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The glass doors that lined the wall of his parents’ kitchen were open, and Presley strolled inside. Delilah was sitting at the counter, furiously coloring away in a book, while his mom was chatting to her, helping his dad make the Sunday pot roast they always preferred.
“Hey.” He kissed his daughter’s head. She looked up at him grinning. “How was church?” he asked her.
“We learned about another Delilah,” she said, her blue crayon between her fingers. “She was very naughty.”
He lifted a brow at his mom. She shrugged.
“Good thing you’re a good girl then.” He looked over at his twin. Marley was peeling potatoes, his thick club of a hand cradling the vegetable in one hand, the other niftily slicing away the skin.
“You not at the station today?” Pres asked him.
“Nope. Got today off. Decided to grace you all with my presence.” He flashed a perfect set of white teeth.
“We’re honored,” their mom drawled. “Now get on with the peeling. I need those potatoes.”
“On it, ma’am.” Marley touched his fingers to his head in a salute, narrowly avoiding grazing his head with the peeler.
Their mom rolled her eyes and went back to basting the meat.
“Daddy, why don’t you come to church with us?” Delilah asked. “The other daddies are there.”
He felt his chest tighten. “I have to work, honey.”
Not that he was looking, but he felt the warmth of his parents’ stares on his face. They knew why he couldn’t go. Why he didn’t believe in goodness right now.
But he didn’t want his kid to know that.
“Another time,” he promised. Code word for never.
Delilah nodded as though she understood. “Miss Cassie was there.”
And yeah, that band around his chest tightened even more. “That’s nice.”
“She’s so nice, isn’t she?”
“Who’s nice?” Marley asked.
“Delilah’s new dance teacher,” his mom said. “I stopped by to say hi after service. And yes, she’s very nice.”
“She and Daddy argued last week,” Delilah added, and Pres rolled his eyes. Great. As if he needed reminding of that.
Hendrix spluttered out a laugh. Pres shot his younger brother a death stare.
“You arguing with nice women, bro?” Hendrix asked. “This is why you’re perennially single. You’re meant to be nice to them.”
“Presley doesn’t remember how to be nice.” Now Marley was joining in. Though the tone of his voice told Pres he was teasing. “That’s why everybody at work calls him the Rottweiler.”
“They don’t call me the Rottweiler.” Pres frowned. “Do they?”
Marley shrugged, looking amused.
“Stop changing the subject,” Hendrix said. “I want to hear about Delilah’s new dance teacher. What’s her name? Is she pretty? Why did nobody introduce me to her?”
“Because you’re a neanderthal,” Marley said, grabbing Hendrix in a head lock. “We’re trying to save the female population of Hartson’s Creek from their worst fate.”
“Shut the hell up.” Hendrix struggled in his brother’s grasp. “I’m a catch.”
“The kind you should put in a cage,” their mom said, rolling her eyes at their mock-fighting. “Now stop fighting. Before I send you both home with no dinner.”
