Lead-Pipe Cinch Read Online Free PDF Page A

and out at will. Now I was a guest and if mom wasn’t waiting at the door, I knocked and waited for an invitation to enter.
    I wasn’t spared the disapproving frown that told me she had heard the throaty roar of the ’Vette’s engine. She pulled me in for an obligatory hug as I crossed the threshold. I knew she was scowling over my shoulder at my inappropriate car when her arms went around me.
    “Georgiana,” she said, releasing me and holding me at arm’s length, “I’m so glad you didn’t dress up. This is just a quiet family dinner, after all.”
    It wasn’t a compliment. Mom believed a woman should always look her best, and that included fresh makeup and every hair in place. My wool slacks and cashmere sweater made the grade, barely. As for the rest of me, below par.
    “Come in the kitchen,” she said. “I’m just finishing up dinner.”
    I followed obediently. After thirty-plus years I had given up trying to refuse her commands. Once upon a time I thought I would outgrow her power. Now I knew better.
    I fell into my usual kitchen tasks, setting the table and arranging the vegetable tray, as Mom chattered on about her latest real estate triumphs, with regular references to Gregory.
    Mom prided herself on serving a home-cooked meal every night. If she was home alone she had tidy containers of leftovers, each one calculated to be exactly the right amount for one person. They stacked neatly in her freezer and she was careful to use them in date order.
    I wasn’t completely helpless in the food department myself. I had the best pizza place in town on my speed dial.
    Mom placed deviled eggs in a specially designed plate. “You like deviled eggs, don’t you? They’re Gregory’s favorite, you know.”
    I hated egg salad, and deviled eggs were just egg salad with less chopping, but I didn’t bother to contradict her. After all, they were Gregory’s favorite.
    I heard Gregory’s Mercedes pull into the garage. The diesel engine rumbled for a moment, then quieted. In a minute the back door opened. Gregory let himself in without knocking.
    “Something smells good,” he said, before wrapping one long arm around Mom and kissing her lightly on the cheek.
    I kept my eyes on my work, careful not to actually look at the two of them. I heard Mom say something very quietly. Though I couldn’t make out the actual words, from the corner of my eye I saw Gregory pull away from her.
    The message was clear. Not in front of her daughter.
    I bit my tongue. It had become clear several months ago that Gregory was sleeping with my mother. I didn’t want to know then and I still didn’t want to know now, but I did.
    I tried not to think about it.
    Gregory came to look over my shoulder. “Veggie tray, huh?”
    I held back the sarcastic response that waited on the tip of my tongue, and nodded. “Be ready in just a minute.”
    We were all saved by the sound of the doorbell. I abandoned the veggies. “I’ll get it.”
    Wade was right on time, his sensible hybrid a silent reproach parked next to my ’Vette. Wade grinned at me as he came through the door. “Annoying your mother again?” He glanced toward the driveway.
    I laughed. Wade knew me better than I cared to admit. I gave him a quick hug of greeting. “Mom and Gregory are in the kitchen. Dinner should be just about ready.”
    I took Wade’s Gore-Tex jacket and hung it in the hall closet. “Go sit down,” I said, pointing him toward the living room. “I’ll send Gregory in to keep you company.” >
    I passed Gregory in the dining room on my way back to the kitchen. He carried the deviled-egg plate. Two depressions were already empty and there was a suspicious spot of yellow at the corner of his mouth.
    He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sandy makes the best deviled eggs in the state. Want one before they’re gone?”
    No one, even my father, ever called my mother Sandy—Sandra, or Mrs. Neverall, or Georgie’s mom, but not Sandy. It took some