turkey sandwiches.” She turned to find him studying her, with something like uncertainty or surrender on his face, the anger gone.
“A sandwich would be nice,” he said tightly.
“Mustard or mayo?”
“Just dry.”
“Easy enough.” She got them started, and filled a mug withwater when the kettle squealed. She set sandwiches on the table, then Duncan’s tea. “Milk and one sugar.”
“Thank you.”
She laughed to herself. “This is so weird.”
He blew on his steaming cup. “My breakdown?”
“No. My acting like a hostess.”
He cracked a little smile at that. “Not the happy-homemaker type, I take it.”
“Whatever gave me away?”
He glanced around the kitchen. “Looks homey enough to me.”
Raina shrugged. “Hasn’t really changed since I was a kid.”
They ate in silence for a minute, and she watched Duncan’s eyebrows rise as he studied the writing on the mug.
A Giant Cup of Suck My Dick.
“My dad’s,” she said. “I forget sometimes what it even says.”
“He must have been quite . . . colorful.”
“When he got diagnosed . . . his doctor said something like ‘Mr. Harper, you have stage-four lung cancer.’ We were sitting in the guy’s office, and my dad just shot out of his chair and told the doctor, ‘Well, you can suck my dick.’”
Duncan’s shoulders hitched with a silent laugh, expression officially softening. “He chose to take the denial and anger steps two at a time, it sounds like.”
“It became kind of a thing. Us and my dad’s buddies telling cancer to suck our dicks, when we got too sad or angry or frustrated about it. I forget who got him that mug, but it was his favorite.”
“I’ll be careful with it, then. And what about your mother?”
Raina shrugged. “I never met my mom. I mean, I did, obviously. Briefly. But she dumped me on my dad’s doorstep when I was a couple days old.”
“And he was actually your father?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, he remembered my mom. They met when she was about twenty and he was in his late forties.”
Duncan’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t think much logic went into it. She was this mysterious Mexican girl who blew through town, made a middle-aged bachelor feel ten feet tall. Blew back out the next week. Fast-forward nine months—instant fatherhood.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since?”
“No. I used to wonder if she’d ever come looking for me, but after thirty-two years, I’ve quit holding my breath.”
“Have you considered trying to find her yourself?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m hard-wired to harbor grudges, not longing.”
Duncan held her stare. “I believe that.”
They ate their sandwiches, and Raina put the plates in the sink and puttered around while Duncan drank his tea. “You seem way calmer, now,” she said.
“I suppose I am. Now I merely feel drunk.”
“Well, as I said—I like you drunk, Duncan.”
“I operate best under chemical influence,” he said faintly. He looked up and held her gaze. “I didn’t mean what I said, about regretting having helped you all.”
She smirked as she sat. “You did. But I don’t really blame you. You’ve got no loyalty to us.” And now he was in hot water over it all. And if Duncan was telling the truth—if he hadn’t taken bribes, and the accusation and witness were false . . . “Why were you so sure that Levins turned himself in?”
“I’m not
certain
he surrendered—it’s merely a hunch. He’s behind the fabrication of this alleged witness, of that I have no doubt, and he wouldn’t have bothered to arrange that if he hadn’t known he’d soon be in custody. I think he set it all up so he’d have something to trade the feds, in the hopes of a lighter sentence. With the bonus of ruining my life, as I helped ruin his.”
She nodded, head filling up with worries. Filling up with thoughts of Alex. Like her friend, Duncan was tangled up in the plot that had claimed three lives
“A sandwich would be nice,” he said tightly.
“Mustard or mayo?”
“Just dry.”
“Easy enough.” She got them started, and filled a mug withwater when the kettle squealed. She set sandwiches on the table, then Duncan’s tea. “Milk and one sugar.”
“Thank you.”
She laughed to herself. “This is so weird.”
He blew on his steaming cup. “My breakdown?”
“No. My acting like a hostess.”
He cracked a little smile at that. “Not the happy-homemaker type, I take it.”
“Whatever gave me away?”
He glanced around the kitchen. “Looks homey enough to me.”
Raina shrugged. “Hasn’t really changed since I was a kid.”
They ate in silence for a minute, and she watched Duncan’s eyebrows rise as he studied the writing on the mug.
A Giant Cup of Suck My Dick.
“My dad’s,” she said. “I forget sometimes what it even says.”
“He must have been quite . . . colorful.”
“When he got diagnosed . . . his doctor said something like ‘Mr. Harper, you have stage-four lung cancer.’ We were sitting in the guy’s office, and my dad just shot out of his chair and told the doctor, ‘Well, you can suck my dick.’”
Duncan’s shoulders hitched with a silent laugh, expression officially softening. “He chose to take the denial and anger steps two at a time, it sounds like.”
“It became kind of a thing. Us and my dad’s buddies telling cancer to suck our dicks, when we got too sad or angry or frustrated about it. I forget who got him that mug, but it was his favorite.”
“I’ll be careful with it, then. And what about your mother?”
Raina shrugged. “I never met my mom. I mean, I did, obviously. Briefly. But she dumped me on my dad’s doorstep when I was a couple days old.”
“And he was actually your father?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, he remembered my mom. They met when she was about twenty and he was in his late forties.”
Duncan’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t think much logic went into it. She was this mysterious Mexican girl who blew through town, made a middle-aged bachelor feel ten feet tall. Blew back out the next week. Fast-forward nine months—instant fatherhood.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since?”
“No. I used to wonder if she’d ever come looking for me, but after thirty-two years, I’ve quit holding my breath.”
“Have you considered trying to find her yourself?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m hard-wired to harbor grudges, not longing.”
Duncan held her stare. “I believe that.”
They ate their sandwiches, and Raina put the plates in the sink and puttered around while Duncan drank his tea. “You seem way calmer, now,” she said.
“I suppose I am. Now I merely feel drunk.”
“Well, as I said—I like you drunk, Duncan.”
“I operate best under chemical influence,” he said faintly. He looked up and held her gaze. “I didn’t mean what I said, about regretting having helped you all.”
She smirked as she sat. “You did. But I don’t really blame you. You’ve got no loyalty to us.” And now he was in hot water over it all. And if Duncan was telling the truth—if he hadn’t taken bribes, and the accusation and witness were false . . . “Why were you so sure that Levins turned himself in?”
“I’m not
certain
he surrendered—it’s merely a hunch. He’s behind the fabrication of this alleged witness, of that I have no doubt, and he wouldn’t have bothered to arrange that if he hadn’t known he’d soon be in custody. I think he set it all up so he’d have something to trade the feds, in the hopes of a lighter sentence. With the bonus of ruining my life, as I helped ruin his.”
She nodded, head filling up with worries. Filling up with thoughts of Alex. Like her friend, Duncan was tangled up in the plot that had claimed three lives
Similar Books
