“Yeah,” Grey said, flatly. “I’ve heard. But whereis he?”
“Out somewhere buying a Porsche or something, I guess. I dunno. I have no idea what he does while Ava’s at school. As you can imagine, he doesn’t exactly” – she dropped her voice – “fit in around my house. He and my hubby avoid one another when they can.”
“I can imagine.”
“But like I said, leave your card, and I’ll have them both call you. What did you say your name was?”
“Grey.” His right hand withdrew from his pocket, and in it, a business card. “It’s imperative that I speak with both of them as soon as possible.”
Maggie gave him a little mock salute with the card. “I’ll tell them.”
Then she shut the door in his face and turned the deadbolt. As she walked back into the living room, she took a photo of the card with her phone and texted it to Ghost.The fed, she said in her message.For Ratchet. Then she deleted the text, and fired one off to Ava.
How r u this morning?
Layla, not knowing what they would prefer, had packed a mix of peanut butter, roast beef, and turkey sandwiches. They decided to save the peanut butter for later, since it wouldn’t spoil, and they each took half a turkey and have a roast beef, so they could mix it up. They ate on the grass median strip in front of a Texaco somewhere outside Montgomery, Alabama, cross-legged amid the empty drive-through cups and cigarette butts that littered the short turf. The sun was warm, and Ava shed her jacket, enjoying the heat on her skin as she chewed and watched the activity of the gas station from behind the lenses of her shades.
Mercy had eaten, as always, like a hungry dog gulping its food, and had stretched out on his back, hands behind his head, his giant dirty boots in her lap.
“Do you think my old place is still available?” he asked without any real concern, entranced by the cloud patterns above them.
“It might be. You want Mom to go by and see? Maybe we could wire a deposit check from New Orleans. It’d be waiting on us when we got back.”Waiting on us…because they were a unit now. Ghost could be as angry as he wanted; Mercy was her husband, and she’d be living with him. The idea sent a thrill through her.
“I dunno.” He sighed and his great chest lifted and then dropped again. “Maybe.” His head turned toward her. “Or maybe you want a real house. Somewhere bigger. That doesn’t smell like bread all the time.”
“You marriedme,” she said with a snort. “If the place doesn’t smell like bread, it’s gonna smell like burnt toast.”
He grinned. “Nah. You can at least make toast.”
“Oh, you think? Unwrapping a candy bar is a culinary feat for me.”
His face moved like he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Well, grad student, you couldlearn.”
“That hasn’t proved very effective in the past.”
“That’s ‘cause every time you screwed something up, your mom stepped in. How’s it go – you gotta crack a few eggs?”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with cooking. Or eggs.”
“I’ll teach you,” he offered. “The things I know how to make, anyway.”
She grinned and lifted her brows. “You’ll teach me?”
“Hey, I’m French, baby. I can cook.”
“I thought you were only a quarter French.”
“A quarter’s all you need,” he said smugly.
Ava let her head fall back, face sun-warmed, her laughter breathy and happy. “Will you do the Julia Child accent? I think that would really accelerate my learning.”
He opened his mouth, and for a second, she thought he meant to do it, then he chuckled and pressed his head back on the grass. Most of his hair had come loose and fanned around his face, black silk in the sunlight. “God, you’re a brat.”
“A brat that you married.”
“Don’t remind me.”
She crumpled up her tin foil, set it aside, and slapped at his boots. “Sit up. I need to check your shoulder.” There was that twinge of guilt again. “I should have done that before.”
