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"What's happening tomorrow?" I asked instead. "You don't usually ask me to pick you up."
She blushed faintly. "We're doing a skit. I'll be in costume, and I don't want to come home looking like a clown in paint. I get it if you're busy."
I saw what she left out in those piercing blue eyes.You're always busy, anyway.
"What's this skit?"
She tilted her shoulders upward for a moment as if in doubt. As if there were a war going on in the recesses of her mind.
Finally, she let out a long, world-weary breath. "It's stupid. We're doing something offMidsummer Night's Dream. A bunch of nerds got tired of all the COVID crap, and the drama teacher finally gave in and said we could do this, but in masks. Ridiculous."
The course of true love never did run smooth. Very apt. Shakespeare knew what he was doing.
For a second, I found myself jawing like a bullfrog croaking by a pond. I mustered enough courage to ask what I wanted to. "Are ... is it something where parents will be there?"
She made another noncommittal tilt. "Kinda."
"Is it okay if I attend?"
Her eyebrows rose and fell.You want to attend my skit? Like, you actually have time for me?
It sucked. It sucked that my own flesh and blood looked at me like I was the last person in the world she'd trust with anything.
If only I could hold her hand and tell her I was done being the guy who never showed up. But then again, experience told me mistakes had a pattern of repeating themselves.
I wasn't about to go making promises I didn't trust myself to keep.
"Sure," she said, her face guarded. "You can come, but it's no big deal."
I knew it was a big deal for her. And I made up my mind to be there.
"Thanks for letting me come."
She turned around. "Just make sure you pick me up at four."
I sat in the living room for hours after Leia left. I thought about her when she was a riotous little babe with a head of fiery golden hair and sparkling blue eyes.
She used to laugh a lot. I hadn't seen her laugh that way in a very long while.
Something struck me about the way Hunter kept speaking to us, like he was a game-master who was inventing new clues and tossing them our way to keep thingsinteresting.
As if on instinct, I picked up my phone and dialed the number of one of my friends, the one I'd emulated when I told Juniper I was an investigative journalist.
Ramsay really was one.
"Hey, Skipper." He answered after two rings. I smiled at the sound of his voice—it brought back fond memories.
"Up for a side-job?"
"Always."
I gave him the brief on what I wanted, and we spoke for a while longer. He was doing well at his job. He'd managed to face a lot of his demons. I was proud of him for doing that.
When he finally hung up, I picked up a book.
I didn't know when sleep overtook me. And with sleep came an old nightmare.
I was back with Cole. He was alive. We were ... what we always had been. Brothers-in-arms.
