Page 66 of Wham Line
And because he was Bobby, that seemed to settle the matter for him.He shifted around on the log.I did too; my joggers were getting wet, and no offense intended to whoever first came up with the idea of sitting on a log, but they’re not exactly comfortable.I mean, people invented chairs for a reason.And couches.And recliners.Oh!And beds!
“I can’t believe I’m never going to talk to her again.”He scuffed his sneaker through the litter of pine needles.“She was always there, you know.I couldn’t talk to my dad, but I could talk to her.Even if we usually ended up fighting.God, I don’t even know what I’m going to do.I mean, you’ve met my dad.I guess I’ll call him once a week.Ask him how he’s doing.He’ll say fine, and I’ll tell him what you and I are doing, and then I’ll call him again the next week.”He gave the needles another kick.“Maybe Eric’ll have an easier time of it.They can take the kids over at least.”
“At the risk of talking about things that are none of my business,” I said.
Bobby gave me a glance.
“And putting my foot in it,” I said.
He didn’t smile, but his mouth did…slant.
“And generally, uh, saying the kind of thing that, if this were a TV sitcom, would get me sent to sleep on the couch for a week?”
“This isn’t a TV sitcom.”
“But if it were, I would want to be played by The Rock.”
“Interesting casting.What was that thing you were going to put your foot into?”
“And you could be played by—oh my God, wait,youshould be played by The Rock!I could be played by—who’s that gay guy with great hair who’s always a spy?And Millie could be played by that girl who kicked that paparazzo in the face when he tried to take her picture—”
“Dash.”
“I know I’m not an expert on your family.And it’s none of my business.And you didn’t ask me.”
“This is a strong start.”
That made me grin.“But I was thinking, you know, about you.And about your dad.And, well, I wonder if maybe youdon’thave to talk to him.”
Bobby shrugged.“He’s my dad.It’ll be one awkward phone call a week.”And with painful optimism, he added, “Maybe it’ll turn out to be a good thing, you know?”
“Right,” I said.“And of course I want that.But I was thinking maybe he doesn’t want someone to talk to.Maybe he wants someone to be there.And do things with him.Help him with a project.Spend time with him, but doing something, so you don’t feel awkward not talking.And then, if he talks, great, and if not, also great.”
After several seconds, Bobby said, “This is why you’re perfect.”
I would have pointed out that I most definitely wasnotperfect—you can’t be perfect if you end up, through a series of poor life decisions, without any clean undies more than once a month.That’s a rule.But I was too busy melting into a puddle of smiling goo.
We sat there.The trees bent in the wind.Distantly, the sounds of Fox’s outrage rose—ordinary outrage, the kind of thing you recognize after you’ve heard it enough times.Probably because Millie suggested they wear a different kind of goggle or Keme laughed at their boots.
And then, because I will perpetually be Dashiell Dawson Dane, I said, “Okay, change of subject, but did you know Jethro was Mal’s son?”
“What?”
“Indira just told me.”
Bobby shook his head.“Did you call the sheriff?”
“Well, no, I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Prepare yourselves for a mystery to be dramatically concluded’—”
“Absolutely not,” he said as he dug out his phone.
As Bobby placed the call, I said, “Be sure to tell her that this gives Jethro a motive for killing Mal.”
Bobby nodded.
“And tell her that Jethro doesn’t have a good alibi for the shooting.”
Phone to his ear, Bobby gave me a look.
