It’s enough to keep both of us quiet on the return trip. I can’t help but wonder how that might be good or bad. What if he did something that was revolting? What if he remembers how he died, and it was traumatic, as dying often is. Especially if you were young.
The groceries are in the back seat, and Kail helps unload them and carry them to the kitchen. We chow down on the burgers—two for Kail—and eat without talking much. We’re both starving.
My phone buzzes while we’re binning the scraps and wrappers, and I thumb it open, to find a text from Molly.
Past the burger in my mouth, I manage to say, “It’s the McCluskers.”
“Uh-huh.”
MOLLY: Meeting has to be tonight. The ones coming have agreed. Attached a map showing the Laramie house. See you there at seven. Bring something snacky if you can, and drinks. Will supply ice box for anything that needs it.
I show it to Kail.
“And they want me to talk about myself?”
“Yes.” I take his hand. “The non-murdery parts, remember. If we can’t convince them to help us, I’m ready to leave Revenant and go somewhere we can live without worrying. I have money to draw on.” Especially once I sell this house. “And I don’t think we have a snowflake’s chance in hell by ourselves. Like we discussed, we’re up against billionaire companies. So, there is that.” I have a sudden panic moment. I’m leaping into this like someone off the roof of an asylum. Do I really know him well enough? Nope.
He grunts, squeezes my hand. “It’s your life. I seem to have forgotten what living is.” He rests his gaze on me, and the steadiness I see in there, the trust, it settles me. He’s human, and more so than most actual people.
“I can help fix that,” I whisper and draw his hand to my face, press it there. We spend a minute kissing, with me pushed against the counter until Kail breaks away and re-adjusts my waistband that he’s unbuttoned and unzipped so he can grope me.
I smirk lopsidedly and try to prompt him. “I could sit up on the counter?” I’m aching all over again, wanting him. How he resists doing more, I do not know.
“Later.” He pulls on the jeans, purposely dragging the crotch upward and hitching me an inch in the air while he smiles knowingly. “I will use you tonight. I promise.” He steps away. “Okay. So, we search upstairs.” He looks at the ceiling. “What about ceiling access to the inside of the roof, even if you’ve got no attic?”
“Dayum. Maybe?” That’s kinda brilliant. Dad might’ve used it.
“Let’s start upstairs. I’ll tell you about where I went toschool, when I got pimples, and my boring life up until now, to pass the time?”
He nods, ruffles my hair, kisses my crown, then ruffles my hair again. “I would love that.” His baritone voice, beside my ear, vibrates in and melts my knees. He bites my neck, and I close my eyes and mumble appreciation. “Race you upstairs!”
“Cheater!” We pound up together for two steps then he takes off. I swear the house shakes whenever he bounces all his weight on the floors like this.
And that is how I end up telling my life story to Kail. If there is anything that says we are meant to be together, it’s a partner who listens to all the boring bits and still looks fascinated, still kisses you, and still manhandles you into a hallway closet to feel you all over and make you want to go to your knees for him, despite the lack of orgasms.
We stumble out of there, grinning, my face is hot, and I know Kail has a hard-on because I felt it against my ass. Why the closet? I don’t know, but I’m not complaining though the spider webs are a pita to brush off.
We fry up some sausages and have them with beans and a fancy rice salad I found in the minimart, then head out to this meeting, bearing the few snacks I have—Cheetos, along with a six-pack of beer.
The Chevy curls down Jordan Street until I turn into Celeste Road. When I bring the car to a halt behind a red Jeep, Kail taps the window.
“Hey. I know this place. It’s where I stole the hoodie.”
“Lucky they’re AWOL then.”
On the sidewalk before the house a white cat is sitting on its rump, looking as if it’s impatiently waiting for us to arrive. The black wriggly shape on its forehead makes it instantly recognizable. I go to one knee.
“Squiggle Cat! I missed you. I even bought some cat food for you.”
“I know him…or her. Trailed me up the hill for a bit the other day. It gets around.”
“Sure does.” I rise and stare at the two-story cream house with a tower on the left, a chimney on the right side, and a long shallow arch over the front door. “I guess we shouldn’t take the cat inside.” I scan the parked vehicles. “We’re the last to arrive, judging by all the cars. A pretty house, and it looks like it was built quite a while ago. The 1800s?”
He shrugs. “It’s a house. It has clothes in the attic.”
“I like old houses. They have secret walls and stuff, in the movies.” We start up the paved pathway. “The garden seems tended to.”
“So long as there’s no bodies. I’m getting tired of those.” He takes my hand and we head up like that. It makes me feel like we’re an old couple.
