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Then Leon and Jerry walk into the kitchen. “All done,” Leon says. “But the rug can’t be saved. Pearl, my girl.” He comes and gently hugs me from behind, and I peek at Brad. He rolls his eyes.
Jesus. Literally everyone.
“My darling,” Zinnea sings, shoving Leon aside and cupping my face, smiling. “We should meditate.”
“Zinnea,” Quinton sighs. “Let the girl breathe.”
“Are we done?” Brad asks the room, his face stern. And that’s that. Everyone gets back to themselves, eating, drinking, and talking. Not much laughing. No Nolan. No Anya. This is a lockdown. Because of me.
Brad seems vacant now, lost in thought, and I’m not sure I like where those thoughts are. “Hey,” I say gently, disturbing him. He blinks and gives me his attention. “Where were you?”
“Just . . . piecing a few things together.”
“Like . . .?”
“Like nothing for you to worry yourself with.” He dips and kisses my forehead, looking to Danny and James. This is the part when they disappear to plot.
“I’ll be back,” he says, leaving me at the table. Rose checks on Maggie in her crib—obviously not willing to let her out of her sight—and then lowers to a chair beside me, and Beau squeezes my hand again. How many times have they done this? Watched their men leave to make their battle plans? Watched their men leave and wonder if they’ll see them again.
“Am I invited?” a man asks. I recognize him. He’s been at the boatyard.
Brad laughs, not answering, and leaves.
“I guess I was never here, then,” he calls.
“You guess right,” Brad says over his shoulder. “Take care, Higham.”
“Who is that?” I ask, considering the suited guy as he watches all the men and Goldie file out. Even the Vikings, Mason, Leon, and Jerry go.
“That’s Agent Higham,” Beau says, so casually.
“What?” I squeak. “Police?”
“FBI.” Rose stands. “I’ll see you out, Harold.” She links arms with him and walks him out of the kitchen. “Always lovely to see you.”
I shake my head in wonder and lift my tea, sipping, checking Ella across the table. I don’t know her very well, but I hate how worried she seems. “Excuse me,” Beau says, standing and leaving, following the cop and Rose.
I stare at a packet of cigarettes on the table, wanting one so badly. To breathe normally, even if it’s polluted air. Long breaths. Not short, sharp, panicked ones.
Doc enters the room, his bushy eyebrows raising when he sees me. “You okay there, Pearl?”
“Brad carried me down,” I say, making sure he knows that.
“Of course he did. Here, try these. Much stronger.” He hands me two pills, and I waste no time knocking them back with some water. “Two every four hours,” he says, putting a pot on the table. “It should keep on top of the pain.”
“Thank you, Doc.”
“Stew, Doc?” Esther asks.
“Yes, please.” He rubs his tummy and settles next to Ella, checking her over as he does.
“Here.” Esther sets a bowl down, and Doc gasps, grabbing her hand.
“Well, would you look at that whopper.”
She blushes terribly and becomes flustered. “It still feels a little odd.”
“Congratulations, dear.”
