Page 60 of Evidence of Truth

Killian drove on by. He had some serious soul-searching to do.

* * *

“Thanks for the suggestion,” said Anne. “I’ll check on that later.”

Anne waved goodbye to Martin. She’d met him walking out at the same time as her.

He’d mentioned he noticed one of her tires looked a little flat. She was grateful he had since nothing was worse than driving somewhere and realizing your tire was flat. At least today was sunny and warm, not like yesterday. Her shoes were still drying out at home. Luckily, Silas had another pair of sneakers to wear, so she didn’t have to worry about that.

Silas was with a friend for a couple of hours, and Killian was coming home today. She’d call him when she got home and hopefully would be able to see him.

It was curious to Anne that she’d seen more of Martin in the few days he had worked at school than she had of the other two janitors. He spent more time in her area than the others.

But then, the kindergarteners and first graders had more accidents than the older kids, so it made sense.

He was nice enough. A little weird, but weren’t they all? Anne wondered if he was married or had a girlfriend, not that she’d ask. Why was he a janitor? What did he do before this? They weren’t friends. It was none of her business.

Anne got into her car and turned it on. She rubbed the necklace her mother gave her. Going to college was very important in her family; they all worked hard to get there. Maybe there was still time to put aside some funds for Silas. Hopefully, he’d be a permanent member of her family soon.

Going to college didn’t mean that other trades weren’t just as important.

Maybe Silas would want to be an electrician like her father, a plumber, or an IT guy, or maybe join the service like Killian. There was no downside to hard work, using the skills you had to the best of your ability, and giving back—especially giving back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

It was early evening at the Tiki Bar. The music was loud, and people joyously danced in front of the band. Most of the tables were filled.

Killian, Joe and Hank were hanging out in a corner booth.

After seeing Anne leave with that man earlier, Killian couldn’t help thinking that Anne maybe needed someone different than him. Someone more sophisticated, maybe college-educated.

It was silly; he knew that, but Killian felt like he hadn’t put a lot into the relationship. The sex was great. He loved being around Anne and Silas. They laughed a lot—something that was new to him.

He was good at his job, in fact, excellent at it.

Plus, he could talk to people without getting tongue-tied, didn’t mistake the salad fork for the dinner fork—that he knew of—and most important, didn’t wipe his mouth on his shirt—hadn’t done that since he was a kid when he didn’t know any better.

He was good with a gun, better at hand-to-hand combat, could kill with just his hands, and could sneak up on the best of them, but knew shit about art and fancy stuff.

Maybe Anne liked art shows and artsy-fartsy movies. He never asked.

Killian didn’t know what else he could do. No way was he losing the best thing that ever walked into his life.

“So, how are things going with Anne?” asked Hank. He took a swig of beer and set the bottle down.

“It’s going,” Killian replied and sighed.

“Fuck.” Joe slammed his hand on the table, causing people in the next booth to glance over. He shot them a dirty look, and they turned away. “Stop pussyfooting around and tell us what the problem is.” He stared at Killian as if he was incapable of explaining.

“Good one, Joe. I was going to ease into it, but what the hell?” Hank cocked his head. “What’s eating you, man?”

Killian fiddled with his watch. He was good at talking shit with the guys but not so great at talking about feelings, romance problems, or any of that mushy stuff that women were so good at.

“Um. Well, you see…”

“Holy hell, just spit it out, or I’ll reach over and punch you,” exclaimed Hank.

“Don’t get your shorts in a twist. I’m getting there,” replied Killian.

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