The Writer and the Ghosts - 3

 The Prescotts arrived with bags, baggage and two huge moving vans of possessions. It took a week before everything was settled the way Jeanie wanted. Linc told his mother more than once that if she asked him and his father to move the sofa one more time, or the dining room table, or various other pieces of furniture, he might consider torching the house or something equally drastic.

She laughed it off even though she caught Richard giving his son the thumbs up after one such threat. She knew neither of them really minded. After all they were used to her occasional rearranging sprees. This one was just a bit more intense since it was a new house and she wanted everything perfect.

But when she poked her nose into Linc’s room to offer advice on how he should set things up Linc told her quite firmly, “I really am quite able to make my own decisions in here, mother.”

“I know dear,” she replied with a smile, “but if you moved the desk over there and…”

“Mother,” he said, laughing, “Honestly I do know what I’m doing. Heck, this room is bigger than my last apartment, almost.”

“Which doesn’t say much for the apartment,” she pointed out.

“Or my bank account,” he agreed. “But it’s going to get better and with luck I’ll be out of your hair before year’s end.”

“You know we don’t…”

“I know, but for my own self-esteem I have to get back on my feet again.”

“I could gladly kill that…that…creature,” Jeanie told him exasperatedly as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

“That’s a bit drastic. After all it was as much my fault, I believed the lies.”

“Next time…”

“There’s not going to be a next time. I’ve decided to move to Tibet and become a monk.” Linc waited a beat for her look of shock then grinned. “Not really. But I’m for sure not going to be looking for a long time to come.”

“I hope not too long you need…” Jeanie’s eyes landed on the standing lamp and abruptly changed tracks. “That really needs to be over there for it to be useful,” she told him, pointing.

With a nod he put it where she indicated. “Better?”

“Better. Now if you’d just…”

“Mother,” he growled.

“All right, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” She got up, patted his shoulder and whispered, “Put the bedside table on the other side,” then beat a hasty retreat, his laughter following her out the door.