet for mine, same situation was it reversed. But my wife doesn’t understand certain aspects when it comes to the clan way. So, all I can do is my best.
Mam’s smashing tatties, and my wife is pulling milk from the fridge. Chevelle turns, giving Erika a once-over. She eyes Erika’s weetits, barely concealed under the tiny top. Tits I’d never touch. Then Chevelle’s eyeing me, hard.
Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t. Best bloody American saying I’ve ever heard about marriage.
* * *
In the gloamingwith the stars twinkling, we all settle outside at the table. Though it’s warm, Chevelle keeps offering Mia a jacket. My lassie has scooted into Da’s lap.
Camdyn complains about the forks he’d set on the dining room table. Irritated, the teen tries to get our littlebrathairs, who stashed them, to pass them back out as Little Brody tosses plastic forks from the to-go bag across the area.
“Camdyn, shut up, ye crabbit.”
Camdyn argues about how he’s not moaning, and how he rarely voices his opinion. He does have a point. Our weebrathairslike to play tricks.
“I’ll shove yer opinion up yerarse,” I snap.
Mam threatens us all.
I lift a brow. “WitI do? I’m on yer side, Mam.”
“So? The whole lot of ya are mebairns!Can’t give these ingrates askelpit lug,” she refers to popping our ears, “without including ye!”