Page 8 of Oddly Fine

“Doesn’t matter? My son behind bars and I’m just now hearing about it?” she asked, fairly bristling with anger. “What did you do?”

“Which time?” he replied automatically, like a complete dumbass. She whacked him in the middle of the chest with her purse.

“Good evening, Mrs. Thérault. It’s lovely to see you again,” Hayes pushed past Beckett to extend his hand towards her.

He looked much more comfortable in approaching her today than when they’d first met. Beckett was pleased to see how well they got on.

“Oh—hello, Hayes, dear!” She bypassed the handshake and gave him a big hug and kissed his cheeks. Stepping back and holding him at arm’s length, she looked him up and down.

“What handsome young men you both are!” she said with a pleased smile. “You even managed to find a nice suit for Beckett to wear!”

“Hey—how do you know I didn’t pick this out for myself?” he whined plaintively. Sure, while he’d never actually purchased a decent suit for himself, that didn’t mean he was incapable of it.

“For the same reason she’s been choosing clothes for me for the last 35 years,” John Thérault said with a laugh as he walked up to stand beside his wife.

“Laziness?” Beckett asked, mockingly.

“Terrible taste,” his father replied gruffly. “It’s good to see you boys!”

Cynthia had gotten her husband to wear a well-cut navy blue suit with a light blue dress shirt that complimented his salt-and-pepper beard and hair. However, she had not forced him to wear a tie, which Beckett noted with no small amount of resentment.

“Been too long,” John commented with a smile.

“Hey, Pops!” Beckett greeted him fondly, then sheepishly admitted, “Yeah, we’ve been a little—uh—busy.” How the fuck could he even begin to explain the fantastical shit show their summer had been?

“I’m sure. Busy getting thrown in jail, apparently!” Cynthia gave John a speaking

look, as if fully expecting him to show Beckett the error of his ways.

John’s eyebrows shot up and he chuckled.

“Did you now? What happened, son? You know, once, in college, I spent the night in jail because—”

Cynthia smacked John in the middle of the chest. Beckett felt a bit better knowing he wasn’t the only one to get whacked in the chest.

“Don’t you dare bring that up here,” she warned, waving a menacing finger in front of his face. With a rueful smile, John nodded and fell silent.

“Have you seen Jackson? Your brother was a mess all week! I hope everything’s going alright.” Cynthia frowned worriedly as she turned to search the room for him.

“We did—he looked fine,” Beckett responded with a reassuring nod.

“Everything was going alright, as far as he knew. Even said they’d been ready ahead of schedule. They really did a fantastic job,” Hayes remarked.

Beckett shot him a look of surprise. Had Jackson really said all that and he hadn’t heard?

“They did!” Cynthia agreed, delighted to have the opportunity to gush about one of her children’s outstanding accomplishments.

“Hard to believe this is from the same guy who got an F in art class because he couldn't even make a simple clay pot,” Beckett answered, nodding in agreement.

“Kid always sucked at art, but business though, that he gets,” John said proudly.

"Were you any better?" Hayes asked, looking at Beckett with a smirk that said he doubted it.

Cynthia chuckled and shook her head.

“No, because all he was good at in school was blowing things up and getting in trouble!” she replied on Beckett’s behalf and then hugged him close.

“I’d argue but—” he broke off and shrugged.