Page 6 of Reading Between the Lines
“I’m going to some place called Port Hope. I’ll be back in a day or two.”
“Wait. What?”
“I’m going to a place called—”
“Port Hope. Yeah, D, I heard you. Why?”
“A job.”
“Elaborate.”
Silence bled through the line. Although Diem’s communication skills had improved, it still took a prybar most days to get important details out of him.
Mom whispered, “Ask him to come for dinner next weekend. I’ll make whatever his heart desires.”
I shooed her off. “Diem, what job?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like bullshit. It’s probably bullshit. Doesn’t matter. The woman is paying me to listen to a sob story and decide if I’ll look into it. I probably won’t, so I’ll be home in two days.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “A sob story? Look into what? Why two days?”
“She doesn’t want me to make a snap decision. I promised her two days. She’s paying me. I need the money. Then, I’ll tell her it’s bullshit and come home.”
“What’s the sob story? What if it isn’t bullshit?”
“It is.”
“How do you know?”
He growled deep in his throat.
“Oh, no, mister. None of that. I told you before. If you don’t speak sense, I will pester you with endless questions until I understand. You could save us both a world of headaches if you elaborated from the start.”
“Her kid fell into a river and almost died. No brain activity. They just haven’t pulled the plug. The police looked into it and called it an accident. The teen slipped down an embankment, fell into the rushing water, and couldn’t get out. Got taken by the current and practically drowned. Now he’s in a coma. Brain dead, like I said.”
“Tact, D.”
“What? He is. She said so.”
“It’s her child. It’s a sensitive situation.”
He paused, likely processing again, but continued without comment. Diem didn’t do sensitive. He didn’t do vulnerable emotions. He had three settings—complacent, miserable, and angry. “The parents aren’t convinced it was an accident and want me to investigate. I told you. It’s bullshit. I wish it wasn’t because I need to land a big case right now or I’ll be shut down by next month. They’re paying me a shit ton of money to go down there and listen to their sob story. It will cover most of last month’s rent, which I still fucking owe. I have to take it. At this point, I don’t have a choice.”
“You haven’t paid last month’s rent?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But D, what do you mean shut down?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Okay… I should go with you.”
“No.”
“Why not? The case clearly requires empathy. It’s my forte, and no offense, sweetie, but you don’t know the definition.”
“No. The mother doesn’t need empathy. She needs a hard dose of reality.”
