"She wants us to be different. I think she's always had some personal fantasy about being the dominant force in our lives, the one who was going to change us back into normal peo ple-"
"Hah!"
"And then she looks us over. There's Faith with her ideas of living on herbs out in the desert, and there's me with my nomadic life-style and what she would consider a frivolous career."
Charity set down her glass with a snap. "And there's me running a restaurant and being a good, solid citizen. Why couldn't you leave it at that?"
"Because she seemed to need more."
Mason straight ened and turned so that Charity could see the earnest expression on his face.
"Listen, we were there in her apartment in Boston, sitting around the dinner table, and she'd invited all her friends over to meet me. They'd turned up their noses at the ski bum-you know how people do- and every one of them had a daughter or a niece who was married to a heart surgeon. I... I just felt bad for Aunt Doris. It's not her fault we turned out so weird. So-"
"So you invented something for her to be proud of, too."
His grin was handsomely sheepish. "Yeah. I mean, what you're doing may seem normal and mainstream in the new century, but that's not the period Aunt Doris lives in. To her it's still 1959, and in 1959 good girls get married to men who'll protect them."
Charity groaned. "So you told her I was married."
"To a wonderful man."
"And now she's coming to meet him."
"Well..." Mason shrugged. "That's your problem. I'm getting out of town. You'll just have to explain that your husband is away at a business convention or something equally inane."
"No, I won't." Charity enjoyed seeing her brother blink in surprise. It was so seldom that she succeeded in stop ping him in his tracks. "I've found myself a husband. Aunt Doris will not be disappointed."
Mason was skeptical. "What, some friend who's of fered to step in and play the part?"
"No." Charity made him wait a few seconds longer be fore filling him in. "Actually I've hired someone."
"What?"
"From a temporary agency."
"There are agencies where they rent out husbands?"
"Why not?" She enjoyed confounding him and didn't bother to explain it was actually an ordinary temporary agency.
Mason shook his head, a grin splitting his face. "Have you seen him?"
She hesitated. "No, but I'm sure he'll be perfectly pre sentable."
Mason groaned and fell back against the couch. "He'll be a gargoyle," he prophesied mournfully. "He'll have warts on his nose and wear a bowling shirt. Just what kind of man do you think would pursue a career hiring out as a temporary husband?"