Page 20 of The Falcon and the Foe

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I said.

Monica tried to recover the conversation flow. “Russ has run marathons. He loves the outdoors, too. He leads his son’s scouting troop.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“It is. Although I’m technically co-leading it...co-leading with a guy who has zero interest in camping or scouting or tucking in his shirt. But he thinks he knows how to run the troop better than me.” I laughed to myself like a madman. I could hear the crazy bubbling up my throat, but this train had already left the station.

And now I was using mixed metaphors.

Damn you, Cal.

“I mean, what would your clients say if you walked in wearing a wrinkled suit.”

“I usually don’t wear a suit.”

“Or what would they say if you were constantly late for your appointments? You can’t just waltz in six minutes late and hi-five the whole office like everyone’s hero. How are you with being punctual, Brent?”

“Like my dad always said, if you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late!”

“You wouldn’t use excuses. You would admit you were late, and it wouldn’t happen again. And yet, I’m the hardass because I believe in teaching these boys and girls that it’s important to show up on time. That’s rich.”

Brent fiddled with his placemat, cut his eyes to Monica. “Who are we talking about?”

“Cal Hogan. Make sure you bring calamine lotion if you ever meet him because the man will make you itch.” Images of Cal’s wide smile in his messy uniform popped in my head. A warm, fuzzy feeling zipped through me for a split second, like an interloper—a traitor in my own body. Sure, there was something maybe a tad endearing about the way the scouts lit up in his presence. And sure, because he made that jerk-off comment to me the other night, maybe I sometimes picture him for a second while I jerk off. “But still, you didn’t walk into your office on day one and proclaim that you knew everything and you could fix people’s houses.”

“That’s not exactly what insurance does.”

“And you needed to get some kind of certification. Cal probably won’t get any certifications that I told him about. How will the Falcons be motivated to earn badges if he won’t learn anything? Those books and online resources I provided are collecting dust somewhere in his house.”

“Russ.” Monica glared an angry smile my way.

“Ow!” Brent exclaimed. He rubbed his leg.

“Sorry,” Monica said. “That kick was for him.”

Her look of death outstripped mine. I shriveled down to my ten-year-old self under her dark shadow.

The string bean waiter came over with a line of plates balanced on his arm. He presented our lunches to a table overflowing with uncomfortable grins.

“Anything else I can get for anyone?” he asked.

Brent raised a finger. “I’ll take a to-go box.”

* * *

Monicaand I ate in silence.

“Sorry,” I finally muttered.

“Looks like I’m going to have to find a new insurance salesman.” She kicked me under the table.

“Ow!”

“Next time, that kick is going for your junk.”

“I should be the one kicking you. You ambushed me with a blind date.”

“When Zander used to get sick, I’d have to bury his medicine in a scoop of ice cream to get him to take it,” she said of her eldest son, now in college. For the first time during today’s disastrous lunch, she seemed upset. “Luring you to lunch with me is the only way I can get you out there.”

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