Family Ties

“Oh, well. Standing around isn’t going to fix it.” I rolled up my sleeves and shut down the building’s power. At least someone had sold Gunny the right materials for the current job—I plucked a name from deep in my subconscious: Mr. McMasters at the hardware store—so we had new 30-amp double breakers and plenty of heavy-gauge Romex.

Kirk and Doug appeared and asked if we needed help.

“Thanks, but…” I gestured at the panel. “It’s really just a two-man job.”

“How ’bout inside?”

“Gunny wired all that before he died.”

Kirk nodded.

“Why don’t you build a fire in the clubhouse to warm it up for tonight,”

Dad suggested. “And make sure the hot tub is ready for later.”

“What about the pump?” Doug asked.

“It’s on a dedicated circuit with its own panel,” I said.

“I’m sure we’ll find something else that needs fixing,” Kirk said. “Come on, Dougie. Let’s get to work.”

Dad and I did the same. We started the job with me helping him, but I gradually took over when he realized I had more experience, and our roles had reversed completely by the time we were done.

“You’re better at this than I am,” he said appreciatively.

I felt my cheeks flush. “Trip and I just did the same thing at our house, more or less.”

“Still,” he said, “good job.”

“Don’t congratulate me until we check everything.”

“You did it right,” he said. “Measure twice, cut once.”

I grinned. It was what his father had taught him. Then I held my breath and threw the main. The panel hummed and fell silent. Power was definitely flowing—the meter was spinning slowly—and nothing had arced or blown.

“So far, so good,” I said.

We went inside, where we turned on every stove eye and all the ovens.

Nothing sparked, nothing smoked, and nothing blew, even under full load.

“Well done,” Dad said.

“Thanks.”

We turned off everything and headed around back to clean up our tools and work area. We were cleaning ourselves at the sinks inside when the women returned from the store.

All six of them had gone and had clearly had fun. Kirk and Doug materialized and helped us unload their mom’s station wagon.

“Wow,” Susan said as she entered the clubhouse, “you have been busy.”

After Kirk and Doug had hauled in firewood and checked the hot tub, they’d set to work with plastic sheeting and staple guns to cover the rest of the clubhouse screens. They’d also kept the fire stoked, so the place wasn’t as drafty and cold as it had been. It wasn’t quite toasty yet, but it was definitely comfortable with my sleeves rolled up.

Christy came toward me as the others headed to the kitchen to unpack groceries and start cooking.

“I love your family,” she said quietly. “They’re nothing like mine, though.”

“They are in the important ways.”

“Oh, I know. But wow… they talk about sex a lot.”

“I told you, it’s important. And we’re a lot more open about it.”

“A lot more open,” she agreed with rosy cheeks. Then she grinned. “Your ears were probably burning.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm hmm. We were talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Very good. The kind that make me all tingly inside.”

My eyebrows rose with a question.

“I’d better help with the groceries,” she said.

“Oh, you’re such a tease!”

“And don’t you forget it.”

She grinned and stretched upward for a kiss, which I gave her. I also gave her a playful swat on the backside as she headed toward the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and looked immensely pleased with herself.

While the women started cooking dinner, the men gave the interior of the clubhouse a thorough going-over. We tightened loose screws on chairs and tables. We fixed broken couch legs and squeaky doors. We even rolled up the rugs and took them outside for a good beating before we dust-mopped the entire floor.

I had to chuckle to myself, though. I’d been so smug and superior when Christy’s family had split up to do “women’s work” and “men’s work,” yet my own family had done almost the same thing.

So much for my high horse, I thought wryly.

The clubhouse warmed appreciably with the screens covered and the fireplace and stoves putting out heat. Plus, all of us were working. So I wasn’t surprised when Susan and Mom nonchalantly took off their clothes and went back to cooking in just their aprons. Dawn, Olivia, and Erin all followed suit. Poor Christy looked incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden.

Erin must have said something to Mom, because she immediately went over to her.

I leaned on my dust mop and followed the conversation from their expressions and body language. Mom assured Christy that no one would mind if she kept her clothes on. But Christy wanted to be part of the family—

it was important to her—even though Mom said it wasn’t a big deal. Susan chimed in, and Erin as well, but Christy wasn’t having it.

She finally took off her apron, removed her jeans and blouse, and reached up to pop the catch on her bra. Her fancy black lingerie raised an eyebrow or

two, but that was it. She pulled off her panties, thrust her feet into her shoes, and slipped her apron over her head.