Toby squinched up his nose. “But you think it matters?”
“I’m anal about this sort of thing.”
“Anal” was a fancy word for asshole, which he wasn’t allowed to say, and he didn’t see why Lily would call herself that. She was pretty much okay, even if she was around Dad all the time, which was a big change. Dad’s other women had been like Toby’s mom—people Dad liked but didn’t want to stay with. But the mate bond made things different.
Toby had warned Lily not to tell Grammy about cleaning the top of a toothpaste tube, not wanting that added to the list of things well-brought-up boys were supposed to do. But thinking about Grammy and lists and the unmade bed reminded him, so he dashed back to his room and yanked the covers up over his pillow real quick.
One of Grammy’s big rules was to make the bed as soon as he got out of it. It was a sucky rule, but he wanted her to see that she’d raised him right, like she always said she was trying to do, and not worry that he’d be all uncivilized when he wasn’t here with her anymore.
Thinking of Grammy made his stomach hurt in a different way. He hesitated, wondering if maybe he should get dressed before he went downstairs. But that was a school-time rule and it was summer, so she might not know he was doing it for her, and besides, he hated getting dressed before he even had breakfast.
At Clanhome, he could go around naked if he wanted. At least some of the time.
He grinned, then went to his bed and folded back the bedspread so he could fix the pillow the way Grammy liked, with the spread tucked in neatly. Now when she saw his bed, she’d know what he meant.
He hit the stairs at a run.
Dad and Grammy were in the kitchen, which smelled like coffee and bacon and eggs. Dad was sitting, but Grammy was on her feet by the stove. She claimed her leg was fine now, and besides, the muscles wouldn’t get strong again if she babied it all the time. But he knew it still hurt sometimes. He had warned Dad not to fuss over her. She hated fussing unless she was the one doing it.
They were wearing grim faces, and stopped talking the moment he came in. Grammy made up a smile. “Good morning, bright eyes. You ready for some eggs?”
“Sure.” He looked back and forth between them. “What’s wrong?”
“Why, nothing.” Grammy moved to the refrigerator to get the eggs, putting her back to him. “We left you some bacon. It’s there on the table.”
He hated it when she said nothing was wrong when something obviously was. “Dad?”
“When I went for my run last night, I found the bodies of—”
“Rule.” Grammy turned, egg carton in one hand, her face tight the way it got when she was trying not to be mad. “I told you I didn’t want him upset.”
Dad nodded. He was always calm and respectful with Grammy, and Grammy was always polite with him, but Toby wasn’t sure if they really liked each other. “Yes, and I understand your feelings. I disagree with your conclusion, however, as I said. Toby is already aware of the killings.”
“Those kids?” Toby’s feet got into the act along with his mouth, and he moved up to his dad. “You found the bodies of those kids who were killed with their mom?”
Rule laid his hands on Toby’s shoulders. “I did. I told Lily, and she’s investigating, as it seems there was magic involved. This creates some complications for us with the hearing so close.”
“Why? I didn’t know them.” Toby immediately felt bad. “I mean, it’s awful that they died and all, but what does that have to do with the hearing?” It was supposed to be a formality, Grammy said. That meant that they had to go do legal stuff, but no one was arguing, so the judge ought to just let him go with Dad.
“Reporters.” Grammy whipped the fork through the eggs as if they’d talked back to her. “Some are already here, and your father thinks more will be coming.” Her voice dropped, like she didn’t really want them to hear the rest. “Bunch of busybodies, always poking their noses into other people’s business.”
Toby looked at her in surprise. He knew why he hated reporters: they interfered with everything. Because of reporters, he’d never been able to do a bunch of stuff with Dad, who’d wanted to keep the press from knowing about him. Of course, Mom was a reporter, and Toby used to blame her job for her never being around, but that was when he was too little to admit the truth. She didn’t want to be around.
But Grammy never said bad stuff about reporters. Or about Mom, either. He was pretty sure she got mad at Mom sometimes, but she never said so. “How come you’re mad at the reporters? Can they make the judge do things different than he’s supposed to?”
Grammy gave him another of those tight smiles, the ones that meant she didn’t feel like smiling, but she wanted him to know her mad wasn’t about him. “She. The judge for our hearing is a she, not a he. And what reporters say ought not to make a difference, but there’s a deal of space between ‘ought not’ and ‘won’t.’ ”
“A good judge won’t let the presence of the press interfere,” Dad said, “but she may take more care, go more slowly. More to the point, though, is that once the press knows about you, they’ll bother your grandmother’s friends and neighbors. They’ll bother us, too, asking a great many questions, many of them insulting, and probably misquote us if we answer.”
Toby nodded. He’d watched reporters asking his dad questions on TV, so he knew what kind of stupid questions they asked. “And you can’t punch them or anything, ’cause that makes it worse.”
“Exactly. They’ll raise questions about my fitness to be a parent, of course. I’m expecting that. But since some of them are more interested in speculation and scandal than fact, they may also insinuate unpleasant things about your grandmother and your mother.”
“But that’s gonna happen anyway, isn’t it?” Toby reached for a piece of bacon. “You told me they’d hear about the custody deal and we wouldn’t like some of the stuff they said. It’s just happening before the hearing instead of after.”
Dad and Grammy shared one of those looks grown-ups give each other when they’re not telling you something. Grammy turned to the stove and poured the eggs in the pan. “There’s a plate for that bacon. Sit down to eat it, please.”
Toby sighed and did as he was told, pulling out a chair.
His dad said, “After the hearing, you’ll be at Clanhome. Reporters can’t bother you there.”
Toby chewed on that along with his bacon. “They can bother you and Grammy, though. And the neighbors and all.”
“Dealing with reporters is part of my job,” Rule said. “I wish I could offer your grandmother better protection from their harassment.”
Grammy sniffed. “I can deal with a few nosy reporters if I have to. So can Connie. Eat your eggs, now.” She brought the pan over and slid a bunch of eggs onto Toby’s plate.
Connie was Mrs. Milligan, their next-door neighbor to the west, and she knew all about Toby being lupus. She and Grammy had been friends forever, since back when they were nurses together, before Grammy decided to retire and take care of him. Grammy had told her the truth when Toby’s mom was expecting him, before he was even born. Mrs. Milligan had kept the secret for all the nine years since, and Toby figured Grammy was right. She and Mrs. Milligan could deal with nosy reporters just fine.
Probably they’d give those reporters cookies and coffee and make ’em wash their hands first and say, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am.” Toby grinned.
“More coffee?” Grammy said, picking up the pot as Toby tucked into his eggs. Dad agreed that he’d like some, and thanked her.
Of course, Mrs. Milligan wasn’t the only one who knew Toby’s secret, but Justin was Toby’s best friend in the whole world. He wouldn’t tell the reporters anything. His sister wouldn’t, either, because Talia had her own big secret, which Toby knew because it was only fair for Justin to tell him after she eavesdropped on them. She wouldn’t want anyone telling her secret, so she’d be quiet, too.