Page 30 of Shame the Devil

“Is he abusive?” she asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. Used to say crappy things to my mom when he was drinking, but I don’t think he hit her, at least I never saw it. He beat on us, though. My sisters a little bit, but mostly me. Not for a long time now. Pretty hard to hit me now. Not since I was fifteen or so, I guess. Not since I was old enough to hit back.”

“Is your mom still with him?”

He took a drink of cider, wishing it was whiskey. “No. She left. But my youngest sister is.”

“Oh.” She considered that. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“And she doesn’t live with your mom?”

“No.” He didn’t want to talk about this. “My mom’s gone. Not dead. Just gone. But that’s not the deal.”

“Oh?” she said, but the look in her eyes said,You bet that’s the deal.

“I promised to go back there this weekend,” he said. “Sunday. For a local thing. A sort of party. And I’m not there, because I can’t stand the way he is. The way he’ll be.” He shook his head. “But that’s nobody else’s fault, and there’s a lot of folks there that I owe.”

She considered a minute, then said delicately, “How important is it to the … party … that you be part of it?”

“Oh,” he said, “I’m the main event.”

“Could you take a friend?” she asked. “Would that help?”

He had to stop and think about that one. “I don’t know,” he said slowly.

“It’s almost like insulation,” she said. “When you have somebody you know you can talk it over with later. Even just somebody to look at you and smile. You can sort of … hold yourself apart.”

“Fly in and fly out,” he said. “Same day. Could work.”

“Well, you’d probably have to stay overnight, because of flights, but see?” She smiled encouragingly. Exactly like Ms. Flowers. When you’d done something right, she’d give you a sticker with “Warm Fuzzy” printed on it. He’d craved those stickers. “You knew there was an answer,” she went on. “Do it on your terms, and you change the whole story. You flip the narrative. Do you want my help looking up flights and making arrangements? It’s a little complicated, getting in and out of here, but I’m very good at arrangements. It’s what I do. I can even try for the one-day thing, though I’m still dubious. Oh, wait.” She sat up straighter, which had the effect of showcasing … well, everything. Her breasts, though, definitely. There wasn’t a heterosexual man alive who could look at her and not register, somewhere in his brain, “Nice rack.”

He kept his eyes on her face. It wasn’t easy.

She said, “It’s for your birthday, isn’t it? You said your birthday was in two days. Also, that’s the Super Bowl, if we’re talking about Sunday, which could affect travel. I imagine people will be traveling less, though, so you may be able to get last-minute tickets.”

“No,” he said. “Well, yeah, it’s my birthday, but that’s not the event. And you’re right. I should take somebody.” He grinned at her, feeling about three hundred times better. “Want to go to North Dakota?”

* * *

“What?”Dyma said the next morning, when Jennifer informed her of the plan. Sketchily, because they were headed down to breakfast.

“You’re always saying I’m not spontaneous,” Jennifer said. “Here I am, being spontaneous.”

“Flying to North Dakota forone day. And back. For some guy. All right, a super hot guy, but he doesn’t even live in Idaho!”

“That’s right. But notice that he’s taking you, too.” Jennifer would have explained, except that she couldn’t really explain. “It seemed like a good idea at the time” was a daughter-explanation, not a mother-explanation.

“What’s Blake going to say?” Dyma asked. “You’re not exactly fulfilling your employee responsibilities, which is more or less your life’s purpose. So what’s the deal?”

She needed to tell Dyma about the layoff. But not when she had about five minutes to do it.

Which was weaseling out. It seemed she was a weasel, though, because she pulled on another possibly-too-tight-for-public-consumption base layer, this one black and printed with snowflakes—which was long underwear, and in no way sexy, so never mind—and said, “It’s one day. And don’t say anything about my job, or Blake.”

“Why not? Because you want to impress Kris with your supposed wealth, that you can afford to stay here while they redecorate the beach house? He’s probably so confused by now.”

“Excuse me?” They needed to get to breakfast, but Jennifer was still stopping in the midst of wriggling into her ski pants. “I don’t seem like I could possibly be anyone who can afford to stay here? What, am I wearing the Stamp of Poverty on my forehead?”