Page 83 of No Funny Business

“Speaking of,” Artie says. “Where’s your next show? Are you performing at the LOL Lounge in Odessa?”

“El Paso,” I say.

“That’s a long drive,” he says, though not compared to what we’ve driven so far. “I insist you stay here. Rest up for tomorrow.”

I swallow a bite of rice. “I’ll stay but I’m sure Nick will be more comfortable in a hotel.”

“Why? Is something wrong with our couch?” Artie asks.

“Tío—” I start.

Nick places his hand on mine beneath the table. I know it’s meant to be an innocent sign to stand down but it feels so forbidden in all the right ways. “Thank you, Artie. I’d be happy to stay the night.”

—

Thirty minutes later, the sun’s gone down and I’m helping Nick dress the sofa with a sheet. “You really don’t have to stay over.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not saying no to that guy. He’s scarier than the mob,” Nick mutters quietly even though Artie’s way out of earshot.

“Eh, he’s all bark.”

Nick plops down on the couch and yanks off his shoes. “So what’s the plan?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, I let you drive my Jeep and now I have to sleep with one eye open in case your uncle tries to murder me in the middle of the night. You said you needed to get some answers. So are you gonna talk to him?”

Now that I’m here at Artie’s house, the moment has finally presented itself and even Nick can see I’m stalling. “It’s getting late,” I say.

Nick gives me that you’re being ridiculous look. “Don’t be a wimp. He’s still up.”

“All right, I’m going.”

“Good,” he says, leaning on the pillow. “Leave your door cracked so you can hear me scream for help.”

“Good night, Nick.” I turn out the light.

“Night.”

I wander back to the spare room and find the photo in question. Sneaking out the back door, I step through the dark dirt yard to the detached garage. Artie’s fiddling with something while ESPN plays in the background.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I ask.

“Nah, I hardly sleep.” He pulls up a stool. “Come sit down and visit with me, Livy.” I take a seat and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. He snickers. “You’re so much like Vince.” Yeah, and I’m about to find out just how much. “You push up your glasses just like he did.”

Now there’s a shared habit I never realized. Funny how we subconsciously mirror little things our parents do. “Hey,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “I need to ask you about something.”

“Anything, mija. What is it?” he asks, and I hand over the old photograph. Artie squints in the light, then his expression unravels. “Oh, wow, I remember this.”

“You do?” My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. I knew he would have some answers for me. This simple affirmation is worth all the trouble (not sure Nick would agree).

“Yeah.” He laughs. “That was at The Hoot.”

“So you knew my dad did stand-up?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Artie can’t take his eyes off the photo, in the same way I couldn’t when I first discovered it. “He was a funny guy.”

“Because I had no idea. Not until I found this.”