Page 118 of Holding On To Good

She was going to kill Toby. She’d warned him Ian wasn’t ready for Raiders of the Lost Ark, but he’d insisted it was a rite of passage for all members of the Jennings family. Had reminded her that she’d watched it at Ian’s age and hadn’t been traumatized.

Except Ian wasn’t like the rest of them. He was a sweet, sensitive soul with an overactive imagination and a tendency to worry. And worry. And worry.

Poor kid was going to have an ulcer by the time he reached middle school.

“Eighty degrees is not nearly hot enough to melt anyone’s face,” she told him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’d have to be, like, eight thousand degrees for that.”

He looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?” he asked as they crossed the street. “’Cuz it feels like my face is melting.”

“You’re just sweaty, that’s all.” They stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Look, your face isn’t going to melt no matter how hot it gets, okay? That only happens to Nazis who try to open the Ark of the Covenant.”

Even with that solid logic, the boy had to think it through for a moment. “I’m not a Nazi—”

“Thank God for that.”

“—and I would never try to open the Ark of the Covenant. If someone did open it and I was there, I’d keep my eyes shut the whole time like Indy did.”

She swung their hands between them. “Good thinking.”

They walked the next block in silence, Ian’s palm clammy against hers. One day soon he’d tell her he was too old to hold her hand—especially in public. But as that day wasn’t here yet, she wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to do so. Not when she wouldn’t have the chance once she was at OSU.

Her throat got tight. Itchy. She cleared it. She was not getting weepy about going away to school. She couldn’t wait for college. No more curfews or chores or lectures. She was going to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, however she wanted, and with whoever she wanted.

Freedom would be hers.

And the only thing that freedom was going to cost her was missing holding her nephew’s hand, Sunday dinners and Monday movie nights with her family. There’d be no more weekly lunches with Miles, or sitting in the kitchen at Binge after school, telling Toby about her day. No more sleeping in her bed, in her room, surrounded by all her things.

No more seeing Urban every day, having him hand her a mug of coffee in the morning, already doctored up with plenty of half-and-half. No more curling up on the recliner in his office, watching YouTube videos on her laptop while he worked.

“You’re squishing my fingers, Aunt Vee,” Ian said, trying to tug free.

She immediately let go. Gave him a smile but it felt watery around the edges. “Sorry, bud.”

Free of her hand, Ian fell behind a few steps so she slowed her pace. Yes, that was it. She was waiting for her nephew to catch up. It wasn’t because DiFonzios was there, right there, only a few feet away now, big and silver and shiny.

Both huge garage doors were shut, so she headed to the office entrance. The sign on the door said their Saturday hours were eight a.m. to noon and it was just after two, but Reed’s truck was there, parked in the corner of the lot.

She tried the door. Unlocked.

“Where’re we going?” Ian asked, hurrying up to her as she stepped inside.

“We just need to run in here real quick.”

“Is your car broken?”

“No. I just… there’s someone here I need to talk to.”

Accepting that answer as good enough, he followed her into a narrow room that was more hallway than waiting area, with two chairs along the wall, a tiny table with a teetering pile of magazines between them. A dirty window, covered in stickers and taped-on business cards, separated the hallway/waiting room and some sort of office space, but no one was manning the desk so she walked past the chairs and stepped into the garage.

The air was cool and smelled of oil, the space eerily quiet.

“Hello?” Verity called.

Ian slipped his hand into hers. “Is he dead?” he whispered.

“Who?”

He pointed at a pair of work boots sticking out from underneath a red car. The legs attached to the boots weren’t moving.

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