“Yeah,” agreed Jackson. “See you in a few.”
He hung up and looked at Dominique. “You don’t mind helping them jump the broom, but with Max, you want to clean the oven?”
Dominique looked at him helplessly. “If I could explain it, I wouldn’t be going to see Evan’s therapist tomorrow.”
“I’ll send a car for you,” he said. “I know you don’t usually drive into work.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, knowing he was going to anyway. “I can take a cab.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But it’ll be easier if we do it my way.”
“I also don’t mind helping you manage Aiden, Evan, and Grandma, but I have to say I’m not a fan of it when it’s me.”
He nodded, but a quicksilver smile flashed over his face—gone almost before she saw it.
“Good thing I don’t have to do it very often, then.”
“I really am fine.”
He nodded again. “Yeah. Deveraux women don’t know when to quit.”
“Pretty sure that’s all of us, not just the women,” she said tartly. “Open the door, please.”
He flicked the lock button, and she pulled the handle. “Havefun in DC,” she said, getting out.
“I think we’re going to the Waffle House,” he said.
Dominique burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. I’m dying. Grandma at a Waffle House. Like that would ever happen.” She got out of the car, still chuckling. “Thanks! I needed a laugh,” she said, bending down to look back into the car. She felt stupid for crying on Jackson, but Evan was right. Now that it was out in the open, she felt lighter. “See you Sunday!”
Her family might be weird, but at least they could be counted on to help her. She glanced back at Jackson, still waiting at the curb to make sure she got in the door. It hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time—before Jackson—she would have been alone. But not anymore. She waved again, he waved back, and she went into her building feeling better than she had in a while.
5
Jackson
The Waffle House
“I don’t like this,” said Jackson, eyeing Waffle House.
“There’s nothing wrong with a Waffle House. They are a bastion of safety and normalcy across the American South,” said Eleanor.
“I’m not talking about the Waffle House,” said Jackson. “Waffle Houses are fine. Kind of weird, but fine.”
“Weird? What is weird about a Waffle House?” demanded Eleanor. “They were fine dining when I was growing up.”
“They have their own record label. I don’t like my food also making music.” Eleanor gave him a look. “What? We don’t have Waffle Houses in Chicago. I had to look this shit up, and now I’m uncomfortable with what I’ve found out. I’m sticking with Denny’s.”
“Denny’s is not comparable in either service or history.”
“Like you’ve ever eaten at a Denny’s.”
“Admittedly not in at least forty years,” said Eleanor. “But I have actually eaten at one. Waffle House is better. Meanwhile, this is not addressing the question or getting us closer to an answer.”
“The question of why would Ralph Taggert ask for a meeting at a Waffle House? The solution is simple, I’ll just go in and punch him until he answers.”
“The question is: why would Ralph Taggert ask for a meeting?The Waffle House is obvious. He likes the Waffle House and thinks I’ll hate it.”
Jackson had to admit that Eleanor was probably right. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “I guess we’re doing this.”
