Page 28 of Requiem

From the playpen, David stirs slightly. He gives a faint little whimper, turns his head in the other direction and sighs as he settles back into that blissfully deep baby slumber.

“He didn’t say a word about David,” I offer quickly, hoping to reassure her with the fib before she can inquire about it. “Honestly, he’s so self-absorbed that I think he forgets the kid even exists most of the time.”

“Hah!” Julia snorts a little too loudly.

She slaps a hand over her own mouth and we wait to see if David will wake up with his trademark blood-curdling cry, a trait I happen to know he picked up from his father. When it’s clear that the toddler has slept through her outburst, Julia starts again more softly.

“You don’t have to try and protect me, Brett. I know what we’re dealing with. Jeremy Corrigan doesn’t forget anything that might be of value to him at some point. It’s just a matter of time before he decides that he can use David to his advantage.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I state firmly.

Julia gives me a look and a smile that say ‘Seriously? Do you think I’m that stupid?’ Shit. We need to get off of this topic. Luckily, I find a diversionary tactic on the table right in front of us.

I scoop up two fortune cookies and hold them out in my palm for her to choose from.

“You first,” she says.

I get the crinkly wrapper off, decimating the cookie in the process. The paper is fine, though, and I pull it out, peering at the microscopic lettering.

“Your shoes will make you happy today.”

“It does not say that!” she accuses me with a giggle.

I hold the tiny paper out so she can see that I’m telling her the truth. “And you know what?” I say, propping a foot up on the table, “They have! Maggie helped me to pick these out last week.”

“Nice!” Julia nods her appreciation of my spiffy new wingtips.

“Your turn,” I say, handing her the remaining cellophane-encased cookie.

She pulls the wrapping apart, breaks open the cookie and pops a piece of it into her mouth while she examines her fortune. Suddenly, she stops chewing, looks up at me, then down at it again, clearly alarmed by what she’s read.

“What? What is it?” I prod.

Julia’s not laughing anymore. She swallows hard and reads it to me. “Your problem just got bigger. Think what you have done.”