It wasn’t. And they both knew it.
She returned her attention to the road.
Billy, beside him, was studying the ceiling with great interest, pulling at a loose thread, then tucking it back in, then pulling at the seatbelt without actually putting the seatbelt on — to test it, he might’ve said, and coming to no good conclusions.
“Well, this is grim,” he finally said after a prolonged moment of silence. Billy had the small bottle opened and ready in his hand; he took a sip and leaned close to Lauren’s seat, wrapping his arm around her from behind. “Doll, you’re too fucking hot for him anyway.”
Lauren’s eyes found the rearview mirror again, and in it — Judah. Something passed between them — a current, an understanding, a memory. Then she grinned and said, “Yeah. I know.”
She pulled up to the estate gates at 6:14. The driveway lights were on — they were on a timer, had been for years.
Judah got out as soon as the car was immobile and proceeded to stand in the driveway, breathing the air. He thought he was getting sick.
Lauren's window came down.
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
Judah swallowed the nausea and the odd, spicy taste of Billy’s booze, and said, “You too.”
She pulled out without waiting for Billy, who had to step back fast to avoid his own feet, and her taillights disappeared around the curve of the drive.
Billy watched them go. “Fucking rude. And to think I called her hot.” Then he looked at Judah, thought about it for a second. “You handled that well.”
“Shut up.”
“I'm serious.” He produced the small bottle again — it still had two inches in it, which was almost insulting. “That was almost a real apology.”
“Billy.”
“Almost.” He shook the bottle gently. The liquid caught the warm light from the driveway.
Judah took it. Thought about drinking it, then realized hewasgonna be sick, and leaned over the flowerbed.
Billy looked at him. Saw the liquor steadily pouring out of the bottle because of the angle in which Judah was holding it.
“Jesus fucking Christ — you’re a lightweight, man.” He placed a hand on Judah's back as Judah emptied the contents of his stomach onto some hydrangeas.
When Judah straightened, Billy handed him a handkerchief. Judah stared at it, momentarily confused by its existence.
“What?” Billy shrugged. “My mama raised me right.”
Judah wiped his mouth, feeling the world tilt and settle.
“Come on,” Billy said and his grin grew wide and devilish. “You look like you could use adrink.”
The front door went like a gunshot.
Billy hit it too hard — always did, always had, said the Beaumont hinges could survive a hurricane so they could survive him, which was something that made sense until the crash of the hall table going over, the vase on it hitting the floor, the sound bouncing up the stairwell and off every surface in the dark.
“Christ,” Billy said, not quietly.
“That was the Sèvres,” Judah said.
“Was it.”
“Three hundred years old.”
“Hm.” Billy looked at the pieces on the floor. Nudged one with his shoe. “Was.”
