Page 44 of Set Fire to This Cardhouse

The lines around Mike’s mouth relax to make room for a short laugh. “Throwing grenades?”

“Like grenade fishing: you throw one into the water to see what pops to the surface, belly up. That’s not how things work in civilized society.” Toby shakes his head, and he knows he’s being a little ridiculous, playing it up in an attempt to ease whatever tension is still lingering in Mike’s posture. “But then, what did I expect from someone who considers fruit an acceptable accessory to pizza?”

Another short laugh. “Don’t knock pineapples, man.”

“I’m not knocking pineapples. I’m knocking your decision to put them on a perfectly nice pizza.” Toby gives Mike a pointed look. “The only excuse for ordering pizza Hawaii is that you’re actually from there, and it reminds you of home.”

Nothing really changes in Mike’s expression. “I know this may come as a surprise, but if you find people in Hawaii eating pizza Hawaii, they’re typically tourists.”

“It does, in fact, not come as a surprise.” Toby pauses. “Hence my point about the reminder of home.”

Mike hesitates, his gaze darting to Toby, then back at the road. “Well,” he says. “I am from Hawaii, so yeah, there’s a bit of nostalgic pleasure in it, I guess. Also, the combination of cheese and pineapple is divine. You should try it sometime.”

“How about I bang my head against a wall instead?” Toby asks politely.

“To each his own.” The sleeves of Mike’s T-shirt have ridden up to expose a glimpse of his tattoos. Toby spends a second too long studying the pattern: marine references and a twisted, green-inked pyramid.

“So,” he says aimlessly. “Hawaii, huh?”

“Hawaii. Yeah.” Mike deftly swerves around a pothole, and the fact that Toby barely notices is a likely sign that he’s getting used to Mike’s particular brand of crazy. Constant exposure. “Actually,” Mike continues, “that’s what I was getting at earlier, before you derailed the conversation.”

“Excuse you,” Toby says, with dignity.

“My point was that if you want to take Haley somewhere, Hawaii would be a great choice. There are actual dolphins there, not just those that come with a Barbie. I know some places where you could stay, things you could do. Plus” —Mike shoots him a quick, warm smile— “no shortage of bikini-clad beauties, if your brother wants to follow later.”

Haley would love it.

Maybe, if Mike happens to visit home at the time, he could show them around; they could have a picnic at the beach, go swimming—which is where Toby needs to stop, because the idea of Mike stripped down to a pair of swim trunks that ride low on his hips, well, that’s not an image Toby needs right now.

He leans slightly into the cool breeze of the air-con. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to introduce Haley to surfing.”

“Is that a ‘yes, Mike, please tell me more, and thank you for wanting to help?’”

“As far as ideas go, this isn’t the worst I’ve heard today.” Toby waits a moment before he smiles. “Also, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Mike says. He returns Toby’s smile before he focuses back on the road.

***

The closer they get to Samara Beach, the less eager Mike is to arrive.

It isn’t blatantly obvious, but there are small indicators: his increased patience when they are stuck behind a slow-moving construction vehicle, how quickly he agrees when Toby suggests they grab some water and sandwiches from a kiosk beside the road, or his insistence that they stop for a minute to enjoy the view when they first catch sight of the ocean.

“Friendly reminder,” Toby tells him eventually, straightening while Mike is still reclining against the hood of the car, gazing off into the distance. “We can still turn the car around, head back to the airport and get on the first flight to the U.S. No one is forcing us to be here.”

Mike’s attention snaps to Toby, his eyes unreadable.

“Unless, of course” —Toby spreads his arms and gives Mike a comfortable grin— “you’re still working on a fool-proof plan to make my body disappear, and that’s why you’re in no hurry to arrive.”

It wrings a smile from Mike, so Toby counts it as a win. “You need to get over your obsession with my supposed plans to do away with you.”

“Just because you’re paranoid…” Toby trails off, and Mike grins at him.

“Doesn’t mean they’re not after you.”

“Exactly. Kurt Cobain, everyone’s role model of a well-adjusted, healthy young man.” Toby lets his gaze linger on the narrow cut of Mike’s hips and his long, long legs. The low-standing afternoon sun washes his skin in warm hues.

“Actually, the original quote belongs to Henry Kissinger. Cobain just recycled it.” Mike pushes away from the car. At Toby’s pointed look, Mike adds, “The relatives I grew up with were heavily into politics.”

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