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“Your face is saying it.”
“Relax, Remi.” Jude rolls his eyes. “I believe you about your spooky magic piano.”
I set the broom aside a little too roughly, so it slips off the end of the counter and clatters to the floor.
“Someone’s breaking into our house, Jude! This is serious! They could really hurt us, and the sheriff’s not doing shit!”
Jude picks up the broom and hangs it up properly by the back door.
“It’s probably kids, the same ones who broke in here before. Or an animal, or fuck, who knows? I don’t think we need to jump to murderous psychopath.”
“Cool, cool…” I nod my head, arms crossed over my chest. “Let’s hope you’re right since the alternative isus being carved up in our beds!”
Jude shakes his head at me, unsmiling.
“Remi, I’m saying this with love…you are wound way too fucking tight. We’re out here in nature…you should go for a walk or something.”
“You’re tellingmeto get some exercise? Jesus, I must be a mess.”
“I’m worried about you,” Jude says seriously. “It’s not just the Gideon stuff—you’re exhausted all the time, not sleeping, forgetting things, picking fights, and, no offense, you look like absolute dogshit—“
“Why would I take offense to any of that?”
“I’m starting to worry if I ever do go to college, you’re going to implode.”
“There is noif—you’re going. And I’ll be just fine.”
“If you say so.” Jude’s eyebrows are so high they’ve disappeared under his hair.
“I’m fine! I’m fantastic, actually—the sheriff was asking my skincare routine.”
Jude’s mouth quirks. “He should have asked for mine—I don’t look a day over fourteen.”
“Don’t sell yourself short—you could pass for sixteen and a half.”
* * *
Jude joinsme atEmma’sfor breakfast, his moped tossed in the back of the Bronco so he can make his own way home while I reload our supplies.
It only takes him about five minutes to devour his poached egg on toast and finish his coffee.
“What’s your hurry?” I say when he scoots out of the booth before I’m halfway done with my omelet.
“I’ve got shit to do.”
“In the shed?” I say pointedly.
“Yup,” Jude replies.
“How’s that going?”
“About halfway done.” He blinks, which is not a good sign. That’s always been Jude’s tell.
I press a little harder: “You find anything worth selling?”
“A few things.”
“Okay. Well—“
