“Just great.” Henri says as she lays her arms on the table, then buries her head in them.
Eight takes a drink of his coffee. “It’ll be a nice break from your life.”
Henri lifts her head and withers him with a glare.
I give him a small kick under the table. “No bad mouthing the other while we do this.”
“I wasn’t bad mouthing you,” he protests.
“No implied badmouthing the other while we do this.”
Oscar pats his pocket. “I need my cell phone back.”
I start to dig in my purse, but Eight says, “Nope. No cell phones during this experiment.”
I glare at him. “Who died and made--”
“No implied badmouthing the other. Your rule.”
Shit, I did make that rule without consulting him. Even so, my rule is rational. What kid doesn’t have a cell phone these days?
Brea comes over with the bill and Brody slaps some money down on the table.
Interesting. One: he’s a generous tipper, which is okay I guess. Two: who pays with cash anymore? I think of all the air miles he’s missing out on by not using a credit card. And three: who does he think he is assuming that he should pay my half? I let the last thought go because I’m still as broke as I was when this nightmare began.
“Let’s go,” he says as he stands and stalks toward the exit. The three of us dutifully follow him out of the restaurant.
“I need my clothes and stuff,” Henri says immediately. “We gotta go home first, mom.”
Not a chance in hell is that going to happen. If I let her loose in our neighborhood, she’ll run like nobody’s watching and I’ll never track her down. She’s got too many friends.
Brody answers for me. “You got your backpack full of stuff in the trunk of your mom’s car. You don’t need more clothes.”
Once again, the master of the universe speaks for me, but I let it pass. After all, I totally forgot about the camping clothes.
“They smell like campfire,” Henri says lamely.
“We never got around to having a campfire,” I remind her.
Henri lets out a bull-sized snort.
After we exchange backpacks, I reach to hug my darling offspring.
She flinches away from me. “I’m never talking to you again.”
“I should be so lucky,” I reply as I watch Brody and Oscar.
They nod goodbye to each other, then Oscar tosses his backpack into the trunk of my car and climbs in the passenger seat.
“I’m gonna die, mom,” Henri yells as she yanks open the door to Brody’s truck. “You’ll see. I’ll get killed by friendly fire.”
“I should be so lucky,” Oscar mutters as he crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat.
Chapter Ten
Eight
I’m barely on the road when my phone rings. “Yeah?”
