Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [127]
“Don’t run with this.”
“Please!”
“No, you’ll hurt somebody.”
“Aw, Mom!” Will took off after his friend Brett, and Ellen’s father came over, his eyes glittering with mischief.
“I’ll take that weapon, my lady.”
“What for?” Ellen handed it over.
“You’ll see. This will do nicely.” Her father examined the laser sword, and Barbara joined him in her elegant white pantsuit, a multicolored party hat perched atop her head.
“Ellen, don’t let him have that. He’ll embarrass us all.”
“Too late for that,” Ellen said with a smile. She had come to love Barbara, who wisely hadn’t tried to replace her mother, because no one could. But somewhere along the line, she had opened her mind to the possibility that if you could love a child no matter how he came to you, then you could also love a mother, no matter how she came to you.
“I need this for my golf lesson.” Her father gestured across the crowded room to where Bill Braverman and his pretty date were talking with Connie and Chuck. Her father called to him, “Bill, come here. I need your expertise.”
“Coming.” Bill strode over in his out-of-place linen jacket, pants, and tassel loafers, making his way through the kids and ruffling Will’s hair.
“Look how fast I go, Bill!” Will called after him.
“Good for you!” Bill entered the dining room, grinning, but her father was all business.
“Show me what you were saying before, about my grip.” Her father flipped the sword around so that the point faced the floor, then wrapped his fingers around the hilt, swinging it like a golf club. “You said it was my elbow, right? Not tucked in enough?”
“Not exactly, let me show you.” Bill focused on his task, and Barbara moaned.
“Please, guys, anything but golf.”
“There is nothing but golf,” Bill said, smiling, then turned to Ellen. “By the way, I have those papers for you to sign, for Will’s trust. When he’s of age, he can decide how much he wants to set aside for Charbonneau House.”
“Great, thanks.” Ellen smiled, and in the next second she felt an arm encircle her waist and tug her into the kitchen. Before she knew it, Marcelo had taken her into his arms, hugged her gently, and given her one of his best kisses.
“This is a wonderful party,” he purred into her ear. “Very romantic.”
“It’s the Snickers bars. Snickers equal romance.” Ellen put her arms around him, stretching out her hands over his shoulder. Her engagement ring sparkled prettily in the sunlight, and she never would have guessed that green would make such a nice backdrop for a diamond. It gave her a new appreciation for photosynthesis.
“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Marcelo asked, chuckling.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at your ring.”
“Just kiss me,” Ellen said with a smile, but suddenly Will burst into the kitchen and stopped himself before he ran into them.
“Marcelo,” he said, looking up, “are you gonna kiss Mommy?”
“If you say it’s okay, Will.”
“Do it! She likes it!” Will hugged Marcelo around the leg, then ran out of the kitchen, and Ellen smiled.
“Good move, asking permission.”
“I know who the boss is.” Marcelo kissed her softly and sweetly, then whispered, “Eu te amo.”
And for that, Ellen didn’t need a translation.
Acknowledgments
I have always been a fan of “write what you know,” and this novel arises from a new sideline of mine: newspaper columnist. More than a year ago, I began writing a weekly column for The Philadelphia Inquirer called “Chick Wit.” (Check it out online at my website, www.scottoline.com.) To stay on point, this novel grew naturally from my observations of the rewards and stresses of a reporter’s life—especially in bad economic times—but it’s important to head this disclaimer: Look Again is fiction.
I made it up, every word.
The newsroom herein is not The Philadelphia Inquirer’s, and the fictional owners of the newspaper, as well as its reporters, staff, and editors, are not anyone at the Inquirer. And though, like every newspaper, the Inquirer has suffered in this economy, the paper is nevertheless