Page 43 of Spike

“I misheardChristine the night we first met,” Spike explained. “I thought she said hername was Trixie, and I guess it just seemed to suit her.”

“Have the two ofyou been in contact with each other since your release?” my mother asked, hertone turning accusatory.

“No, we justhappened to bump into each other last week.”

Sherri raised aneyebrow. “Oh? And where was that?”

I squeezed histhigh, but his mouth was a fraction of a second ahead of my cue.

“A tattoo shop onMississippi,” he said.

My mother set herutensils down. “Young lady, did you get a tattoo?”

I speared my lastcrouton with my fork. “Only one, but it covers my entire back.”

My mother took adeep breath. “I’m going to assume that was a joke in the style of yourparticular sense of humor, but rest assured it is not one I share. I also wouldhighly recommend Ephesians 6:1-3 as your Bible study topic for this evening.”

Celeste returnedwith our entrées, which was fortunate for my mother, as I was seriously on theverge of leaping on top of her and stabbing her in the brain with abutterknife. Anything to make her and my father stop being total dickheads tome and my boyfriend.

The word boyfriendsomehow slipped into my thought, and I gasped out loud, causing stares fromaround the table.

“The duck justlooks soooo yummy,” I said, cheerily.

I was just gettingto know Spike, and while we certainly weren’t hiding our feelings for eachother, he was far from being my boyfriend. Or was he? Did I want him to be?What did he want? Questions raced through my mind, each more complicated thanthe one before it.

“Yes, it does,” myfather said. “Let’s eat.”

“We can take thistime as an opportunity to change the subject,” my mother said.

“Which subjectwould that be, mother?” I asked.

“All of them,” shereplied.

CHAPTERTEN

Spike

Imanaged tomake it through the meal mostlyunscathed, except for my right thigh, which was bruised and sore from Trixie’sfingertips digging into it the entire time.

“I’m sorry,”Trixie mouthed as we pushed in our chairs.

I smiled wide,genuinely unfazed by her parents’ questions and assumptions. They didn’t treatme any differently than a thousand others I’d encountered since getting out ofLakewood and patching into the Saints. At least this interrogation was politeand came with dinner and dessert.

“Before the two ofyou go on with your evening, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind joining mebriefly in my study, Spike,” Gary called from the other side of the diningroom. “I’m a bit of a history buff and I have a few items in my personalcollection that I think may interest you.”

“Can you showSpike all your old dead guy battlefield stuff another time?” Trixie protested.

“It’s okay,” Iassured her, quietly. “I think your father would like to have a man-to-man chatwith me.” I turned to Gary. “I’d love to see your collection.”

“Great,” he said,smiling.

“Yippee, moreMommy and me time,” Trixie grumbled, before leaving me with her father.

Gary pointed toone of the decorative wooden panels which ran from floor to ceiling all aroundthe dining room. “This way,” he said, pressing gently on the panel whichrevealed itself to be a hidden door leading into his study.

“I thought hiddendoors and secret passages were only found in black and white monster movies andScooby-Doo cartoons,” I said.

“What can I say?Channel 36 was a big part of my childhood.”

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