Gregg Hurwitz - Prodigal Son

“Aftershave?”

“Whatever. Some guy at the mall had it once when he walked by, and I remembered.” His charcoal eyes looked impossibly large, and Evan sensed an opening into something bigger. Peter tugged at a button. “But…”

Evan’s mouth was dry. He stayed hushed, his muscles tight with anticipation. He waited. Waited some more.

“But how do you know someone you never knew?” Peter said.

The question left Evan breathless. An image flashed into his mind, the moment when Veronica’s wide cheeks and dark, shimmering eyes had first come clear beneath the brim of that black summer hat, how he’d known that it was her without knowing her at all. Something twisted free inside him, an unknotting into a new space.

He’d been drawn down here for Peter. But for himself, too. His head was pounding, his senses fired.

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “But your dad knew you. And maybe … maybe that went into your cells. I think you know him in there. Deep.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I know what kind of kid you are. Open and confident and…” Evan searched for the word in the murk. “Secure.” The conversation was moving fast and required terrific focus, like skiing a black diamond where any second he could catch an edge and it would all go horribly wrong. “And a lot of that is from your mom. But I’m pretty sure it’s from him, too.”

“How do you know?”

Evan thought about it. “Because I know your mom. And I know what kind of mom she is.”

Peter blinked up at him. Nodded.

“Which means we know what kind of man she’d marry,” Evan said. “Don’t we?”

Peter nodded again.

“And that’s why you’re wearing his shirts, I think. To be close to him.”

“But…”

“What?”

Peter said, “Even if that’s true…”

Pinocchio and Jiminy had made their way home across dark cobblestone streets, pounding on the front door with frustration. But no one was home.

“Even if that’s true…” Peter took a deep breath and scratched his nose, hiding his eyes. “I don’t have anyone to be proud of me.”

There were a hundred pat answers, none of them suitable. Evan sat with the words Peter had entrusted to him. Then he reached over. His hand looked so big resting on Peter’s knee.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” Peter kept his face tilted down, away. “But Mom doesn’t count. She has to be proud of me. She’s my mom .”

Evan marveled that Peter could take something like that for granted.

Again he pictured Veronica on that big white couch.

Why didn’t you want me?

My circumstances weren’t suited to it .

Peter placed his hand on Evan’s, a double stack atop his knee. He returned his focus to the movie, and Evan followed suit.

They watched for a time, the boy’s hand warm against his.

Finally Mia called over from the kitchen: “Okay. Bedtime for Bonzo . Brush, floss, pee.”

“Mom! Evan Smoak’s here! Twenty more minutes.”

“Are you kidding? You are way past bedtime already.”

“ Ten more minutes?”

“Hmm. Let me consider. How about…” Mia came around to the front of the couch, a finger rested alongside her cheek, pondering theatrically. “… no more minutes. You know why?”

Peter singsonged, “You don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“That’s right.”

“Can I have a glass of eggnog?”

“No. Too much sugar. And besides, it’s expired.”

Peter slouched off toward his bedroom. “Like my dreams .”

Mia pursed her lips, rolled her eyes. Evan followed her back to the kitchen and helped her put away the last few dishes. A Post-it stuck next to the telephone had another quotation from that Jordan Peterson book she was always reading: Do not hide unwanted things in the fog .

She often scattered notes around the condo as parental touchstones for Peter. It was always a challenge for Evan to wrap his head around the notion of a childhood guided by carefully curated life lessons. Especially in contrast to his own, shaped by the rule of the foster-home pack and a set of Commandments designed to sharpen him into a lethal implement.

She gestured to a top shelf in the cupboard, out of her reach, and then handed him a salad bowl. He took it, their fingers brushing, and set it high in its place.

“Did that go okay?” she asked, head tilting toward the couch.

“I think so.”

“Just getting him to talk about it is a help,” she said. “It’s hard for him to bring it up to me. I think he thinks it’s … disloyal somehow. Like I’ll take it that he’s saying I’m not enough for him as a parent. And I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leaned close, and again Evan caught the scent of green apple from her damp hair. “ No one’s enough as a parent.”

“I’d argue you’re pretty close.”

She swung around, leaning back against the sink, her arm pressing into his as he dried a water glass. “You’re pretty helpful for a tough guy. Do you do windows, too?”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

“Is that so.”

Amused, she rolled her lips to moisten them. Her bottom lip, even fuller than the top, protruded just slightly. He remembered having it between his teeth, her legs outside his, heels sliding on his calves, slick with sweat.

“You know, we never really talked about it,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You saved my life. And you saved his life.”

He had. And she was right. They’d never addressed it. They couldn’t without compromising her as a district attorney and introducing something between them that could never be taken back.

“And I can’t thank you properly,” she said. “And I can’t be with you.” She came off the sink to face him. They were standing very close. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “But I want to be with you.”

Keeping his eyes on hers, he set down the glass on the counter. “What would you do if you could be with me?”

A sparkle behind her eyes, a playful crease in her cheek as her lips pulled to one side. “For starters?” She lifted a finger, brushed the side of his throat. “I’d put my mouth right there .”

Only at this proximity could he make out the sprinkling of light freckles across the bridge of her nose. “And then?”

She moved her finger up, placed it against his lips.

Close enough now that he could see the rust-colored flecks in her irises, could feel her breath against his chin. The pressure of her finger was warm, insistent.

She lowered her hand. Shifted onto her tiptoes. Their foreheads touched.

“Mo-om!” A two-syllable bellow from across the condo. “I’m out of toothpaste!”

They drew apart, smiling as if they’d been caught at something. “Hang on, Black Hole of Need!” she shouted.

“And not the minty one that makes my tongue all bumpy! The bubble-gum-flavored one!”

“Be right there!” she called out. Then, apologetically to Evan, “I need to get him down.”

He said, “Of course.”

“Thank you again. For talking with him.”

She walked Evan to the door and leaned on it as he started out, letting her weight sway on the hinges. He stopped, looked back across the threshold. They both wanted to say something else, but he was all out of those kinds of words for the evening.

She cleared her throat. “To be continued?”

He looked at her.

She looked back as she closed the door.

38Road Trip

At 6:59 A.M. Joey bounded down the steps of her apartment, visible through the glass front doors. Overnight bag slung across one shoulder, she scurried out to the curb and hopped into Evan’s truck.