Page 21 of Exhale
“Hi, honey, you didn’t make it to last Sunday night dinner.”
“I’m sorry, something came up. I was on a job.”
She sighed. “I understand, but I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Will you be here this Sunday?”
“Maybe not. I’m out of state at the moment, but I’ll call you when I get back in.”
“Oh, okay, how are things going with Jordan?”
Owen felt the heat sweep up his neck and Jordan’s quick snicker.
“Ahhh, I gotta go, Mom,” he said, ending the call.
“How are things going with me?”
Owen tossed Jordan a mock glare. “I’m not sure yet.”
Jordan laughed long and hard.
Ginny’s parents lived at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in a small neighborhood across town from Ginny’s dumpy apartment.
Mr. Long was in his sixties, and Mrs. Long looked slightly older, but that could be due to the fact that men didn’t show their age as much.
“I only have tea,” Mrs. Long said, placing down a vintage tea tray with tea cups and a pot. She poured each cup and added sugar to hers before sitting down on an heirloom sofa.
Or rather, it looked like an heirloom with its paisley pattern in creams, browns, and burgundy.
Owen didn’t know and he didn’t care. They hadn’t liked him while he was married to Ginny, so he found it odd that they had invited him in and she was serving him tea.
Jordan plunked several teaspoons of sugar into his tea and sipped at it.
Owen left his where it was while Mr. Long took a sip from his own cup. The man was eyeing him as if he were here to cause trouble.
He’d bet money that Ginny’s kids were not here and probably never had been. The place was also neat and too quiet, unless they had them locked up in a room somewhere.
“I’ll keep this short,” Owen said. “Ginny had kids, did you know that?”
“We did.” Mr. Long sat back and crossed one leg over the other.
It dawned on Owen that they might not know that Ginny had died. Or maybe they just didn’t give a shit. Ginny had been born late in their life, and she had told him that her unexpected arrival had fucked up their retirement plans. They hadn’t cared about her much at all.
“Did you know that she’s dead?” Owen said flatly, not sugar-coating it.
Mrs. Long gasped, her teacup rattled, and she placed the cup down to cover her mouth with both hands.
“The hell you say?” Mr. Long glared.
“She was murdered in a house fire three days ago.”
“Why weren’t we notified?” Mr. Long growled, anger heating the older man’s face.
“I doubt anyone knows you exist,” Owen snarled.
The stare down was immense, filled with tension and sorrow and fear. Mrs. Long dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and her hands shook.
