I glared.
“Dude, chill out. I was trying to lighten the mood. Listen, I’m sorry. You’re working as hard as I am. Harder, since you have to deal with Granville and me. I have to remember that, even if I can’t see it.”
“Damn right.”
“It was easier last summer, when we were together all the time. But now…? I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t’ve doubted you.”
“No, you shouldn’t’ve. But thanks for saying so.”
“Still friends?”
“You know we are.”
“Yeah, but it never hurts to apologize and admit when I’m wrong.”
“Maybe you should stop saying things you need to apologize for?”
“You sound like my dad.” He thought of something and chuckled. “No, you sound like your mom. Whoa, lemme rephrase! I meant it as a compliment. Your mom’s pretty cool. She… gives good advice.”
I looked at him sideways and wondered what else he thought she was good at. I wasn’t offended or even shocked, but I wasn’t about to explain why.
He misunderstood my look. “Sorry I mentioned it. You don’t wanna know.”
“You’re probably right,” I lied, and we left it at that.
* * *
The next day we started demolition in the house we wanted to use as a rec center. It was hot, dirty, exhausting work, and we rarely spoke. Besides, we wore hard hats, goggles, and masks, which only added to the sense of isolation. The kitchen alone took the whole day, and I was glad to listen to Christy and Wren chat at dinner, if only to feel like part of the group again.
Wren had started work as Susan’s personal assistant and camp manager, and she enjoyed the challenge of something new. Christy had taken over the pool, cleaning, and lunch duties. Then she tried to convince Trip to let her borrow the Volkswagen for a grocery run.
“Oh, no,” Wren said immediately. “That’s the one thing I enjoy. I have absolute control over the kitchen and what we eat.”
“So?” Christy wheedled. “You can control other things. Besides, I cook too! I made lunch, didn’t I? Yesterday and today.”
“I know, my love. And thank you.”
“So… let me do this! I promise, you won’t regret it.”
“I know I won’t, ’cause I’m not gonna give it up,” Wren said. “No. And that’s final.”
“Your driver’s license is expired anyway,” I said to Christy. “That’s why I said no. Insurance won’t cover it if you have an accident.”
“Then I won’t have an accident.” She glared. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Yours,” I laughed. “You’d be in just as much trouble. Driving on an expired license…?”
She waved it away.
“I’ll drive,” Wren said. “And you can come with me. You can be my assistant.”
“How come I’m your sous but she’s your assistant?” I wondered aloud.
“Because I like calling you Sue.”
I heard the difference and snorted, and her smirk turned into a “gotcha” grin. Score one for Wren. Again.
“I don’t wanna be the assistant,” Christy complained. “No one lets me be in charge of anything.” She balled her fists and stomped a small foot. “I can too do things.”
“Then let’s find something for you to do,” I said.
Trip gave me a sly look. “We still have to decorate the bungalows. Art, accessories, linens, everything. And I need someone to start picking out colors and interior design for the houses.”
“I could do it,” I suggested.
“Oh no you don’t, Mr. Meddler!” Christy said. “He was talking to me and you know it!”
“Do you think you’d be good at it?” Trip asked mildly.
“I know what you’re doing,” she fired back, “and it’s not going to work. Only, it is.”
He and I shared a grin.
“None of us have your sense of style,” Trip added. “I certainly don’t.”
He was right. His “going out” attire had been jeans and cowboy shirts before Wren had upgraded his wardrobe.
“You really mean it?” Christy asked.
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’ll ask the furniture company for wood and fabric samples. Paul can stop by McMaster’s and pick up paint chips the next time he goes to meet Granville. And I’m sure you can find a catalog or two for ideas on the rest.”
“I can,” Christy said.
“And another thing…,” he added. “Susan really needs help with her computer. You know it better than any of us, even me. You can help me pick out a printer, too. The guy tried to sell me one, but I didn’t think we’d need it.”
“We do.”
“Well, yeah,” he laughed. “I know that now!” He polled Wren and me with a barely suppressed grin. “Would anyone like to make a motion…?”
I spoke up immediately, “I move that Christy is our new designer and computer nerd—”
“Hey!” she squawked. “Watch who you’re calling ‘nerd,’ Mr… Nerd!”
“Computer expert,” Trip said smoothly.
“Much better.” She glared at me for effect.
Wren raised her hand. “I second the motion.”
“All in favor?” Trip asked.
“Aye,” we said together.
“Passed by unanimous vote.”
“Hey, don’t I get a vote?” Christy protested.
“Nope. Conflict of interest,” Trip said. “Besides… would you really vote no?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“All right. So, it’s settled. You’re our new designer and computer expert. I need you to start…”
* * *
Trip and I continued working on the houses during the day. Wren took over more duties around the camp, while Christy spent her time with Susan and my mom, talking about design and decorations. They probably talked about other things, but Christy never said what. She merely smiled and said she loved me when I asked.
We spent our evenings in the clubhouse—after a long, cold shower on my part. Wren and Christy cooked, drank wine, and chatted. Trip listened to music or a baseball game and worked on the computer with a glass of Jack Daniel’s, the good stuff. I did the same with my Walkman at my drafting table, usually with a snifter of Wren’s cognac.
We swam and relaxed in the pool after dinner. The evenings were warm, but the water was clean and cool, a welcome change from the grit and grime of the day. And we were all tired from work, so we didn’t have wild orgies or anything. In fact, we were more like normal couples than swingers, although “normal” for us wasn’t the same as monogamy.
On Friday Wren decided to make penne alla vodka. She and Christy started drinking the main ingredient and were both tipsy by the time dinner was ready. They were determined to get Trip and me drunk too, and we didn’t really put up a fight.
For dessert, Christy wanted semen and berries. Trip volunteered immediately. Wren wasn’t interested in dessert for herself, but she had a pie with my name on it, she said. She spread her legs and casually invited me to eat up. I laughed and lifted her to the adjacent table instead. Then I pulled up a chair and started playing with my food.
She ran her fingers through my hair and sighed, “My wish is your command.”
I circled her clit with my tongue and then sucked gently.
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Let me know if you want some pointers,” Trip said.
“No, he’s doing fine,” Wren said languidly. “Just fine… Mmm, less talking, more licking.”
Christy agreed and deep throated Trip. At that point he decided that conversation was overrated.
* * *
We hiked to the quarry on Saturday. Christy shot a couple of wistful looks at the falls, and I knew she wanted to talk. We couldn’t do it around Trip and Wren, so I asked if she wanted to go for a swim instead, and we left the others on the big rock.
We swam at a leisurely pace to the waterfall and then along the rocky wall. An ancient fault in the granite had sheared away part of the cliff and left a shallow alcove. It formed a ledge at the base, about a foot below the surface. I scooted my butt onto it, and Christy supported herself with her arms on my legs.