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One miserable puppy dog face later, and the two of us are assisted into Uncle Red’s brownstone.
* * *
Fingernails embed into the flesh of my palms as I wait for Charles Everhart to step back into the sitting room with the kettle corn and cans of Coca-Cola. Uncle Red says, “Mr. Burt, we aren’t tea people here, so this is all I have to offer besides water.”
Burt takes the can with a smile.
To keep up pretenses, I expand upon Uncle Red’s joke while cocking my head to Burt. “This one will only complain about dust and the degree to which a serving spoon should be placed.”
“Tosh,” Burt retorts, smoothing down his tie. “I’ll have you both know that I grumble over red herrings in mystery books and jeans. I detest the ghastly material touching my skin.”
Uncle Red feigns jealousy. “Luxxie, have I been replaced?”
“Never,” I snort, “Burt’s just my bodyguard.”
This time, the two of us laugh while the butler has a pointed look at his crutches before he breaks. “I’m glad to see that you’re alright, Luxxie,” Uncle Red says.
As if realizing we’ve forgotten Victor for the slightest moment, Burt and I look away.
Uncle Red clears his throat. “I gather you didn’t come by to watch Jeopardy?”
“Not really, Uncle Red. I’m so sorry—”
“Never apologize to me, girl.”
“But I know Jeopardy is yourthing. The traffic here was incomprehensible. Had I known it would’ve taken so long . . .”
“It’s no matter. We apparently are discussing business this evening. But the next time you come around these parts at this time, I’m enjoying my kettle corn.” He gestures to the discarded popcorn.God, he really would’ve made a great grandpa. I could imagine the three of us in the past, like when I imagined that he was my dad. Momma would be baking cookies from scratch, and I’d distract her while Uncle Red snuck a few popped kernels into the dough just to irritate her.
Yeah, the perfect grandpa.
Our children would be laughing . . .
And . . .
The fuzzy moment disintegrates. It takes a moment for me to recall Uncle Red’s last statement. I glance across the room, and the bags of kettle corn are a welcomed cue.
“Please do,” I finally say. This time I’m complacent while working at the light, airy laughter we once knew. Uncle Red deserves it as the last time we were together, I had a gun.
I realize Uncle Red has considered our last in-person encounter as well because the smile no longer touches his eyes. He replies, “Good. I will say, I expected you to be too busy—studying, having a social life, submitting to illegal hazing activities while at NYU. But you’ve been busier since taking up with certain company.”
“Vic,” I allow my mouth to tip at one side. “Burt’s his . . .”
“Butler. I’m aware. The billionaire and his butler had designs to hack into my technology and find me a while back, not the other way around.” There’s no hint of animosity toward Burt for his association.
Still, the elder in the room says, “My apologies, Dr. Everhart.”
“None taken. But I will also note that I’ve seen a billboard of Urban Garden’s expanding from Brooklyn to Manhattan. So, I’ll acknowledge there’s some good in the company you keep. Still, something’s wrong. Is ithim?” His face clouds the same way it would when I complained about being tormented due to my freckles as a child.
My eyebrow rises. The part of me that will always see Uncle Red as a second father desperately asks, “You hate, Vic?”
He leans forward in his seat. “Well, we weren’t formally introduced. You came over to my laboratory with Victor’s gun. I didn’t trust him. As you may know, I hired him for another reason than to seduce my beautiful Luxxie.”
The thought of death sends me squirming in my seat, and not for the obvious reason. No, I’m not shocked that my pseudo dad put a hit out on myactualdad. I’m not even mad. I’m fixated on Victor.
Where are you, Vic?
My heart feels a tug of disbelief, yet I haven’t succumbed to the total sting of devastation.
