Ramona, had she stopped to think about it, would have recognized that her daughter's response to the current "crisis" was out of proportion to what it should have been. As far as Ramona knew, her children lived next door to, but had no interaction with, the sad property next door. To them, it should have just been a moldering old house with a mysterious past, quietly rotting away in the midst of an untended forest of unruly vegetation.
But her own emotional state prevented her from recognizing that her children were much too interested in her old home. She had never told them about her past. When they asked about grandparents she simply reported them dead and buried long ago. She had never mentioned the uncle they didn't know they had, or the fact that Nettleton blood flowed in their veins. She assumed they were curious about who had re-opened the Nettleton place in the same manner as the rest of the town would be when they learned of it. The gossip would fly ... no doubt about that.
And so, lacking a plan to inform her children of everything she had omitted from their family history, she had decided just to let Robert explain it. Thankfully, he had called her at the bank when he got to town and began hiring contractors.
Just hearing his voice had made her so weak she almost couldn't have a conversation with him. He'd wanted to see her, but at that time she couldn't trust herself to be able to stand, let alone conduct civilized verbal discourse. Instead of trying to bring him up to date, she had just invited him to dinner. She anchored her hopes for rational behavior in the familiarity of preparing a meal in her own house, with her children nearby. There would be hours in which they could figure out what to do and how to explain all this to the twins.
She hoped it would work. She had no earthly idea whether it would or not, but she hoped events would take care of themselves and that she wouldn't burst into tears or have a complete breakdown.
Now, though, she faced her daughter, who was by then backed up by her son. "I have to fix dinner. Our guest will be here at seven. In the mean time you two need to pick up the house. It's a pigsty and I won't have guests in our home with it looking like this."
There were moans of discontent, but she insisted on keeping to her "plan" as it were.
Part of the moans were because the house was already spotless. Oh, there was the odd magazine lying here, and an empty glass sitting there, but Ramona kept a trim ship all the time, and had required her children to do the same. In truth that was one reason they were attracted to the manor. There was no hope of cleaning that place up and, while there, they could relax and be as comfortable as they wanted to, leaving things lay wherever they wanted to. Their mother's training had sunk in, though, and they had, unthinkingly, slowly straightened and dusted things, at least in a few rooms, and they usually removed any trash they generated from food waste they brought into the place.
So, while they went through the fruitless motions of "cleaning", which mostly meant picking things up from where they belonged and then putting them right back where they belonged, the teens tried to communicate without words about what they thought might be going on. Anyone else would have thought it was comical to see them miming and mouthing things at each other as they did things that didn't need to be done.
They noticed that dinner was going to be special. Their mother was making Lasagna in that special way of hers that meant it was for somebody important. Then there were hot rolls, also a special occasion food. Finally there was asparagus, which was expensive, and there was a relish tray with black olives too, along with tiny sweet pickles, and carrot sticks and even deviled eggs. She was going all out and that raised the bar as far as how important this dinner guest was.
Debbie tried again, while offering to help in the kitchen. "Who is this mysterious man?" she asked casually.
"I told you to wait until our guest gets here. He'll explain everything."
"No, not the man next door. Who is coming to dinner?" Debbie prodded, not having any idea that their guest was the man next door.
Ramona smiled to herself. "I don't recall saying our dinner guest was a man," she said.
"Oh come on Mommy," wheedled Debbie. "Okay, who is the mysterious woman who's coming to dinner?"
"I don't believe I said our guest was going to be a woman either," said Ramona, enjoying her teasing.
Debbie's ire was as instantaneous as it was explosive. "Mother! You tell me right now who's coming to dinner or I'm going to scream!" she screamed.
Ramona turned to her daughter with shock on her face. Debbie didn't act like this. These were unusual circumstances, but why could she care that much who was coming to dinner?
She started to question her daughter, but Robby danced in and pulled at his sister's arm.
"Come on Deb, I need your help in here for a minute."
Debbie shook off her brother's grip and took a breath to make her demand again. She was frowning horribly, obviously upset.
Ramona was astonished to see Robby grab his sister firmly by the waist and pull her bodily out of the kitchen as she slapped at him and tried to turn around.
"Drop it, Debbie!" he commanded, his voice suddenly deep.
Ramona was astonished as much by his assertiveness as she was by the fact that Debbie deflated and let him pull her out. She started to go after them, but the sauce began to boil and she had to stop and take care of that.
Outside the kitchen Robby shoved Debbie up against a wall and, instead of reasoning with her, he kissed her, pinning her to the wall between his arms, pressing his chest against hers. She tried to turn her head and he bit her lip gently. Then as she said "Ow!" into his mouth he let her go and stepped back. She looked at him with amazement and a little fear.
"What are you doing?" she hissed in a whisper, looking at the doorway to the kitchen only ten feet away.
"Stopping you from doing something stupid," he whispered back, leaning toward her. "Leave it alone or she's going to know something's up."
"Of course something's up you idiot!" whispered his sister, but the shock of what he'd done had robbed her of her anger and she slumped.
"Come on," he mouthed, reaching for her hand. She followed him, almost stomping, lifting her whole hip to let her leg swing forward, rather than just walking. She was pouting.
He took her to the living room and pushed her down on the couch.
"It's only forty-five minutes. What's done is done and you can't force anything to happen," he lectured her.
"You're not my boss," she said in a sulk.
"No, but I'm big enough to spank you," he threatened.
"You wouldn't!" she yipped.
"Yes I would," he warned.
"You can't," she reasoned.
"I will if you don't settle down." He leaned toward her and she shrank back from him. His hands kept coming though and he started tickling her.
She shrieked and twisted, her hands flailing at him, trying to tickle him back and they ended up laughing as their mother, done with things in the kitchen long enough to investigate her children's strange behavior walked into the room. Ramona stopped and stared at her completely normal acting children as they tusseled with each other. She shook her head, checked her watch, and, with a harried expression, turned back to the kitchen.
The twins had seen her out of the corner of their eyes, and when she went back in the kitchen they both felt a rush of relief. Robby snatched at his sister's breasts and squeezed them once before jumping back as she charged up off the couch, her hand low and open in a claw, obviously going for his jewels.
Now he ran to the kitchen, where she couldn't grab him in the place she intended to, laughing as she chased him.
"Mom! Debbie's being mean to me," he whined as he ran to his mother and tried to get between her and the counter.
Ramona's hands were covered with flour and her son's actions startled her. She spun in a circle as Robby got behind her and gripped her waist. He used her as a shield. Debbie tried to reach around her mother to pinch her brother and was laughing as Ramona stood, not knowing what to do, her hands out.
"Children!" she yelled.
TBC