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It’s early evening, almost a month after my brother’s takedown. In order to avoid a trial, Bradley took a plea deal. He’d hoped it would reduce his sentence, but he’ll be spending the next three years in prison. I’m not sure he’s remorseful—more that he’s pissed he got caught and has to pay all the money back that he stole.
Tonight Dillion is working late and doesn’t expect to be home for another hour. I’m taking the opportunity to go through some of Grammy Bee’s office files, something I’ve been avoiding, since there are fifty years’ worth of them. There’s an entire cabinet full of manuals for various appliances, many of which are so old that if they break, there’s no way to fix them. I’ve just tossed a manual for an eight-track cassette player into the garbage bag when there’s a knock on my door.
I assume Dillion got off work earlier than expected, so I shout, “Come on in!”
There’s a long pause before the door creaks open—it needs some WD-40 or a new set of hinges—and I turn to find not Dillion but her mom standing in the doorway.
“Oh, hey. Hi, Mrs. Stitch.”
She glances around the space and gives me one of her warm, slightly uncertain smiles. Dillion’s mom is an interesting woman. When she’s at work, she’s bubbly and full of life, talkative and friendly; when she’s not at the diner, she’s soft spoken and a little nervous. Her gaze lands on the TV. “It’s just Marilyn, Van. Have you eaten dinner?”
I glance at the clock. I’m not sure what time I sat down this afternoon to tackle the filing cabinet, but it’s getting close to six. “Not yet. I figured I’d wait until Dillion gets home.”
“She’s going to be at least another hour, and they’re probably feeding them anyway. Why don’t you come on over? You shouldn’t eat dinner alone.”
“Who’s feeding her?”
Marilyn smiles wider, likely at my tone, which is infused with both jealousy and a hint of suspicion. “The Kingstons. The guys just finished the pool house, and the Kingstons invited them to celebrate with dinner and discuss what they’re planning next.”
“Planning next? I thought they were done with this project.”
“Mmm. Well, they keep adding to the list of things they want done, so they want to talk options. I expect they’ll be calling you, depending on what they’re tackling next. Anyway, it’s just me and Billy tonight, and I made shepherd’s pie. We’d love to have you join us, if you’re interested.”
I’ve had Dillion’s mother’s shepherd’s pie before. Just the mention of it makes my mouth water. “Sure, yeah, thank you. That’d be great.”
When Dillion and her dad finally roll in, we’re sitting at the dining room table, dinner long finished, dessert plates set on the counter—I can’t say no to coconut cream pie—and the three of us are deep into a game of Farkle. It’s a dice game that’s ridiculously addictive.
Since Billy’s been home from the hospital, things have improved. He goes to AA meetings, and the doctors recently gave him the go-ahead to work part time. According to Dillion, he’ll be able to manage his mental health, provided he continues to check in with his doctor regularly, attends therapy, and has his medication closely monitored.
It’s been an adjustment, and he’s slowly reconnecting with friends, making better choices, and avoiding situations that will get him in trouble.
Dillion stops short when she sees me sitting across from her brother. Her cheeks are flushed—probably because they had wine with dinner, and that’s the effect even one glass can have on her.
“Oh, hey. Well, I guess this explains why you’re not answering your phone.”
“I got an invite for dinner, and I couldn’t say no. We’re almost finished here. Why don’t you grab a seat and watch your brother wipe the floor with my Farkled ass.”
“Oh! I love this game!”
Billy points a finger at his sister. “You can’t help him.”
She raises both hands in the air. “I’ll be a silent observer.”
She slides into the seat beside mine and checks out the scorepad. We all keep track of our own scores. And each other’s. Apparently, it’s the only way to keep everyone honest. When it’s my turn, Dillion makes little noises, as though she disapproves of my choices.
Billy calls her out, and she gives him her innocent doe eyes. “I didn’t say anything!”
“You’re making noises, though. You can’t do that. It’s not allowed. No noises, or you have to leave.”
“Geez, who peed in your cornflakes?”
“I’m one round away from winning—don’t mess it up for me.”
“Mom’s pretty close to you; she could still turn it around.” She grimaces at my score. “Wow, you suck at this game, don’t you?”
“I’m not a betting man.”
“Clearly.”
Five minutes and three more warnings later, Billy wins the game. I thank her mom for dinner and Billy for the ass whupping in Farkle and head back to my place with Dillion.
