By comparison, I look like a gym dork who got lost on the way to the gun range.
We are clearly beyond hiding our intentions, so while Oakley looks unhappy with the situation, the quiet set of his jaw makes me think he accepts that he’s not gonna have all the answers yet. Mav, on the other hand, has clearly been pushed beyond his limit.
“Holmes, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on…” Hepulls at his hair with both hands. “Why are…?Why are all y’all in combat gear?” Mav points to Sy. “Why is he wearing those goddamned sunglasses looking like Death’s fucking right-hand man?”
Sy smiles at that description, which doesn’t help things.
Dad approaches Mav, putting his hands on his shoulders. “We are going to get Truett, and then we are going to come back and explain everything we can to you and Oak, okay?”
Oakley, for his part, appears somewhat mollified. Maverick’s eyes blaze. “Why aren’t we calling the police? And why is Rami, of all people, armed?”
Rude.
Silas gestures at my gun. “Oh, you won’t needthat,” he says, as if I’ve charmingly brought along a pocketknife to an atomic war.
Oh. Right.
I race back to the room and put the gun and spare magazine back into the safe. By the time I return to the living room, Maverick’s temperature is a little lower, but he’s still not happy.
Oakley asks, “Is there anything we can do?”
Baba shakes his head. “Stay here with Maverick,” he says, ignoring my cousin’s strenuous objections. “You’ve talked to Hedy about getting into the psych rotation at Wakefield Regional, right?”
Oak’s brows meet in the middle. “Yes…”
“Give her a call and let her know what’s happening. She’ll know what to share with you and Mav.”
With that, Dad, Baba, H and H, Maya, Silas, and I take the elevator down.
“Whose car are we going to take?” I ask. “Silas and I only have two-seaters.”
Dad points to the two SUVs in the far corner of the parking garage.
“Where did those come from?”
“That’s what we drove last night,” Baba explains. “You might not remember because?—”
“Oh yeah. Trauma,” I joke.
Sy’s the only one who laughs.
We split into the two vehicles, Dad driving one, Baba driving the other. I’m with Dad, Silas, and Holmes.
Maya and Honoré are with Baba.
Dad starts the SUV as Holmes taps the display on the rearview mirror. “All right, we’re synced with Ammi,” he says, using the Arabic word for uncle.
Silas gets in next to me in the back and holds up a hard plastic case.
“I brought goodies.”
He presses his thumb to an embedded scanner and opens the case like an old-school game show host, revealing half a dozen pistol-like…things.
“These look likeStar Warsblasters, Sy,” I observe.
The originals, not the remakes, thank God.
“That’s just because Uncle Odd has a weird sense of humor. But yeah, these are the next generation. I wasn’t supposed to take them out of the armory,” Sy confesses with an unconcerned shrug, “but they’re way too pretty to be locked in some cage.”
