I have paint on my knuckles.
“That’s a lovely color,” Mary says. “It imparts a certain, I dunno, je ne sais quoi.”
“It’s Tradewinds,” I say. “My bathroom now says ‘come in, relax, be on the look-out for buccaneers’.”
Mary mock-frowns at me. “Heeeeey,” she says. “We don’t talk that way here.”
Jon stands, arches his back, pointing his chin at the ceiling. The tile around the tub is done. Only the grout to go.
“Isn’t that right, honey? We don’t talk like that.”
Jon stares at her. The room is seven feet by eight feet. There are three people working in it. He has managed to tune us out completely.
“Buccaneer?” she prompts.
Jon rolls his eyes, shakes his head.
Mary’s eyes glitter with glee. “Remember the twins, honey?”
Jon sighs. Mary is, at times, his cross to bear.
Mary has no children that I know of.
I grin at her. “Which twins now?”
“Oh, Jon and I, you know. If we’d had twins 10 years ago, they’d be what today? Honey? How old would our twins be now?”
“Camber and Caster,” she goes on. Her voice has taken on a dreamy tone. “Mischievous little buggers,” she says. “God love ‘em, they do keep me busy.”
“Heh, heh,” Jon chuckles. “They’re probably blondes, huh, Mare? Tow heads. Get it, Mary? Camber, Caster, and Toe.”
“Regular little brawlers,” she says affectionately.
“You guys are talking in code again,” I grumble. “Are these racing terms?”
Mary nods sagely, places a knowing index finger alongside her nose. “If Michael Jackson can have a kid named Blanket, I can name the kids after the major alignment parameters on a car. Isn’t that right, Jon?”
Jon’s had enough. He winks at me. “Simmer down now, Mary.”
Mary cackles, heads into the kitchen and returns momentarily with a broom. I step out of her way.
“You know how it is, though, Pearl,” she says, a broad grin on her face. She sweeps the last of the room-renovation detritus into a tidy pile. “Gah but I love the wee tykes.”