I mean, maybe pigs can fly, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m opening a porcine aviation school anytime soon.
When I hear the back door open, I’m looking at Elliot and see him tense. He ducks his head a little and his shoulders droop, like he’s emotionally hunkering down.
Makes me want to pull him into my arms and hold him, soothe him.
My poor boy.
Elliot and I are both standing by the time his father appears in the kitchen doorway. I would have expected a smile, or…something. Instead, Oliver Woodley pauses when he sees Elliot, nods, and steps into the kitchen. “Elliot.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“So, what’s the good news, Norah?” he asks as he walks over to the sink to wash his hands.
Motherfucker. I hope my jaw isn’t gaping.
I see a quickly schooled flash of disappointment fill Elliot’s face.
My poor boy.
She turns and swats at him with a dishcloth. “Elliot’s the good news, silly.”
“I saw all the cars and the suits. I suspected he was here. Don’t know why.”
I’m watching Elliot but trying not to engage with him because I know how nervous he’s feeling. His focus needs to be keeping himself calm, not worrying about my presence.
“He and his friend are going to eat lunch with us,” she says.
His father glances at me over his shoulder. “I think I know you, don’t I?”
“Yes, sir. My name’s Jordan Walsh. We’ve met before.”
“He’s that nice young man who decorated Elliot’s house.”
When Oliver Woodley turns from the sink after drying his hands, he offers to shake with Elliot even as Elliot’s trying to go in for a hug.
Elliot ends up shaking hands with him, then the man shakes with me.
“Why’d you stop by today, son?”
I watch, my heart breaking more than a little, as Elliot ends up sliding his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I was at Offutt this morning. I presided over an award ceremony. I wanted to stop by while I was here, since I was in the neighborhood.”
“No press or anything, huh? People snappin’ our pictures?”
“No, sir. I didn’t want the press here today. No press, no staff. Just Jordan, because I wanted you to meet him and get to know him. There might be times he has to talk to you for me. He’s also my best friend.”
I ignore the pleasant roll my guts take at that acknowledgement, even though Elliot and I are the only ones who know the truth.
His father plants his hands on his hips and nods at me. “Good thing you left the press behind. I hate having those suits here, anyway. Still don’t know why we need them. They want to drive us everywhere, or follow us when we go somewhere. Don’t need them. Waste of my taxpayer dollars.”
Elliot tenses. “Dad, the Secret Service wants someone here.”
There’s the wind-up…
“Why? Someone comes around I don’t want here, I can run ’em off just fine.”
I silently try to will strength from my body, through the air, and into Elliot.
“Dad, theyneedto be here.”
