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“I went to prison.”
“Yeah, because that piece of shit Slim used your knife to rob a convenience store. You weren’t even there!”
“I still have a criminal record, don’t I?”
“Because the prosecutor knew you were a dumb, broke eighteen-year-old, and he pressured you to plead guilty!” Nora cries, throwing her arms out to the side. “Are you seriously blaming yourself for your time in prison?”
“You’ve seen the tattoo on my back,” I hiss. “You know I wasn’t an angel. I deserved to be in prison. It’s who I am.”
“You’re unbelievable.” My sister crosses her arms, jaw clenched. “You were in a gang for what, four milliseconds?” She scoffs. “Please. It wasn’t even a real gang! It was just a bunch of dumb kids smoking too much weed. The only gang you’re in is the Heart’s Cove Hotties—and that gang includes mostly elderly ladies who think it’s funny to urinate in each other’s gardens.”
“I see you’ve delved into the Dorothy-Agnes feud,” I note with a pop of the brow.
At that moment, the waitress comes to our table with our drinks. “A Diet Coke for the pretty lady,” she sing-songs. “And a water for the handsome gentleman.” Winking at me, the waitress doesn’t seem to notice the tension emanating from the two of us.
When she walks away, that fake customer-service smile still plastered on her face, my sister leans forward. “Fallon, you are not in the same league as Slim fucking Miller.”
Setting my jaw, I stare my sister down. “In the eyes of the law, I am. We were convicted of the same crime.”
“Yeah, and he served fifteen years while you served three. You think the judge didn’t know you had nothing to do with the robbery? He gave you the minimum possible sentence! And Slim’s been in and out of prison every few years since then.” She snorts, shaking her head. “Come on, Fallon. You can’t be serious.”
“You’re my sister, so of course you see me differently than the rest of the world.” I stare out the window, not wanting to see the incredulous look on my sister’s face. I can feel the frustration emanating from her on the other side of the booth.
“What about Jen?” Nora asks quietly.
Tension seizes my muscles. “What about her?”
“She didn’t seem to mind when she was launching herself into your arms at every opportunity.”
“That was before she knew about my criminal record.”
Nora's quiet for a few moments. “You told her?”
“Her parents did. I confirmed what they found.” Shifting my gaze back to Nora, I give her a shrug. “She made it pretty fucking clear that she didn’t approve.”
“But you told her you weren’t even at the convenience store when Slim robbed it, right? You told her you pled guilty to something you didn’t do?”
“It was my knife.”
“Which Slim stole from you! The only reason the prosecutor was able to put pressure on you was because it was Dad’s knife and everyone knew you always carried it on you.” Nora blows out a breath, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. She lowers her gaze back to me. “You know, for a smart guy, you’re pretty fucking dumb sometimes.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
The sunny waitress floats back to the table with our food, which Nora and I eat in tense silence.
My sister is wrong. I have a criminal record. I did time in prison. Hell, I’m still connected to the prison system! Why else would I be teaching cooking classes to ex-cons? That’s not exactly in the same league as publishing a recipe book and winning every competition I ever enter.
Jen deserves better, and I deserve everything I got.
We make it to Reno by dinnertime. I slow the Jeep down as we enter the city limits, and Nora directs me to her apartment even though I know every inch of this city. When we pull up outside, I let out a breath and follow her up the steps to her second-floor apartment.
Nora flicks on the lights. “Well, I’d better get started. I don’t have much, but it’ll still take me a while to pack up. You can either help or go hunt for our dinner.” She glances at me with her brow arched. “Since you’re still in a terrible mood, I vote you leave me alone and go get us some takeout.”
“Ever the diplomat.”
Nora grins, then waves me out the front door.
Instead of going to get takeout, I sit behind the wheel of my car and grit my teeth.
