Page 25 of The Broken Places

“What?” Mrs. Gray asked as she returned to the stove. “That’s a compliment. You don’t want to smell good?” Mr. Gray came back in after delivering Freddie down into the backyard to do his thing onwhatever inanimate object he might find. “Honey,” Mrs. Gray said. “Come help me take the Tofurky out of the oven.”

Lennon looked up at him. “You didn’t think it could get worse, did you?”

But Ambrose only grinned.

The Tofurky turned out to be even worse than he’d thought it would be, but the sides were some of the best food he’d ever had. He watched the family interact with each other, and he could feel the affection in the room. These people not only loved each other; they genuinely enjoyed one another as well. He allowed himself to bask in it, even if it wasn’t his. It was how the world should be. It was what everyone should have. And though he had no real right to be here, he was glad he was, because it was a reminder of why he did the work he did. This was the point.

After he and Lennon helped clear the table and Mrs. Gray booted them out of the kitchen, Lennon led him out to the deck, where the sky was already dark. “I hope you don’t mind staying another half an hour,” she said. “My dad will be heartbroken if we don’t watch his comet.”

“I don’t mind.”

The rain had stopped, but this deck space had a fabric covering over it and so only the edge still held some evidence of the rain. He heard the other three Grays still inside having a robust debate about something and glanced at Lennon. “Bitcoin,” she explained with a roll of her eyes. He chuckled, and they both sat down on deck chairs situated near the back of the house.

“There’s a piano in the living room,” he said. “Who plays?”

“Oh. Me. I mean, I used to, but it’s been years. I’ve probably forgotten how to by now. They should get rid of it. It’s just collecting dust.”

Ambrose wasn’t the least bit surprised by the fact that she’d once played piano proficiently enough that her family had bought one. He also knew she hadn’t forgotten, but it confirmed for him that she didn’trealize she still played when she was deep in thought. So why had she convinced herself she no longer knew notes that were obviously muscle memory? He kept trying to form a picture of Lennon and then learned something else that threw off his assumptions.

She was a puzzle. But a good one, one he could tell by the outline he was going to like. But the vital parts remained mysterious. He kept wanting to go back and add pieces.

They’d put their jackets on to come out here, but the night was cold, and he crossed his arms against the chill. Lennon leaned over and opened the lid to a deck box and removed a couple of blankets and tossed one his way. She brought her legs up under her and wrapped the blanket around her, and he placed his over his lap. The wind chimes from the garden below tinkled in the slight breeze, and something pleasant met his nose from a nearby pot. “It’s peaceful out here,” he said. “And something smells good.”

“Rosemary,” she said, nodding to the potted plants. “And sage. My mom will burn some over you to drive out negative energy, if you want her to.”

He chuckled. “Negative energy? What is that exactly?”

She appeared to think about the question. “I don’t know. I was never given a definition.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound good, so I’m glad your mom has a remedy.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Me too.” The wind chimes rang softly again. “But yes, this is a peaceful spot. I used to come out here in the mornings before high school and drink my coffee.” Something passed over her face that he couldn’t read in the dim light of the deck. Another one of those puzzle pieces that didn’t yet fit anywhere. “Of course, the world in general was more peaceful then. Ignorance is bliss and all that.”

He smiled. “It’s important for people who do jobs like ours to seek out moments of peace.” It was a sort of remedy, too, against getting sucked into the whirl of wickedness they confronted on a regular basis.

Her eyes held on him a moment before she let out an agreeable hum. “Those are hard to find.” She regarded him for a moment longer. “What was the last truly peaceful moment you can think of?” she asked.

She seemed to be hanging on his answer, and so he took a moment to really think about that. Then he blew a small gust of air, his breath appearing in front of him in a ring of white vapor. “About a year ago, on a cold morning in South America,” he said, “I watched a songbird’s breath whirl and rise in front of him as he sang. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” He’d not only heard the melody being sung by that bird; he’d seen it, too, dancing through the air and then dissipating along with the notes. In his house, religion had been drummed into him from birth, used to shame and punish, but he’d never once felt the grace of God until that moment in an Argentine dawn. And when he doubted the underlying goodness of the universe—which was more often than he wished it were—he brought that ephemeral yet deeply poignant moment to mind.

Lennon had leaned her head back on the chair and was watching him, her expression soft. “South America,” she murmured. “Why were you there?”

He looked away.Damn.He kept telling these stories that set him up to lie to her, and he regretted it. He had to lie often in his line of work, and he usually did it with ease, because he knew well the end justified the means. But with Lennon ... well, he didn’t like furthering falsehoods. Especially sitting on her family’s deck after being welcomed for dinner in their home. It made him feel low. “Just traveling,” he said.

“Where else have you been?”

“All over. I like to travel when I have time. What about you?”

“Me?” She played with the edge of her blanket. “I’ve never been out of the country.” He detected an almost imperceptible cringe. “But someday ... I’d like to see the pyramids.” She smiled, and their eyes met, and he allowed his gaze to linger on her expression, dreamy and soft, so different from the pinched way she sometimes held her face atwork. She’d opened her mouth to say something, when the sliding glass door opened, bringing Ambrose from his reverie.

They both looked up as her dad came through the doors, a telescope under one arm and a bowl of popcorn in his hand. “We should be able to see the comet any minute,” he said. “You two check if you can see anything while I get the drinks.” He set the bowl of popcorn down and handed the telescope to Lennon.

Lennon smiled over at Ambrose and then got up and extended her hand. He grasped it, and she pulled him up. “Let’s see if this comet has anything at all on that songbird,” she said.

She set the telescope on the wide deck railing and then leaned forward, squinting through the lens. “I don’t see a comet, but the stars look pretty fantastic through this,” she murmured. “Check it out.”

Ambrose did, squinting like she’d done and gazing through the eyepiece. The sky opened up in front of him, the stars glittery and plentiful, and for a brief moment, he felt like he was floating among them. “Wow,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at her. She was so close, and again, their eyes held. It was slightly awkward, but he also didn’t want it to end.

“You do smell good,” she said, giving him a teasing smile.

---