My shoulders twitch.
“Don’t know yet.”
He slides another look at me.
I don’t heave the sigh that I want to heave. I don’t give him theknock it off, I’m fineeyeball ofshut up.
“Is this a spy mission?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth. “Like, dude, I won’t tell anybody if it is. But also, can I help? In a safe way? So Sarah doesn’t get worried? Especially if I get to punch the blond caveman in the face?”
“I’m not a fucking spy.”
Ava’s head whips around.
“I said ducking,” I call to her. “I’m ducking the sky. It’s falling.”
She looks up as a bright red leaf floats down from one of the maples. “I catch sky!”
“Good job, Ava! Keep catching the sky,” Beck says.
Another leaf drifts down, and she chases after it.
Beck goes back to talking out of the corner of his mouth. “I never told anyone what happened in Denver. Even Sarah, and I tell her everything. If I haven’t told Sarah about Denver, you know I can keep a secret. We can all keep a secret.”
“You ducking know I’m not a spy. You visited me in college when I was getting my degrees. I gave you a reactor tour when I started my job. You know what I’ve done with my life for the last ten years.”
“Cover story. Plus, you quit the reactor. Vanessa told me so.”
“You knowsheworks for the CIA, right?” It’s not actually a secret. She’s an analyst, not a spy who goes out and does spy things in the field.
Or so she says.
Which I believe about sixty percent of the time.
“See, I think you both tell us she works for the CIA, but in actuality, she’s your doppelgänger for when you do missions. You have matching buns, and paste-on beards are a thing.”
I stare at him.
He pulls a pack of Goldfish out of his pocket and rips it open. “Dammit. Giving you shit about being a spy makes me hungry. So. You dating anyone? Vanessa also said you’re getting married.”
“She did not.”
“She did. You should’ve seen our other group text—the one you’re not in—when she dropped that bomb. Who’s the lucky lady?”
“You’re right. I’m a spy.”
He cackles, then chokes on a Goldfish.
“Dada o-tay?” Ava asks.
I pound him on the back.
“Daddy made a poor decision,” I call to her. “He’ll be fine.”
He’s coughing and sputtering.
He won’t die.
I get him a glass of water from inside, along with a full-size bag of chips.
