Which Prentice and Bella also obviously had, in abundance.
Sally didn’t move so quickly.
“Elly Belly?” she called. “Can you give me a manicure after school?”
“I gave you one yesterday, sweetie,” Bella answered, still scrubbing the skillet which was, Fiona thought it important to note, thoroughly clean and had been for the last five minutes.
“Can you teach me guitar?” Sally went on.
“The guitar’s too big for you still, Sally. Like I said before, give it a year or so and we’ll start.”
“Can we have your apple caramel-umble for pudding tonight?” Sally pressed. Apple caramel-umble was the name Sally had given the pudding Bella had made the week before. It was supposed to be a crumble but she’d been distracted by her boxes arriving and she was unpacking at the same time she was getting the Christmas decorations out therefore she accidentally doubled the brown sugar and the butter so it ended up a gooey, caramelized mess which the children had adored.
“We had that last week, Sally, now go upstairs and get your books,” Bella said as Prentice delivered the children’s plates to the side of the sink.
“Daddy,” Sally, finding her efforts with Bella unsatisfactory, switched targets. “Now that we’re used to Blackie, can I have a puppy?”
Prentice leaned his hips against the counter next to the sink and leveled his eyes on his daughter. His method for dealing with his children was far more time-economical than Bella’s.
“Books,” he commanded firmly in a voice that didn’t invite argument or discussion.
Sally was also not stupid, she knew that voice. She made a pouty face but slid off the stool and hurried up the stairs.
Prentice watched her progress and the minute Sally disappeared, his head turned to Bella.
“Elle –”
“Save it!” she hissed under her breath.
Prentice looked to the ceiling.
Then he looked back at Bella and asked with impatient disbelief, “Honest to God?”
Bella went still as a statue, dropped the skillet, turned to him and put her soapy hands on her hips.
Her reply was also said with impatient disbelief, “Seriously?”
Fiona didn’t know what they were arguing about.
She had, in the past month, not managed to recognize her “magic” but she had managed to figure out how to pop herself back and forth between her ghostly haunting of her old home and her serene tent by the stream. She usually went back there at night when she was exhausted from trying to make pixie dust fly from her fingertip or shouting soundless “abracadrabras” and then throwing the force of her emotions at one of Prentice’s whisky glasses on the balcony, trying to make it explode. She’d return in the morning to haunt her family, search for clues as to what danger plagued Bella and try to discover her magic.
Thus, this morning, she missed their fight.
Which, in a way, made their incomprehensible verbal tussle all the more amusing.
Prentice was losing patience, Fiona could tell this when he leaned toward Bella and his voice got lower and far more irritated.
“This is your home now, Elle.”
“I’m aware of that, Pren.”
“You need to make it yours,” he demanded.
“It already is,” she snapped.
“You need to put your mark on it.”
She threw her hand out to indicate the abundant Christmas decorations that she, Prentice and the kids put out most of which were old but some of which Bella had bought, not to mention some framed pictures of her, Annie and Mikey that she’d dotted around the place and replied, “I already have!”
He got even closer and said even lower, “You fucking well know what I mean.”
She leaned closer too and returned, “Redecorating isn’t putting my mark on a house, Prentice Cameron.”
Fiona emitted a useless, ghostly gasp and floated back several feet.
Prentice wanted Bella to redecorate?
Fiona had spent months choosing furniture, spent years buying and even paying off paintings that she’d found, deliberated greatly over the frames she’d buy to put her family’s photos in.
The blinds…
The crockery…
The… the…
The nerve!
Fiona tried not to take sides when they were fighting but she was firmly on Bella’s side in this one.
Prentice dragged his fingers through his hair, indicating that his patience was spent before he muttered, “Fucking hell, Elle.”
Elle grabbed the children’s dishes and started to rinse them mumbling, “It never ceases to piss me off all the times you say it that my name rhymes with fucking hell.”
Prentice ignored her rant and threatened which meant promised, “If you don’t do it, I will.”
“Be my guest,” she shot back.
He glared at her bent body as she slammed the children’s plates and cutlery into the dishwasher.
Then he pulled in a deep breath and when she straightened, kicking the door closed to the dishwasher and starting to walk away, he leaned forward and caught her at the waist.
Pulling her back to his front, she struggled for a minute before his mouth went to her ear.
“All right, Elle, I didn’t want to say it but here it is. That bedroom is now yours and mine but it was Fiona’s and mine.” Fiona’s spectral body grew still at the same time Bella’s corporeal one did. “I thought I’d be okay with it, sleeping with you there, fucking you there, but as time goes by, I find I’m no’. So I need you to make it ours so I can fucking move past this. I’m asking you to help me with that. Now do you fucking get me?”
Fiona watched as Bella’s face paled and then her body relaxed, her anger fled and she turned in the curve of his arm.
Her hands went up to curl on his neck; she leaned into him and asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did,” he clipped, still angry, probably because he had to share something difficult or, since he was a man, because he had to share at all.
“Yes, but before you said,” her voice dipped low and she assumed a (very bad) Scottish accent to indicate she was mimicking Prentice, “‘You need to redecorate this fucking room, Elle.” She pressed closer and went back to her own voice. “You didn’t tell me why.”
“Now you know.”
Her expression for the first time in weeks grew uncertain. “I’m not good at decorating.”
“Ask Sally, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to give you some ideas,” he bit out, obviously not noting her expression and he was also not being humorous but flippant.
Bella decided (wisely) to ignore his flippancy and teased, “I’m not sure we want a room decorated in pink and purple with plentiful amounts of glued on glitter.”
“I don’t give a fuck what it looks like, just as long as it’s something that’s ours.”
Fiona glared at her husband as he obviously didn’t feel like letting go his anger even though Bella had given in.
Prentice always could hold a mean grudge.
Bella was more patient with it than Fiona ever was and she leaned in further and whispered in his ear, “I’ll see to it Pren.”
She kissed his jaw and tried to move away but Prentice’s arm tightened.
“What I said doesn’t mean –” he started but Bella cut him off.
“I know.”
“You know I love it when we –” he began again only for Bella to interrupt him again.
“I know.”
Fiona started dematerializing as Bella kept whispering something about having to do something about Prentice being grumpy in the morning.