“Hey, Pop. You come outside for some peace and quiet? Or just to freeze your ass off?”
Curtis smiled, continuing to rock in his chair. “Your mama kicked me out. She insisted I was the reason Mad won’t eat his peas. Said every time he looked at me, he’d spit ’em out.”
“That true?”
His father chuckled. “Maybe.” Another laugh followed, this one a bit louder. “He thinks it’s a game.”
Of course he did. Travis knew his father enjoyed getting the munchkins riled up from time to time. He claimed it was a grandfather’s right.
“Have a seat,” Curtis instructed.
“I can’t stay.”
His father looked up, met his gaze. “Have a seat,” he said more firmly.
Travis found it interesting that he was forty-two years old—a grown man for quite some time—yet when his father told him to do something, it was like he was ten all over again.
With a resigned sigh, he lowered himself into the other chair and relaxed almost instantly. Not because he was comfortable but because he knew he had a slight reprieve. Although he loved his kids more than life itself, he dreaded going home these days. He didn’t want to be anywhere else, but he hated the tension that seemed to follow him. It was affecting everyone.
“How’re things at work?”
“Fine.”
His father continued to rock in his chair and Travis waited patiently for him to get to what he wanted to chat about. Clearly something was on his mind.
“How’re things at home?”
That question wasn’t so easy to answer. “As good as can be expected.”
“I saw the pictures of the snowman.”
Travis nodded, stared out into the twilight. “Snowmommy.”
Curtis peered over at him. “What now?”
“Kate called it a snowmommy. She dressed it up in Kylie’s things.”
He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but Travis didn’t look over. It wasn’t like he could explain her reasoning for wanting it.
Silence descended for a minute or two as Travis stared out at the yard, the big oak tree. Nothing was nearly as vibrant as it had once been, even if it still looked the same. Well, mostly. The snow that remained beneath the tree wasn’t something he was used to seeing, but he’d gotten an eyeful this past week. Enough to last him another four decades if he was lucky.
“I talked to Reese again today,” Curtis finally relayed.
He looked over, his chest suddenly devoid of air. “I’m sorry, what? What do you meanagain?”
“He’s been keepin’ me updated on the investigation.”
Travis leaned forward, prepared to get to his feet, but stopped when his father barked for him to sit his ass down.
“Pop, I don’t have time for this. I don’t wanna hear about Reese or Brantley or whatever—”
“They think they’ve received a valid tip.”
Clearly he’d been wrong about not having air in his lungs, because that statement sent it out of him in a mad rush. Considering Brantley had been in his fucking office just a few hours ago and hadn’t said a damn thing about it…
“Where is she?” he asked when his head stopped spinning.
“They haven’t been told yet. His brother’s apparently keepin’ it close to the vest until they’ve vetted it.” Curtis peered over. “My guess is they don’t trust Brantley not to go after her.”
