Chapter Text
Wheels hit the tarmac by eight a.m., but Clarissa doesn’t bother calling her granddaughter’s hotel room. For one thing, she needs to get the house ready. The mudroom really should work well. They already use the porch entrance in summer, anyway, it won’t take much to tape up the mudroom door and put the traditional red hanging on it, to let people know how it’s being used and not to even try the knob if they don’t want someone aggressive and hormonal to come bursting out at them.
Much as that little hard-eyed piece her son has so foolishly married might preen about being from a nice, “clean,” family, and marrying into another, for it’s true, Chrissy will be the first non-Beta Cunningham, Clarissa’s people are the Keenes, and they throw a few Alphas and Omegas every generation. Of course, none of her Alpha or Omega cousins are living close enough to be able to loan them scent-blockers on such short notice, but her good friend Beth Cleary does, and is more than glad to help when Clarissa calls her up and explains things as best she can. Beth is of course properly appalled, and volunteers the panels, some actually pretty hangings and not just whatever Clarissa can find, her own advice for Chrissy as an older female Alpha if Chrissy wants it, and a casserole from her freezer so Clarissa doesn’t have to think about what to make.
Meanwhile, James is moving everything out of the mudroom, sweeping it up, and finding some extra bedding that hopefully doesn’t smell like anybody, they’ll have to run it through the wash to be sure. When Clarissa goes to check, she finds that he has also put in a cooler of soft drinks, and some crackers and peanut butter, just in case the kids remember to eat. From what they’ve both heard, they probably won’t, but it’s still a nice thought.
Speaking of food, it’s about time to make their way through Beth Cleary’s excellent chicken and mushroom casserole, perfuming the house. It really is very comforting, even if it’s a bit heavy for the weather. James sighs, picking at his plateful.
“Munson… I just wish we knew anything about this boy,” he says, fretting in the way she knows so well.
“He has been in some trouble,” Clarissa says, “but he’s not a thief, and he doesn’t have a habit of starting any fights. Set on a delinquent path by the father, raised by a single uncle, he could be doing worse.”
“Wow, the ladies at church really do know everything,” James mutters, eyes wide and soft scent gently tinged with awe.
Clarissa chuckles. “Besides, would it matter?”
James smiles. “Probably not.” They had been absolutely crazy about each other and accordingly inseparable, despite James’s mother’s complete certainty that Clarissa was only interested in him for his money. Forty-five years later, it’s still nice to prove her wrong every day.
A lot of things may have changed since their own grainy Dynamic Education filmstrips back in ‘26 and ‘32, as science has marched on, but one thing that has remained true through many double blind studies is that if you must try to talk to an Alpha during rut, about half-past seven to nine p.m. is your best window. The hormones are at their lowest ebb for both non-Beta dynamics, and so after dinner, at eight o’clock, Clarissa finally calls the hotel and asks them to put her through to Chrissy’s room.
The phone rings four times, and Clarissa wonders if she’ll have to try again later, and then there’s a small thunk and a click, and Chrissy’s soft voice. “H-hello?”
“Hi, baby,” Clarissa says. “It’s Nana. We got back this morning, but figured we should get the house ready first. We have the mudroom all ready for you and your sweetheart, and if you have his phone number, we can tell his uncle so.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” She’s still keeping her voice low, and Clarissa isn’t surprised at the explanation. “Eddie’s asleep right now, that’s why I’m trying to be quiet. Hang on.” She sets the receiver down, and is back with the phone number and the information that Wayne Munson works nights. Clarissa writes everything down.
“You two think you can keep yourselves together for me and Gramps to pick you up in the morning?”
“To be somewhere that feels like home, Nana?” Chrissy says, and she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears, “Definitely.”
“We’ll be there at nine, Sea-Baby,” Clarissa says, and using the old nickname makes her realize how long it has been since she last saw Chrissy in a swimsuit. Thank God the child is eighteen, and can decide where she wants to be. Laura has never appreciated her.
It’s a bit of a drive, so they have to start early, but at least they know the old trick of vinegar sheets, and have a big hatchback to hang a couple in. Clarissa calls ahead, and when they pull up to the hotel, Chrissy is standing on the curb with a cardboard box at her feet, hand in hand with a tall boy with hair long enough to give Laura a heart attack. Chrissy is actually dressed, wearing a cute little summer dress in yellow stripes, vertical obviously, God forbid she ever see the light of day in anything not scientifically designed to be slimming, but the boy is just wrapped up in a ratty old red and black plaid bathrobe. He’s half hidden behind her, and when Clarissa gets out of the car (she’s probably the less threatening of the two of them, so James might as well just stay in the driver’s seat) he ducks his head and grabs a handful of Chrissy’s skirt, like a little kid trying not to get lost.
“Good morning,” Clarissa says. “I’m Chrissy’s Nana, Clarissa Cunningham. Her Gramps is James, and he’s driving. Call us whatever makes you comfortable. No one has to shake hands--” Chrissy breaks free of Eddie’s hold to hug her tightly, and Clarissa hugs back. Eddie whines softly, but doesn’t get hysterical, which is a good sign.
“I know,” Chrissy says, taking Eddie’s hand again, “I know. Nana, this is Eddie, he’s feeling very shy.”
“I understand, dear, my cousin Alice, your first cousin twice removed, I believe, was always the same way, rest her soul. Come along, children.”
She shepherds the kids into the way back, tucking the box in beside them. Hardly a thing in it, Chrissy had mentioned that one thoughtful police officer had gathered the whole assortment in under an hour. Chrissy is curled up with her head resting on Eddie’s chest, right over Eddie’s heart, one hand inside his robe, above the waist. He still blushes when he sees Clarissa seeing, but she just smiles at him. She and James are prepared to look straight ahead and pretend to be deaf, but the children are apparently very tired and well-behaved, because they don’t hear a peep out of them the whole way back, not even when they stop at a drive-thru for breakfast.
At home, they open the hatchback to find Eddie asleep, Chrissy cuddled up in his arms like a child’s teddybear. She seems to be asleep too, but opens her eyes to look at her grandparents. “Hey, sweetheart,” James says, and offers her his hand. She takes it, gently extricating herself from Eddie’s grip, and lets him tug her to her feet. Eddie makes a soft noise of complaint in his sleep, and the look Chrissy gives him makes Clarissa pretty sure that Laura will still be hating him forty-five years from now.