Diana Gabaldon · @Writer_DG
19th Mar 2014 from TwitLonger
#DailyLines #MOBY #WrittenINMyOWNHeartsBLOOD #Book8 #OutJUNE10th #HappyBirthdayCristina
Conversation over dinner was light and kid-oriented; Gail asking Mandy whether she liked Barbies and whether she had one with the shoes you could take off, and Joe talking soccer versus baseball—Jem was a hardcore Red Sox fan, being allowed to stay up to ungodly hours to listen to rare radio broadcasts with his mother. Brianna contributed nothing more than the occasional smile, and felt the tension slowly leave her neck and shoulders.
It came back, though with less force, when dinner was over, and Mandy—half-asleep with her arm in her plate—was carried off to bed by Gail, humming “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” in a voice like a cello. Bree rose to pick up the dirty plates, but Joe waved her back, rising from his chair.
“Leave them, darlin’. Come talk to me in the den. Bring the rest of the wine,” he added, then smiled at Jem. “Jem, whyn’t you go up and ask Gail can you watch TV in the bedroom?”
Jem had a smudge of spaghetti sauce at the corner of his mouth and his hair was sticking up on one side in porcupine spikes. He was a little pale from the journey, but the food had restored him and his eyes were bright, alert.
“No, sir,” he said respectfully, and pushed back his own chair. “I’ll stay with my mam.”
“You don’t need to do that, honey,” she said. “Uncle Joe and I have grown-up things we need to talk about. You—“
“I’m staying.”
She gave him a hard look, but recognized instantly, with a combination of horror and fascination, a Fraser male with his mind made up.
His lower lip was trembling, just a little. He shut his mouth hard to stop it, and looked soberly from her to Joe, then back.
“Dad’s not here,” he said, and swallowed. “And neither is Grand-da. I’m…I’m staying.”
She couldn’t speak. Joe nodded, though, as soberly as Jem, took a can of Coke from the refrigerator and led the way to the den. She followed them, clutching the wine bottle and two glasses.