Talk Nerdy to Me (9 page)

Rick
had a catalog in front of him. "You have to see this stuff," he said.
"Who knew?"

Charlie didn't want to
know. One quick glance at the catalog was more than enough for him. "It's
quarter to six," he said. "We need to go."

"Hold
on a minute." Rick held up the open catalog and turned it so Charlie could
see. "Check this out."

Charlie
could either come off as a prude in front of his much cooler cousin or look at
the catalog. The cookie cutter was, as he'd feared, X-rated. The picture
wasn't only of the cookie cutter, of course. Included was a decorated vanilla
sugar cookie. The frosting filled in every last detail, leaving no doubt what
the cookie couple was doing.

"Innovative."
Charlie could feel the heat rising from the collar of his flannel shirt.

"We're
embarrassing Charlie," Aunt Myrtle said. "He's turning red."

"He'll
get over it." Rick flipped the catalog page. "And look at this. In
case your couple isn't Caucasian, we have the chocolate version and the
gingerbread version. I'm not sure how it works if you have a multicultural
couple, though."

"You
have to go with dual dough," Charlie's mother said. "But vanilla will
work for this couple, which is good because we have a time crunch."

Charlie
decided that in this case, ignorance was not bliss. "You say that like
you're talking about a specific couple."

"Oh,
we are!" Aunt Myrtle said in her deep smoker's voice. "These will be for
Jill's bachelorette party Friday night. That's why we sent Manny and Kyle into
Hartford. We didn't have time for the cutter to be shipped."

Charlie
vaguely remembered that there was a wedding coming up in Middlesex, which meant
almost everybody in town would be going to either the bachelor or the bachelorette
party. "You're actually going to make these cookies." He battled a
sinking sensation. "Did someone ask for them?"

"In
a way." Charlie's mother gave him a coy glance. "I haven't had a
chance to tell you, Charlie, but the bakery seems to be going in a different
direction. A very profitable direction, I might add."

"I
told him something about it on Monday night." Rick winked at Charlie.
"Right, cuz?"

"Yeah,
but I thought. . . well, Middlesex doesn't seem like the place for ... I'm just
surprised that people .. ." He balanced precariously between happiness and
embarrassment. On the one hand, he was thrilled to see his mother so excited
about something, but on the other, why did it have to be X-rated baked goods?

"Puritan
blood, Charlie." His mother looked smug. "Myrtle and I were
surprised, too, but then we figured it out. Nobody's more interested in the
topic of sex than folks who have Puritan blood in their veins."

"Makes
sense to me." Rick studied the cookie picture. "And these cookies
should scratch that itch for the Friday night deal. There's a lot of detail in
here."

Too
much detail, as far as Charlie was concerned. Besides, he didn't want to have
his mind on sex when he was about to go over to Eve's. He'd thought this
through and had decided that because of the timing, he couldn't get involved
with Eve. He could only help her with the hovercraft.

"It's
the detail in the frosting that will take us so many hours," Aunt Myrtle
said. "We could really use some help."

Charlie
backed away, hands out. "I'm not helping frost. My evenings are
booked."

His
mother laughed. "I wasn't going to ask, but now that you mention it, we
might get Manny and Kyle to do it. They're nice boys, and I'll bet they'd help.
We need to get most of them done tonight, because we have to start on the
wedding cake tomorrow night. Some extra hands would be a lifesaver."

For
some reason Rick got a huge charge out of that. "Yeah, ask Manny and Kyle.
I'll bet they'd love to."

"We
will, then." Charlie's mother looked ten years younger tonight.
"We'll have a frosting party."

Charlie
decided to comfort himself with his mother's cheerful mood. "And now we
really have to go," he said.

"Right."
Rick drained his glass and stood. "See you two entrepreneurs later."

"Have
a good time!" Charlie's mother called after them as they headed for the
front door. "That Eve's a very nice girl!"

Rick
lowered his voice as he pulled on his coat. "You do realize she wants to
match you up with Eve, right?"

Charlie
snorted. "No. Where'd she get a wild idea like that?"

"The
word's out that you had a pool date on Monday, and you're going over to her
house tonight, so gossip has you engaged by next week."

"I
hope this isn't some plan to keep me in Middlesex." Charlie followed Rick
out the door and down the steps to the motorcycle parked in the drive.

"Nah.
Your mom understands that you're hoping to get that job in Nevada. She just
wants grandkids."

"I
barely know Eve." Except that didn't seem true. Although they hadn't met
until Monday afternoon, he'd felt an instant sexual attraction. On top of that,
he'd recognized a kindred spirit. He knew Eve because he knew himself.

"Whatever
you say. I'm only reporting the word around the breakfast table is that you're
stuck on her." He handed Rick his spare helmet. "Well, I'm not."
Yet.

Denise
was coming. Eve had been trying not to panic for two days, but her self-talk
wasn't working. The minute she hit the front door her tummy started to churn.
Denise was so neat, so together, so critical. She would take one look at the
clutter that was Eve's life and—

My
door is unlocked.
She had a moment of panic. She didn't have
anything valuable in the house except the hovercraft, but what if vandals had
come in?

She
almost stumbled over the big box sitting in her entryway, and then remembered
that Eunice had taken delivery of the new engine while she was gone.

Although
FedEx could have delivered packages to Eunice's house, Eve liked this
arrangement better. Then neither of them had to lug heavy boxes across the
yard.

Okay,
so Eunice had forgotten to lock the door after her. That could happen. And it
wasn't like New York where a locked door was critical to life as she knew it.
The Middlesex police report might include a stolen bicycle and a speeder or
two. That was about it.

And
her engine had arrived! Once she'd pried the box open and looked inside at that
gorgeous piece of equipment, she could barely make herself close the box. No
doubt about it, she was obsessed with making the hovercraft fly using veggie
fuel, and this engine was the key component. She resented every moment she had
to spend doing something else.

Three months ago she'd
searched the Internet for a supplier who would give her what she wanted, an
engine small enough to fit into her hovercraft without adding excess weight
and large enough to power her invention. Then she'd blown it up. Here was the
replacement, and she wasn’t about to let history repeat itself.

With
great reluctance she closed the flaps on the box. Now was not the time. Instead
she had to brainwash herself into full cleaning mode, "cleaning"
being a euphemism for shoving everything out of sight.

But
first she'd drag the engine box out to the garage and take another look at her
beloved purple Slammer. After all, she hadn't seen it since Tuesday morning.
By the time she got the box through the kitchen door into the garage, she was
puffing. But her baby sat there in all its magnificence waiting for the new
engine. And thanks to some fuel research she'd done on the Internet while she
was in New York plus the book she'd read on the train, she had some ideas for
that, too.

In
fact, she ought to make some notes before she lost track of what she'd read in
the hotel room last night. After turning on the space heater to warm up the
garage, she crossed to her workbench and looked for the pile of notes she'd
left there. For some reason they weren't under the Darth Vader mask paperweight
where she always kept them.

That
was irritating. Her workbench wasn't the most orderly place in the world.
Nothing in this house was what anyone would call orderly, but she'd always been
able to find her notes. She checked everywhere else they might be, even inside
the cockpit of the hovercraft. Nothing.

Feeling
more disoriented by the minute, she rummaged through the kitchen, looking in
drawers and cupboards. Still nothing. And time was running short. Charlie and
Rick would be here soon, and she'd hoped to get the house straightened before
they arrived. If she didn't, then it wouldn't get done. She knew once Charlie
was here she'd be completely absorbed in the hovercraft project.

Maybe
she'd come across the notes while she was cleaning up. Now there was a good
thought. She'd search for the notes and tackle the mess at the same time.

Her
closets were basically staffed already, but she managed to shift a few things
and push some unread fiction books inside, along with the videos she'd bought
and never watched and the collection of beads she'd accumulated back when
she'd thought it might be an okay hobby.

For
years she'd tried to interest herself in a more peaceful pastime, one that
wouldn't cause explosions and alarm the neighbors, but all her efforts in that
direction had seemed wimpy and dull. Why make a necklace when you could create a
hovercraft? But she kept trying to be normal, which was why she also had a rock
tumbler and a sack full of rocks that had to go somewhere.

She
tacked them under her round bed, although the hand loom and calligraphy set
were already taking up most of the space. A rectangular bed would have more
storage space underneath. Maybe she ought to consider trading in her round bed
for a traditional one.

Because
the washing machine wasn't working, anyway, she filled it with whatever she
didn't know what else to do with—unread fashion magazines, widgets she'd bought
at the Middlesex Hardware Store because they looked interesting, the box of
candy she didn't like but couldn't bear to toss because the receptionist at her
talent agency had given it to her. And on top of all that went the book she'd
bought on how to unclutter your life. She hadn't made it past the first
chapter.

Denise
would be sleeping in what Eve laughingly called her guest room, a den that
opened off the living area. At the moment the daybed was buried under a mound
of clothes still in their plastic dry-cleaning bags. Her broken washing machine
had forced her to get everything but her underwear professionally cleaned.
Scooping the bundle into her arms with a crackle of static electricity, she
looked underneath, hoping to see her notes. No such luck.

She
was on her way toward her bedroom down the hall when the doorbell rang. A
glance at the clock told her it was still too early for Charlie and Rick.
"Come in!" she called. "It's open!"

Then
she wondered if maybe she was carrying her complacency about unlocked doors too
far. The crime rate might be low in this little town, but that didn't mean she
should invite someone in without having a clue who they were. A burglar might
have recently located in Middlesex.

So
she stood there with her arms full of her dry cleaning, unsure what she'd do
if the person on the other side of the door had theft in mind. Smother them in
cleaning bags? Jab them with a metal hanger?

She
was relieved when Eunice walked in, stomping snow from her booted feet. She
held up two bottles. "I brought wine!"

"Well,
um, thanks." Eve needed wine tonight about like a battery needed a bow
tie. She had two goals—work on the hovercraft and work on Charlie. She wanted a
clear head for both projects.

"Not
for you and Charlie, of course. You'll be operating machinery and such. But Rick
and I could have some." Eunice plunked the bottles down on the floor and
started taking off her coat.

"Yes,
you certainly could have some." And a bottle apiece should keep them busy
while Eve worked her program. "Not that it's any big deal or anything,
but is it possible you forgot to lock the front door after the FedEx man was
here?"

Eunice
frowned. "I don't
think
so.
Was it unlocked when you came home?"

"Yeah, but don't worry
about it."

"Jeez,
if I forgot to lock it I really apologize. Are you missing anything?"