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Iimmediately kick off my sandals when we walk in the door. Paul does the same, but slower. He does everything slower when he’s thinking too hard. The man can turn taking off shoes into a ten-part limited series.
“You okay?”
He doesn’t look up from his laces.
“Yes.”
I step closer so that he can’t help but see my feet next to him.
He sighs. “I think so.”
Something happened on that call while I stood at the curb pretending not to watch him. I’m about to ask when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
“Kev.”
Paul straightens, shoes now off, his face still in a way I don’t like.
“What?” I ask.
“Answer it.”
Paul moves past me toward the patio doors. Slow and soundless, even as the shirt comes off and drops to the chair. Even as the shorts and underwear hit the tile floor. The patio door slides open with a hiss of warm air.
I swipe my phone and bring it to my ear.
“Hey Kev.”
Kev’s voice comes through loud enough that I have to pull the phone back.
“OKAY,” he says. “SO. BIG.”
I close my eyes. “Did you win a pickup game?”
Paul stands in the sun for a second, then jumps into the pool. The splash ripples. I watch as he surfaces, then finally turn away.
Kev is talking, but the words are too loud and don’t arrange themselves at first. I hear “evidence” and my mom’s name and “Renny” and “contact” and “Mexico.”
I grip the phone harder.
“Wait, what?” I say. “Kev—can you take a breath and just say what you’re saying?”
Kev’s heavy breathing grows slower, calmer, almost normal.
“Clint. You got the house.”
It goes into my ear, hits some part of my brain, and then slides off.
“You mean maybe,” I say. “It’s still in play.”
Kev exhales as if attempting patience without the requisite skills. “You got—you are getting the house, dude. I did it!”
I start saying stupid shit. Not because I’m stupid, but to slow things down. “This house?”
Silence, but I feel that he’s nodding.
“Mine?”
“There are still filings and signatures and a bunch of boring steps that make lawyers necessary and beloved, but yeah. I did it!”
