Page 67 of Jonesing for a Spy

Thrown utensils have been limited to the sole flying fork from breakfast which also means the pups have had so few extra tidbits, they don’t even know it’s a holiday.

Setting the table, I look up to a scene I’ve witnessed more times than I can count in my life. Van Morrison is piped in through surround sound, and Dad holds Mom—all meal prep forgotten—dancing in the kitchen like nothing matters more than the two of them in this one moment. He dips her, never noticing the stares of those around him, and pulls her back into his arms, dropping his face into her neck to place a kiss there.

Ice Queen Mom was left somewhere in the dip. Sweet Mom—if sweet could ever be used to describe her—is firmly in her husband’s arms.

Which is why Jamie’s timing couldn’t be worse. “I’m thinking of moving.” And with a record-screech that could be heard on Mars, the whole room grinds to a halt.

As flies would converge on honey, or shit, all eyes turn his way, and everyone starts at once. Well, all except Johnny, because Johnny.

“Hambone?” Charlie asks. “What’s going on?”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nothing. Just this town. The sameness of it.”

I fight to catch his gaze, but he studiously avoids me.

“It’s just time. And I wanted you all to know at the same time. No sense in doing this over and over again.”

“But your business is here?” Mikey puts in.

Jamie shrugs and bobs his head. “Yeah, I can sell it or rent it out. Or duplicate it on the west coast. I know how to do it.”

“The west coast?” Mom practically shrieks, but her icy voice barely breaks a whisper. She’s angry, and her Van Morrison happy mojo has vanished. Damn Jamie for that alone.

Jamie scrubs a hand down his face and nods. “Anacortes, Washington to be specific. I found a little place. You know I don’t need much.” He finds Johnny and speaks directly to him. “You’d love it there. On the Pacific, only islands to the west. The sun sets late in the summer. Great seafood. It’s quiet.” To Mom he adds, “It’s time. I wasn’t made for South Alabama, you know that.”

“You were made in South Alabama, that’s for sure.”

The groans from the room at large do nothing to deter her. “And you… I—” She leaves the room, her sweater flying out behind her as she tears down the hall.

“Ham?” Dad calls. “You sure?”

Jamie finally meets my eyes, and I see the humor he knew he couldn’t hide from me. “Think this one is as good as Wiggle”—he points to Johnny—“and the head on the pier? There was no excrement of any kind, but we’re inside, so…”

“Dick move.” My words are joy and relief. “Total dick move, but yeah, maybe. At least a solid second place. You’re not…”

“You should know better.” He looks affronted. “That’s why I couldn’t look at you.”

Johnny pipes in, “It sounds serene. You’re right. Maybe I should give it a go.”

Every voice in the place says in unison, “No.”

I slide an arm around his waist. “Wiggle, stay. For me?” I bat my lashes like a cartoon character.

His arm wraps me. “We’ll see.”

“You know, I’d sock you in the gut for that. You deserve it, but I’d hate to hurt you.”

He lifts his sweater and reveals the eight-pack beneath it. His cheshire grin says it all. “I think I can take it, Scooter. I bet you didn’t know I was packing under here, did you?”

“I’ve never looked.” My face might as well be smelling a fart. “But nice work.”

He laughs, but before he can brace, I punch him square in the stomach.

Dad winces right along with Johnny, but Jamie and Mikey laugh and point like kids would. Jamie laughing is worth the soreness in my hand.

Charlie raises his eyebrows at me flexing and stretching my fingers. I merely shrug.

“It was worth it,” I offer him as we all make our way to the island later to serve up our plates.