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Tallus

(Then)

“ M ore… More… More! Good grief, Mom. I’m a growing boy. Heap it in. Don’t be shy.” I removed the ladle from her grasp and added an overfull scoop of leftover beef stew to the Tupperware container.

“You’re a glutton.”

“No, I’m poor. There’s a difference. This will feed me for days.”

“You could cool it with the endless shopping sprees, and you’d have more money for groceries.”

“I could, but why do that when my beautiful, loving mother provides me with delicious, nourishing food every week?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly handsome and lovable.”

“Not what I was going for.” She hip-checked me as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. Her smile negated any admonishments. She loved feeding me, even if she gave me a hard time.

I hip-checked her back. “Can I have the rest of the biscuits too?”

“Good grief. You don’t need them all. What if Heath wants some for his lunch tomorrow? Contrary to what you think, I don’t cook solely for you anymore.”

“Lies.”

A deep voice from the living room called, “Heath’s fine and can make himself a bologna sandwich. Let the boy take what he wants.”

“Ha!” I playfully stuck out my tongue, and my mother made a grab for it, missing when I ducked out of the way.

“One of these days, child, I’m going to cut that sassy thing right out of your mouth.”

I tossed a hammed-up grin over my shoulder as I snapped the lid closed on the container. “Admit it. You love me.”

“It’s a wonder.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “So…”

“Uh-oh.”

“When do I get to meet this new man of yours?”

“I knew that was coming.” Retrieving a ziplock bag from a drawer, I considered. “How about we give Diem a month or six to settle into the idea of being in a relationship before we introduce him to the ’rents and scare him off for good?”

“Since when do I frighten away your dates? Better question, since when do you date? According to Memphis, you’re a self-proclaimed manwhore.”

“Mom! Oh my god. Never say manwhore. Ever. And why are you talking to Memphis?”

She laughed. “Was he wrong?”

“That is not up for discussion.” My best friend was going to die when I saw him next. I piled biscuits into the bag. “The point is, Diem is… different. It took a helluva lot of stamina to convince him to ask me out. You have no idea, Mom. It was a battle of epic proportions. I almost lost, and I never lose.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re charming.”

“Oh, Diem knows. I layered on the charm extra thick, but it still took Herculean effort. Here’s the thing, Diem’s a combination of a stubborn mule, a nervous bunny, and a rabid bear.”

Mom’s face contorted in confusion.

“Just trust me when I say it took all my mana to convince the man to come out and play. If you scare him off at this point, nothing short of a threat from Thor’s magical hammer will convince him to come back to my side of the line. Even then, I wouldn’t bet on winning him over twice. The odds are not in my favor.”

“Sweetie, I love you, but I don’t know what mana is, and is Thor the big, green, muscly superhero from the comics?”

I groaned. “No. That’s the Hulk.”

“Which one’s Thor? Is he the one in that new movie with the yellow leotard? He’s very handsome.”

“That’s Wolverine, and I concur. Hugh Jackman, despite his advanced age, is a dreamboat.”

“Watch your mouth. He’s not old. He’s refined.”

“Sex on a stick.” I licked my lips salaciously.

“The other man in the movie, the one in the red, he’s gay, right?”

“I believe Deadpool is considered pansexual, but can we back up? The conversation has derailed. If you want the deets on the Marvel universe, ask Heath. We were talking about Diem.”

“Heath doesn’t watch those ridiculous shows.”

“He does.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Then,” I propped my hands on my hips, “how do you know about the new Deadpool movie?”

“I saw a commercial.”

Raising my voice, I called into the other room. “Hey, Heath? Did you see the new Deadpool movie?”

“Heck yeah. It was fantastic.”

“Did Mom watch it with you?”

“Nah, she fell asleep.”

Mom playfully sneered and whispered, “So much fighting.”

To Heath, I said, “Mom needs a lesson on the difference between Thor, Hulk, and all things Marvel.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I stared at Mom, who shrugged. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t remember anymore.”

My stepfather laughed from the living room. “Your mother hates those shows. Too much violence.”

Mom looked for all the world like she’d won the lottery. “See? What did I say? So, you’ll bring Diem next time?”

“Maybe. Don’t mark your calendar or anything. Let me talk to him. If he comes, we need serious boundaries. He’s not touchy-feely like you and me.” I sealed the ziplock bag with my stash of biscuits and stacked it on top of the soup container.

“There’s leftover lasagna from the other night. I made too much. Do you want that too?”

“Is that even a question?”

Mom rolled her eyes and went to the fridge as my phone rang. Diem’s name appeared on the screen—which was odd, considering he knew I was at my mom’s for dinner. He didn’t usually interrupt.

“Hello, boyfriend.”

A short pause ensued. Diem never seemed to know how to respond to blunt statements that announced our relationship status. It had been a staggering six weeks since we started dating, but every reminder required a level of processing before he could move on. Even then, he rarely acknowledged the boyfriend title or recognized us as a couple. Scary words for poor Diem.

“I’m going to some place called Port Hope. I’ll be back in a day or two.”

“Wait. What?”

“I’m going to a place called—”

“Port Hope. Yeah, D, I heard you. Why?”

“A job.”

“Elaborate.”

Silence bled through the line. Although Diem’s communication skills had improved, it still took a prybar most days to get important details out of him.

Mom whispered, “Ask him to come for dinner next weekend. I’ll make whatever his heart desires.”

I shooed her off. “Diem, what job?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like bullshit. It’s probably bullshit. Doesn’t matter. The woman is paying me to listen to a sob story and decide if I’ll look into it. I probably won’t, so I’ll be home in two days.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “A sob story? Look into what? Why two days?”

“She doesn’t want me to make a snap decision. I promised her two days. She’s paying me. I need the money. Then, I’ll tell her it’s bullshit and come home.”

“What’s the sob story? What if it isn’t bullshit?”

“It is.”

“How do you know?”

He growled deep in his throat.

“Oh, no, mister. None of that. I told you before. If you don’t speak sense, I will pester you with endless questions until I understand. You could save us both a world of headaches if you elaborated from the start.”

“Her kid fell into a river and almost died. No brain activity. They just haven’t pulled the plug. The police looked into it and called it an accident. The teen slipped down an embankment, fell into the rushing water, and couldn’t get out. Got taken by the current and practically drowned. Now he’s in a coma. Brain dead, like I said.”

“Tact, D.”

“What? He is. She said so.”

“It’s her child. It’s a sensitive situation.”

He paused, likely processing again, but continued without comment. Diem didn’t do sensitive. He didn’t do vulnerable emotions. He had three settings—complacent, miserable, and angry. “The parents aren’t convinced it was an accident and want me to investigate. I told you. It’s bullshit. I wish it wasn’t because I need to land a big case right now or I’ll be shut down by next month. They’re paying me a shit ton of money to go down there and listen to their sob story. It will cover most of last month’s rent, which I still fucking owe. I have to take it. At this point, I don’t have a choice.”

“You haven’t paid last month’s rent?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But D, what do you mean shut down?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” His tone brooked no argument.

“Okay… I should go with you.”

“No.”

“Why not? The case clearly requires empathy. It’s my forte, and no offense, sweetie, but you don’t know the definition.”

“No. The mother doesn’t need empathy. She needs a hard dose of reality.”

“I thought we agreed I would be the buffer to prevent clients from filing restraining orders or giving you bad reviews.”

“You aren’t done with the training course. Hence, you aren’t officially a partner.”

“Semantics, and it’s so boring. I forgot how much I loathe school.”

Silence. I hated it when he did that. Even through the phone, even without words, he could dominate a conversation and get his way.

“I’m almost done with the training. It’s a lot of studying, D. And tests. And stupid assignments. Plus, I’m super busy. Did I mention I hate school?” I whimpered for effect. My mother, who listened in, rolled her eyes and swatted me in the ass with the dish towel as she moved off to the sink.

The PI course Diem had encouraged me to take when we started dating consisted of fifty hours of online bookwork. Fifty fucking hours. I’d been making my way through it during my spare time but still had over ten hours and several tests to go before completion. It was the bane of my existence.

“None of it will matter if I have to close the doors.”

“You won’t. Come on, D. Let me go with you.”

“You have to work.”

“I can talk to Kitty.”

“No.”

I pouted even though he couldn’t see me.

“Don’t,” he growled.

“Don’t what?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I am not.”

“I’m padding my pocketbook and coming home. It’s not worth you taking time off.”

“But what if you’re wrong? What if you’re there longer? What if this is your big break?”

“It’s not. The kid is practically dead, and the parents are grieving. The police investigated and called it an accident. The end. What more can there be?”

“A lot. What if—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

I huffed. “Fine. Where’s Port Hope?”

“About an hour east. An hour and a half, maybe. I don’t know. It’s on the lake.”

“Where are you staying?”

“They’re putting me up at some stupid B&B called Ivory Lace or some shit. Two nights, Tallus. Stay home and take care of things on this end. Book me some fucking clients. High paying ones. Reply to emails. Finish the fucking course. You want your name on the sign, don’t you? If there’s no business, there’s no sign.”

“Okay… When are you leaving?”

“Ten minutes.”

Dammit. It wasn’t enough time to call Kitty and crash his party. If I showed up in his parking garage with a bag packed, he wouldn’t turn me away, but ten minutes wasn’t enough time. “Fine. Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Another aggravating pause followed. Diem never quite knew how to end phone conversations. I could practically hear him crawling out of his skin as he fished for something to say.

“So… Did you have a good dinner with your mom?”

“Yes. Beef stew and biscuits. She wants you to come next Sunday.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to.”

Nothing.

“D?”

“Maybe. We’ll see. Are you almost done? Are you heading home?”

“Collecting my leftovers for the week, and I’m out the door. Why?”

“Leave them for Heath.”

I gasped. “Hell no. I’m a growing boy with fashion needs and barely enough money to cover expenses, never mind buying groceries. You think you’re broke? Babe, I live off other people’s leftovers. Plus, Heath likes bologna sandwiches.”

“Tallus…” Diem’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“Yeah, D?”

“Leave the food and move your ass. You need an overnight bag. I already called Kitty. Your shifts are covered until Wednesday. If you aren’t here in the next forty minutes, I’m leaving without you.”

My eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m fucking serious. It’s a sensitive situation, and empathy’s not my forte.” He paused, then added, “I don’t want to do this without you. I’m gonna fuck it up, and we need this job.”

We. My heart melted. Trained or not, I was part of the equation.

I shoved the containers of food I’d collected toward my mother. “Heath can have them.” Into the phone, I said, “Diem, if I didn’t think you’d run for the hills, I would use the L word right now. I’m on my way.”