The Dragon’s E-Mail Order Menage

“All hail!” Little Eddie crowed with unbridled delight as he slammed the door open in a gesture that was almost sure to get him a little slap of reprimand on the rear. “I have returned!”

“I can see that, young man. I most definitely can. What kind of crazy idea have you gotten into your head, coming in here like that? Boy, it’s like you’ve got the devil in you!”

“Nah, don’t say that, Mamma. You don’t think that’s true, do ya? Not for real, I mean.”

“And what makes you so sure I don’t, young man? You think you know my mind so well? I’ve been around on this earth longer than you can even conceive of. I’ve seen things you can’t even begin to imagine, and don’t you forget it.”

Maggie hung back behind the door, hoping to god that her mother would get so caught up in chewing her littlest child out that she forgot about the daughter she had sent for. From her (hopefully) secret and stealthy position, Maggie couldn’t help but smile. Rose Wallace, her long suffering, loving, and unbelievably annoying mother. She was a woman you couldn’t help but love, couldn’t help smiling at.

 Anyone who happened to pass her by, to watch her without her being aware of the fact that she was being watched (something that Maggie knew was unlikely; she had levels of awareness that were inconvenient and almost alarming, as far as her children were concerned), would almost surely notice that she was an unusually lovely woman. Despite being in her fifties and most often wearing the look of quiet exasperation that only mothers of multiple children would ever truly understand, she was uncommonly pretty.

No, not pretty. That was too girlish a word for the imposing figure Rose Wallace presented. It sounded silly in Maggie’s mind and she would never have spoken it out loud, but she thought that her mother was what could only be described as a handsome woman. It was most definitely an old fashioned way of describing her, something that sounded more like it belonged in a Jane Austen novel than in the mind of a modern twenty-something girl, but that didn’t change the fact that it felt like the right thing to say. Her hair was a deep rich auburn with only a hint of gray around the temples, hardly enough to notice and certainly not enough to make a person believe she could actually be well into her middle aged years.

No, for the most part, the hair was lustrous and shone in the sun in a way that perfectly mimicked the famous Santa Fe sunsets. Standing in the right light, Maggie thought her mother looked like she was actually a part of the land, that both she and it were set ablaze by the unforgiving desert sun. Her skin was creamy, at least when she remembered to wear a heat and slather on the sunscreen, and her eyes were a deep green very similar to the leaves of the cottonwood Maggie so loved.

True, there were little signs of wear and tear, little lines around the eyes and mouth from years of laughter and scolding both, just as there were with pretty much every woman of a certain age. It was just that with Rose Wallace those signs were so entirely eclipsed by the parts of her that were beautiful that they didn’t really carry any weight, any importance. Yes, she was a striking woman, that was for sure, and Maggie was more than a little bit in awe of her.

It hadn’t ever occurred to her how much alike the two of them looked. Had she ever been tempted by the idea of disassociating herself from her family (something she would never in a million years have done, not really, not even when she wished they would all just turn to stone and leave her the hell alone for only a moment), she would have realized that it was pretty much impossible. Sure, she resembled her siblings, especially her smallest and most precocious brother, but there could be no denying that she looked like her mother.

Minus the lines and the tired expression, Maggie and her mother could have been sisters instead of mother and daughter. Same fiery hair, same deep green eyes and slightly mischievous upturned mouth. It was no wonder that the two of them butted heads so frequently. They were, in many respects, almost the same person. Maggie loved Rose Wallace fiercely and couldn’t help admiring the way she handled her children, each one with their own unique manner and affection.

Little brother Eddie didn’t seem to be enjoying it at the moment, however. Not even a little bit. Not in any way, shape, or form. His head hung low, his chin resting against his little heaving chest, while his lip poked out so far it looked like it could’ve been caught on some kind of an imaginary fishhook. If it was his intention to make it clear that he wanted to be anywhere on the planet but where he currently found himself, he was doing a damned good job.

If things continued this way, Maggie might just make it out of this without having to take on her own lecture (punishment) at all. If that was the case, however, it was definitely going to be due to the unwilling sacrifice of her little brother; too little to be anything but selfish about his freedom and good name.

“No, no Mamma, please don’t talk that way. I didn’t mean it. Not the way you’re saying. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have made so much noise. I just forgot, Mamma, honest I did.”

Now his fat little lip was starting to tremble and their mother put her hands on her ample hips, looking down at her boy with an expression that probably would have been perceived to be tough to an outsider but that Maggie knew contained pure love. She blew some of the hair out of her face distractedly, the water still running in the sink over the mound of dishes that were still waiting to be done. Crap. She was supposed to have done those. Just another thing to add to the list.