Twisted by Emma Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

tilts as she looks at the annoying doll. “I
    think you’re wrong, Daddy. No-No Nancy doesn’t sound like
    Momma at all.”
    The comment gets Alexandra’s attention. “What do you mean,
    Mackenzie?”
    Behind his wife’s shoulder, Steven shakes his head at his daugh-
    ter, but unfortunately for him, she doesn’t get the message.
    Instead she explains, “The other day, when you were out,
    Daddy said No-No Nancy sounds just like you. But instead of no,
    you say, ‘Nag, nag, nag.’” All heads turn to Alexandra, watching
    her like a ticking time bomb counting down to zero.
    Steven tries valiantly to defuse her. he smiles and teases, , “You have to admit, honey, the resemblance is uncanny. . . .”
    Alexandra punches him in the arm. But he tightens his bicep
    before she makes contact, absorbing the blow. She punches him
    again, less playfully.
    Steven just boasts, “You can’t dent steel, babe. Be careful—
    don’t want to hurt your hand on the gun.”
    Faster than a speeding bullet, Alexandra’s fingers lash out and
    pinch the tender flesh on the back of his tricep, bringing him to
    his knees.
    Drew grimaces and rubs the back of his own arm in sympathy.
    “That’s gonna leave a mark.”
    Alexandra’s voice is firm. And final. “I don’t nag. I’m a kind,
    nurturing, supportive wife, and if you would just do what you’re
    supposed to, I’d never have to say anything at all!”
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    he yelps, “Yes, dear.”
    She releases his arm and stands. “I’m going to help my mother
    in the kitchen.”
    After she leaves, Mackenzie looks down at the chastising doll
    thoughtfully, then up at her father. “Actually, you’re right, Daddy.
    Momma really does sound like Nancy.”
    Steven puts his finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”
    A while later, Drew, Matthew, Delores, and I are in the den for
    Mackenzie’s guitar lesson.
    I’m teaching her to play. I was five when my father taught me.
    he told me music was like a secret code, a magical language that
    would always be there for me. To comfort me when I was sad, to
    help me celebrate when I was happy.
    And he was right.
    It’s a lesson I’ve treasured my entire life. A small piece of him
    that I was able to hold on to after he was gone. And I’m thrilled to be able to pass that knowledge on to Mackenzie.
    She’s playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”right now.
    She’s good, isn’t she? Focused. Determined. I’m not sur-
    prised—she’s Drew’s niece, after all. As she finishes the song, we all clap.
    Then I turn to Delores. “Billy called me last night. he’s got a
    few weeks off. he’s coming to the city next week and wants to meet up for dinner.”
    Sarcasm drips off Drew’s words like chocolate on a strawberry.
    “Jackass is coming to town? Oh, goody. It’ll be like Christmas.”
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    Delores looks at Drew. “hey—Jackass is my nickname for
    him. Get your own.”
    Drew nods. “You’re right. Douche Bag has a much nicer ring
    to it.”
    Are you wondering about the Bad Word Jar? For those of you
    who don’t know, the Bad Word Jar was started by Alexandra to
    financially penalize anyone—usually Drew—who cursed in front
    of her daughter. Originally, each curse cost a dollar, but when Drew and I were working through our issues, I convinced Mackenzie to
    bump the price up to ten. Color me vindictive.
    Anyway, these days, the Jar is no longer used. Mackenzie has
    a checking account now. And since she’s old enough to write, she
    keeps a log of who owes what in that blue notebook there—the one
    she’s scribbling in right now.
    We’re all expected to pay our fines before we leave. Or run the
    risk of a 10 percent late fee.
    I have a feeling Mackenzie’s going to be a brilliant banker
    someday.
    She puts her book down and goes back to strumming her gui-
    tar. Then she turns to Drew.
    “Uncle Drew?”
    “Yes,