“All of them?”
“Yes. In order.” He gently squeezes my shoulder. “Please.”
“Well, first is ‘Second Hand News.’ Then ‘Dreams,’ ‘Never Going Back Again,’ ‘Don’t Stop,’ then … ” My head scrambles. I try to replay the end of “Don’t Stop” in my head. “‘Go Your Own Way’ and ‘Songbird.’ That’s the first side. On vinyl. Or cassette. CDs lose the punch of sides which is a travesty if you ask me.”
Kent’s palm glides over my head as his lips wind into a smile. “I thought you might know.”
“But what about the second side?” I ask, biting my bottom lip.
“Maybe another time.”
“But why did you want to know?”
His eyes double in size, and he nods toward the sink. I’ve stopped.
“How did you … ?”
“Let’s eat.” With a wink, he passes me a hand towel, and opens the door. Calm. Cool. Collected. When he needs to be, Kent is like a Jedi Master of emotions. Maybe he can teach me a few tricks. I swallow past the lump in my throat and follow Kent Lester to the table.
CHAPTER 12
Kent
“You may find this hard to believe, but Dad was actually clumsier when I was little,” Gillian says, and my stomach tingles. Bringing Vincent here means she will spill every embarrassing story.
“Really?” Vincent asks as Louis dishes out brisket, piles of it, to each of us.
“Four slices for Vincent,” I instruct. Louis nods, counting out pieces with the silver serving fork and I shoot Vincent a quick wink.
The table brims with mashed potatoes, coleslaw, salad, fresh corn, and wine. Bottles and corks litter empty spaces, and the dining room fills with the clinking of forks and knives. With a napkin plastered on his lap, a sly smile sneaks across Vincent’s face. “Please tell me more.”
Gillian’s eyes light up with a magical sparkle, signaling her imminent delight in mortifying me. “Dad didn’t get his glasses until … How old were you?”
“You were five.” I adjust my glasses. “So, thirty.”
“Wait, why didn’t you get glasses until then?” Vincent asks.
“I honestly didn’t think my vision was that bad,” I say. “But it steadily got worse as I got older.”
“And he fought the progressives,” Gillian says.
“Listen, needing glasses for distance and reading is admitting I’m—”
“Distinguished,” Vincent interrupts me. Our eyes meet, his eyelashes flutter and my breath catches.
“He almost killed me,” Gillian says. “A few times.”
Vincent prods the food on his plate—segregating items. It’s the first food he’s had since, well, I’m not sure when, and I’m relieved to know his body’s getting nourishment.
“Okay, that’s a tad dramatic,” I say.
“Is it?” Gillian asks.
“This guy?” Vincent nods toward me. “He seems pretty harmless to me.”
“Harmless?” Gillian laughs so hard, she almost chokes.
“Sweetie.” Louis pats her back. “Slow down.”
