Page 18 of The Falcon and the Foe

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Two hours later,I slid into a booth across from Monica. With her frizzy hair, thick glasses, and bold polka dot jumper, I sometimes wondered how we came from the same DNA.

“I love this place.” Monica whirled her head around, soaking in the kookiness of Caroline’s. They showcased local artwork on the walls, and Monica had managed to sell a piece years ago during her painting phase.

Monica lived her life by instinct, flitting from one creative pursuit to the next over the years. Fortunately, she had a rock-solid job as an art teacher at Quentin’s school and a rock-solid husband who happily funded her artistic pursuits. This month, it was ceramics.

She handed me a lopsided candy dish that was at least painted a lovely shade of green. “For you. It’ll look nice in your living room.”

“Thank you. I love it,” I said supportively. My house was morphing into a Monica art gallery.

I popped open the menu, the plastic cracked from years of use. “This was a surprise.”

“Thursdays are my slow days. I wanted to catch up with my brother. We haven’t had any one-on-one time in forever. You’ve been spending all your time with that little person who lives with you.”

“Quentin?”

She flashed a smile that showed off her gleaming teeth. They used to be gross and yellow from smoking; thankfully, through me and her husband’s tireless lobbying, she gave up the habit years ago before having her two kids.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“Marvelous as always.”

I wouldn’t say I had Monica keep tabs on my son, but since she was in his school, it was only natural to hear any intel she had. As he got older, there was more of a divide growing between the Quentin I saw and the Quentin others saw. More and more, he was telling me things were going “fine” and “okay” without any further explanation.

“Oh, he did recommend a good drug dealer the other day. Nice guy. Offers a variety of opioids,” she said without looking up from her menu.

“Funny,” I deadpanned.

The waiter came over, a string bean of a man in a white Caroline’s T-shirt and no time for dilly-dallying. I ordered a turkey sandwich while Monica kept it light with a cup of soup. Usually, she had more of an appetite.

“He seems excited about the Falcons starting up again.”

The Falcons made me think of Cal. He had taken the activity I loved, my safe haven, a safe haven for ten wonderful kids, and rained crumpled papers upon it.

I told myself I wasn’t going to bitch about Cal. His outspokenness, his wrinkled shirt, and his audacity to stage a coup of the meeting had claimed too much space in my head.

Nope. Not bringing up Cal again.

Locking him away in a mental cabinet. Putting him on his own planet far away. Pluto. Technically no longer a planet, but it would suffice.

“You had your first meeting recently, right?”

“Ugh. Yes.” I flopped back against the plastic booth cushion. “With Cal Hogan.”

“Who’s Cal Hogan?”

“The devil’s sloppy, annoying brother. He is threatening to ruin everything I’ve built with the troop. He wants to turn the Falcons into kiddie happy hour. He doesn’t know a thing about scouting. He loves to interject his usually wrong opinion. And he always has to have the last word.”

Thankfully, string bean waiter delivered a bread basket to our table, and I shoved a roll in my mouth to stop my word vomit. How was it that Cal could get under my skin like this? It was like the time I touched poison ivy, and it instantly spread its rash over my hands and face.

“Kiddie happy hour sounds fun. I imagine boys and girls mingling over teeny-tiny martini glasses.”

“That is not what the Falcons are about. We are there to learn valuable skills and give back to our community, something I doubt Cal has ever done. I thought maybe he would’ve learned from the Spring Carnival debacle, but he is just as stubborn and outspoken as ever—” I held up my hands. “Nope. I’m not getting into this. I am not letting him ruin this wonderful lunch with my sister.”

Monica watched me with rapt attention, seeming to get a kick of my frustration.

“Looks like he struck a nerve.”

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