A Mistletoe Affair

Jordan blinked. “Huh?”

His sister stabbed him with the most aggravated look. “Are you even listening to me? I just listed every special exhibit going on at the children’s museum in Dover. Or maybe there’s something in Portsmouth the two of you can do.”

“Maybe.” Jordan shrugged. “I need to find something to keep him occupied. It can get boring sitting around the house. Makes me wonder what Laurie does over there all day,” he said, speaking of his housekeeper.

Sandra started on the tirade Jordan knew was forthcoming. “Oh, let’s see. She takes care of your son, keeps the house impeccable and cooks dinner.”

“I meant besides all that,” Jordan said, his mouth tipped up in a smile.

He saw the moment that Sandra caught on to his teasing.

“You’re such an ass,” she said.

“Not true. You’re just an easy target,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I know exactly how indispensable Laurie is, especially now that she’s away on this extended Christmas vacation. I haven’t done the best job at keeping up the housework since, and when it comes to dinner Mason and I have tried just about every takeout place within twenty miles of Wintersage. He likes gyros. Who’d have thought?”

Sandra shook her head, a pitiable look on her face. “I’m almost tempted to tell you to hire a temporary nanny to cover for Laurie while she’s away, but that won’t solve your problem.”

“I don’t have a problem,” he said.

“You most definitely do have a problem. You have no life. And yes, I know you’ve been taking care of Mason full-time since the election ended, but that’s not the life you’re used to living. Maybe you should just go back to work. Maybe you’d be less irritable.”

Hadn’t Vicki just accused him of the same thing?

“Why does everyone think I’m irritable?” Jordan asked. “I’m just tired. Besides, I can’t go back to the firm. I took an extended leave, remember? I thought I would be working on Oliver’s transition team right now.”

Sandra rolled her eyes. The election was a sore subject for everyone in his family, especially his sister.

When he spoke, Jordan kept his voice low. “Hey, Sandra? The fallout from the election, it hasn’t caused any friction, has it? You know, between you three?”

“What do you think, Jordan? You accused my best friend’s father of trying to steal an election. Do you think things would be all sunshine and roses around here? The three of us decided that when it comes to the election we’re Switzerland, but things are still a bit awkward.”

“Switzerland?” he asked.

“Completely neutral.”

“Oh. Well, I wish I had that luxury.”

“You do.” Sandra reached over and clamped a hand on his forearm. “The election is over. You can accept the results and move on.”

Jordan shook his head. “I can’t. I know something—”

She lifted her hand and held it up, stopping him. “Switzerland. I don’t want to know.”

“That’s too bad,” Jordan said. “I’m pulling the ‘sibling in need of an ear’ card, because I need to talk this out with someone.”

Sandra blew out an aggravated breath. “What is it?”

“I heard from the election commissioner this morning. According to Massachusetts’s election laws, only the candidate can officially file for a recount, so they can’t go forward unless Oliver requests it.”

“Oliver has already conceded.”

“I know. I told him he was making a mistake, but he refused to listen to me. I just don’t understand how he can sit back and do nothing.”

“Maybe he wants to be gracious in his defeat and move on with his life,” Sandra said. “Just as you should move on.”

Jordan shut his eyes and pitched his head back again.

“I wish I could,” he said. He straightened in the chair and looked at Sandra. “Something fishy happened with that election. My polling data was solid.”

“Well, if the commissioner’s office refuses to go forward with a recount, none of that matters, does it? You need to just put this election behind you.”

Jordan pressed his palms together and tapped his fingers against his lips. “I hired my own investigators,” he finally admitted.

Sandra groaned. “Okay, Jordan, I’m just going to say it. This election has driven you right off the deep end.”

“I’m only doing what I think is right,” he said. “If I just rolled over and played dead the way Oliver has, then it’s like admitting that my polling was wrong, and I know it wasn’t.” He put both hands up. “If I don’t find anything before Darren takes office in January, then I’ll drop it. But until then, I’m going to search for the proof I know is out there.”

“Can we please stop talking about this election? You’re giving me a headache.”

“Fine,” Jordan said. He picked up what he could only assume was some kind of dressmaking thing from a nearby desk and twirled it around his finger. “Are you and Isaiah planning to hang around until after the Kwanzaa celebration?”

“Of course,” Sandra answered, balancing Mason on her lap while he bounced up and down. “This is Isaiah’s first Christmas in Wintersage in years. He wants to experience it all again—the big extravaganza and Christmas parade, and our family’s annual Kwanzaa celebration. We’ll likely spend Christmas Day shuttling between Mom and Dad’s and his parents’ place.” She glanced over at him. “What about you guys?”

Jordan shrugged. “We’ll be at Mom and Dad’s.”

“What about spending Christmas with his mom?” She nodded toward Mason. “Have you heard from Allison at all?”

“No,” Jordan said. “Subject closed.”

“Jordan—”

“Subject closed,” he repeated. He ran his hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to talk about Allison.”

“After I just had to listen to all that election crap?”

“Do you really want to use your ‘sibling in need of an ear’ card on talk about Allison?”

“Whatever,” Sandra said. “Why did you come over here in the first place if you don’t want to talk about anything but that election?”

“Maybe I wanted you to spend time with your nephew, but if you don’t want to we can leave.” Jordan made as if he was about to get up. His sister shot him an evil look.

“Sit down,” she said.

He grinned, knowing that would get under her skin. He took his seat, picked up the shiny tool again and resumed twirling it around his finger.

“Would you put down my eyelash curler?”

“Your what?”