Finley’s blue eyes skewered the back of his head, but she jumped off the stool and went to the refrigerator. She pulled out the milk and then walked to a cupboard and opened it.

“I don’t need a glass.” He called again without looking back.

“Other people might want to drink from this carton, you swine.” Finley looked at me. “When it’s in an insulting context, we always say swine instead of pig. Some Pig is super sensitive.”

Jude twisted around this time. “How much is in there?”

Finley shook it. “It’s still half full Or as you would probably say, half-empty.”

He spun back to face the television. “Like I said, no glass necessary.”

Finley stomped over and placed the carton on the table hard enough that some of the milk splashed out of the top. She returned to the stool and hopped up onto it. “So, anyhow, Eden,” she spoke to me but looked Jude’s way, “as I was saying,” she winked at me, “we used to have a really great chef.”

“Shut the hell up, Doolittle.” Jude raised the carton in the air and swallowed back the contents.

“But last week, Tanya, the chef,” she spoke loudly enough to be sure that Jude heard every word over the sound of the television, “crept into Jude’s room, took off her clothes, and climbed into bed with him.” Finley was trying hard to suppress laughter, and I wasn’t completely sure I wanted her to finish the story.

“Shut the fuck up, Freak Show.” He lifted the remote and turned up the volume.

She laughed once and continued. “Well, Jude told her to get out. The next morning he came in to breakfast, and she was spitting in his scrambled eggs.”

“Ooh, gross. I take it that was the end of her employment.”

“Yep.” She glanced over at Jude. “I told Dad what happened. He said it is your job to hire a new chef.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He held the carton up in the air. “Empty.”

This guy was beyond arrogant, and I wanted to slap him. I only hoped that like Finley had said, he’d be gone once the ankle monitor came off. Finley was about to push off the stool, but I put my hand on her arm. “Allow me. I’m used to waiting on two baby sisters.” This time I spoke loudly enough for him to hear.

I tromped up behind him and reached for the carton, but he moved it out of my reach. Refusing to give in to his teasing, I walked around to the front of the couch. He was focused on the television as I reached for the carton. My fingers grazed his. They were unexpectedly calloused. His grip on the empty container had not loosened. His hardened gaze shifted to me, and he stared at me for a few long seconds before releasing it.

I returned to the kitchen and Finley pointed out the trash. We carried our plates to the sink and rinsed them. The dishwasher was also camouflaged in a cupboard. “This dishwashing thing is going to get old real quick,” Finley quipped.

“Unfortunately, I’m rather skilled at it. Years of practice. And yes, it gets old.” Especially without a dishwasher I thought but didn’t add.

Jude turned off the T.V., pushed up from the couch, and left the room.

Finley had grown uncharacteristically quiet. “You know, Eden,” she said quietly, “I haven’t left the estate in nine months.”

“Your aunt mentioned something about it.” Her change of tone made my throat tighten.

“But I’m not a freak.”

“I know.” I paused a second before speaking. “Why don’t you tell him to stop calling you that?”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it. He just worries about me.” It was amazing how she stuck up for her brother. He was obviously a jerk. Then her face brightened and her tone changed completely as if a switch had been turned off and on again. “Do you want to take a tour of the grounds? We’ve got a great pool area.”

“Sure.” I was slightly taken aback by her abrupt mood change, but something told me I was going to have to get used to it.

“Wait here and I’ll run up and change shoes.” She opened a cupboard and threw a box of cookies on the counter. “These are delish.” She walked out of the room, and Some Pig trotted behind her.

I sat munching on a cookie looking around at the unbelievable décor when both dogs lifted their heads again. The side door to the kitchen opened, and a guy walked in wearing a motocross shirt and pants that were completely splattered in hardened mud. Dirt crusted goggles hung around his neck. The skin around his hazel eyes was the only area not covered with mud.

He looked at me and nodded. “How’s it going?” One of his hands was covered in a motorcycle glove. He fished in a drawer, pulled out some long scissors, and began sawing at the leather glove. It was a futile attempt. “Yeah, I didn’t think that was going to work.” He looked up at me again. “Do you think you could help me? I just need you to pull off the glove.”

I stood from the stool. “Sure.” It definitely seemed like a task I could manage. I took hold of several fingers.

“Wait a second,” he said. He grasped the edge of the counter with his ungloved hand. “Go.” He sucked in a deep breath and I pulled. The glove came free but not as easily as I would have expected.

His face had paled some as he lifted the uncovered hand. “Shit. Why’d you have to pull so hard?”

Now I was the one holding the counter. His wrist was twisted into a grotesque, unnatural curve. “I’m— I’m so sorry,” I stuttered, swallowing back the grilled cheese I’d just eaten.

His face broke into a smile, a smile that was oddly familiar. “I’m just kidding you. I dislocated it on the track. Sorry about that. I didn’t know it would freak you out so badly.”

I pressed my hand to my chest. “That’s all right. I think my heartbeat will eventually return to normal.”

He reached out with his untwisted hand. “I’m Cole. Are you here for Jude?”

The question seemed strange, and it took me a moment to answer. “No, I’m here visiting Finley.”

To my relief, Finley walked in right then. “What the hell, Cole? It looks like your hand isn’t even attached to your arm anymore.”

Cole held it up and admired his contorted wrist a moment. “I kind of like it.”

Jude walked past all of us, opened the fridge, and pulled out a plate of chicken. He glanced at Cole’s arms. “Shit, Cole, put that deformed thing away. I’m trying to eat.”

Cole looked at Jude and then Finley. “You know what’d be cool— if both of my siblings weren’t house bound. Then one of them could drive me to the emergency room so a doctor could pop it back into place.”

“I could try but we’d probably have to participate in a police chase on the way there.” Jude grabbed up a drumstick and took a medieval style bite before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Finley twisted her face at him. “Use a napkin, Neanderthal.”

Cole had nice hazel eyes to go with typical, California boy good looks. “Maybe Finley’s hot, new friend could drive me.”

“Drive yourself,” Jude said angrily before I had a chance to respond.

I took the opportunity to shoot a quick scowl at Jude before answering for myself. “I’m afraid it would be safer having me pop your wrist back in place. I don’t have a license.”

Cole stepped closer to me and even with a completely tweaked wrist managed to flash me a flirtatious grin. “No? Well, maybe I could teach you.”

Jude rudely pushed between us, reached for a shaker of salt on the counter, and sprinkled some on his chicken.

“Oh my gosh, could you two be any more obvious?” Finley took hold of my hand and pulled me away from both of them. “Let’s go, Eden. I could really use a walk.”

I gladly followed.

“Sorry about that,” Finley said as we stepped out onto a long brick pathway that led to a long, ivy covered fence. The dogs followed but Some Pig stayed inside.

“Will your brother be all right? I feel sort of bad that he has to drive himself to the hospital. His hand looked pretty wrecked.”

“He doesn’t have to drive himself. Dad’s chauffeur will take him. He was just looking for some sympathy from you, and he takes every opportunity he can to piss off Jude.”