“Gee, Ben, I’m so sorry my disagreement with your uncle is cutting into your precious movie attendance. I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’s not that, and you know it.” Giovanni heard the basketball bounce a few more times and someone threw it toward the basket. “You guys are both just…”
“What?” she asked the question on the tip of his own tongue as he listened in.
“You’re sad. Both of you. It sucks.”
“Well,” he heard her start, “sometimes shitty things just happen, Ben, and it takes time to work through them. It’s not like I like being mad at him. Besides—” Her voice dropped. “—I’m mostly mad at myself.”
His heart ached for her, and he had to fight the urge to rush out and embrace her. Giovanni knew his comfort was still unwelcome.
“Well, figure it out by Christmas, okay? This is my first huge Christmas with lots of grown-ups giving me stuff, and I don’t want you two spoiling it.”
Giovanni almost snorted blood through his nose, and he grabbed a napkin from the holder on the counter. Luckily, he heard the welcome sound of Beatrice’s laughter, as well.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You know he’s listening to us in the kitchen right now, don’t you? You should go say hi and stay for dinner. Actually, you should cook because you’re way better at it than Gio is. Or we could order pizza! I know where he keeps his wallet.”
Giovanni rolled his eyes and sent a small prayer toward heaven. Carwyn would be pleased, he thought, he hadn’t prayed this much since Caspar started driving. Just as his eyes opened, he heard the kitchen door open and Beatrice walked into the house. He took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of her, fresh from the brisk air outside.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello.”
“Apparently I’m a better cook than you are.”
“I have a hard time imagining that’s a surprise,” he said with a smile.
He saw her glance at his glass. “Bagged blood?”
Giovanni shrugged. “Unless you’re offering…”
Her eyes darted around the kitchen and she walked to the refrigerator to open it. “Uh, no. Not tonight. And there are tons of clubs in Los Angeles, why don’t you just—”
“No thanks,” he said. “Haven’t gone that route in years.”
Beatrice turned to look at him. “What? Years?”
He glanced meaningfully at her neck and sipped his glass. “Yes, years.”
She turned back to the refrigerator and paused before she started pulling out what looked like the ingredients for a salad, or maybe tacos, which he knew Ben loved.
She worked quietly as Ben continued playing outside and Giovanni pretended to read a book. He heard her start to say something a number of times, but she stopped herself and continued working.
“Ben’s doctor said he’s healthy as a horse, by the way.”
He nodded. “I assumed he was. I had him checked out in New York and his scent hasn’t changed significantly.”
“So, if a person is sick or something, they smell different?”
He nodded. “Yes, human scent changes quite significantly for all sorts of reasons. Health, hormones, even age …”
She chuckled. “I just had the realization that you have to smell adolescent boy on a daily basis.”
Giovanni winced before he grinned. “You have no idea.”
She shook her head, still laughing, and he suddenly realized they were smiling at each other for the first time in weeks. She must have realized it at the same time, and a sad smile replaced her laugh.
“So, your sense of smell is a little scary, to be honest. I always wonder if I’m wearing enough deodorant around you and Carwyn.”
“I wouldn’t worry. You usually smell lovely. Especially when you first wake up,” he added quietly.
He smiled when he saw her pause, but she didn’t get angry.
“You always smell the same to me,” she said.
He cocked his head. “How? What do I smell like to you?”
She didn’t look at him but turned on the burner to heat a pan on the stove. “Kind of like smoke. Wood smoke and whiskey.”
“I remember you wrote that in the journal. About the smoke.”
She looked up at him. “Did you read that? All of it?”
“Of course.”
“Even the parts when I cussed at you? I wasn’t very nice.”
He shrugged. “Did you read my journals? Most of them are far harsher than yours.”
“I haven’t read all of them yet,” she said as she put the ground beef on to cook. “You live in a rough world, you know?”
He folded his hands under his chin and put down the book he was pretending to read. “I don’t want you to have any illusions, Beatrice. My world, and the world your father lives in, can be very brutal.”
“I’m getting that impression.”
“Good.”
She glared at him. “Don’t use the professor-voice with me, Gio. I’m not a kid anymore.”
He allowed his eyes to run over her slim cut black jeans and the tight black t-shirt that hugged her breasts. It was her normal uniform on her days off and suited her to the ground. “No, you most certainly are not,” he muttered. “I don’t want to lie about anything to you, Beatrice. It doesn’t do either of us any favors in the long run.”