“What the hell are you gonna do here all alone?” he asked, more pleading than curious.
Liam opened his eyes and ashed his cigarette. “I’ll be fine. It’s not exactly a shithole.”
With a chameleon quality, Liam looked less frail than he had a mere moment ago. Emory suspected he’d only ever catch glimpses of Liam’s helplessness. If pride was a boulder, then time was thewind. When a man reached old age, time should’ve eroded pride to just a pebble in his palm, a bit of dignity to take into death. Time hadn’t touched Liam’s pride, only made it more onerous for his aging bones to carry.
“I came across a busted vase in the kitchen trash,” Liam said wryly with smoke issuing from his lips. “Know anything about that?”
“I lost my head,” Emory admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Liam chuckled. “I think I started it.”
“I think you did too.”
“A lesson for us both then. Keep our heads.”
Liam’s residual smile evaporated as he examined Emory. The attention unnerved. Did he notice something Emory couldn’t see in himself, something malignant spreading uncontrolled?“Your soul is wrecked. Just like mine.”He almost asked, but Liam put out his cigarette and pushed the ashtray aside.
“Well, my boy, shall we leave it on the table?”
Emory nodded. “Seems fair.”
Only Liam ever used that phrase. It’d sound too much like a cheap imitation coming from anyone else. “Leave it on the table” meant no question was off limits and Liam expected no bullshit either.
“Do you regret this?” he asked and tipped his head to their surroundings but kept discerning eyes on Emory as if the truth might sneak by when he wasn’t looking. “I think you must.”
“I don’t regret the past,” Emory answered honestly. “I just want a better future.”
“Does Amelia know about the deal we made?”
“She does. I think she’s afraid it’s too good to be true.”
“Maybe it is,” Liam ventured carefully, as if minding bubbles liable to burst.
Heat spread at the back of Emory’s neck, and his fingers curled beneath the table.Then why dangle the fucking carrot?
“It’s not.”
Patience waning, Emory bit his tongue to clip the rest.Keepyour head.Liam’s gaze flicked over Emory, his musings transparent.“This world doesn’t coddle idealists,”the look said.
“I only meant our darkest days are ahead of us, not behind.”
Emory had no response. The hackneyed statement didn’t need his commentary—he’d heard that fatalist drivel before—so he pressed his lips together and gave a shallow nod.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with what sounded like a struggle. Someone slapped the doorknob and fumbled with something heavy that clomped down each step. Ka-plunk, ka-plunk, ka-plunk,it went and left a chorus of giggles in its wake.
With his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, Jack wheeled Mirabelle’s large suitcase across the room. The girls followed with Mirabelle’s other bags, each more bloated than two months ago when they first arrived at Liam’s.
What did Mirabelle’s luggage say about her? That she could tolerate living out of suitcases better than most and had gained expertise in a nomadic existence. It cost her some shine, though. She sparkled less, her smile as wide as ever but her eyes sullen.
Liam refused to see them off in the garage, so they each took their turn saying goodbye and needling him with final appeals to leave with them. Graciously, he refused. After Jack and Mirabelle left for the garage, Liam thrust his hand in Emory’s with a business-like shake.
“We’ll be in touch.”
“If you need anything,” Emory said, “I want you to call.”
Liam rolled his eyes. “Quit fussing. I’ll be fine.”
As with Mirabelle, he reserved his affection for Amelia and pulled her into a tight hug.
