Page 78 of Caught in a Storm
Caleb walks over to the hoop and lays one in.
“Well done. Now, Billy, back to our discussion. Just because you and I want the same thing—i.e., one Margie Willis—that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil about it.”
“Wait,” says Caleb. “You two aren’t gonna, like, fight, are you?”
“What?” Lawson laughs, and then he laughs again, which Billy can’t help but take personally. “Stop it, mate. Of course we aren’t. Caleb, I like your dad, and I like you, too. But as far as having a row goes, well, lads, the way I see it, none of this is up to us. The options have been well presented. Me. You, Billy. New York, L.A…. this garage here in Baltimore. But this is Mar’s decision, right? Not mine. Not yours.”
“Her decision?” says Billy.
“Yeah.”
“What do you mean? What did you two do last night?”
“Relax,” says Lawson. “It wasn’t like that, mate. We talked. I presented my case. Convincingly. I told her I want her back.”
“What did she say?” Billy asks.
Lawson spins the ball on his finger. “She said she needs to think about it.”
“Shit,” says Caleb.
Billy looks at his son. He can’t bring himself to admonish the swearing because, yeah, shit. Another one of the worst things about being a person: when we’re not busy imagining the worst, too often we allow ourselves to imagine the best, and that almost never pans out.
The front door opens again, and everyone turns. Aaron steps outside in his running gear. He’s oblivious to them at first, because he’s wearing wireless earbuds. He grabs one foot, stretches. Eventually, when he realizes that the three of them are standing in the driveway, he removes one bud. “What the hell’s going on out here?” he asks.
“Excellent,” says Lawson. “Who’s up for a bit of two-on-two?”
Chapter 43
Margot isn’t exactly a farmer’s market kinda girl. As she stands sipping iced chai tea, or whatever this peppery bullshit is that Robyn bought for her, she’s staring down at a big basket full of some weird fruit that looks like it shouldn’t be real. “Star fruit?” she asks. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s good in smoothies,” Robyn says.
They’re a ten-minute walk from the house. Margot woke an hour ago with a text from Robyn inviting her along. Under normal circumstances Margot would’ve dunked her phone in the toilet and claimed never to have seen the message. This morning, though, milling about looking at space fruit is preferable to dealing with the awkwardness of having Billy and Lawson on the same property.
Lawson kissed her on the cheek last night before they parted ways. He’d kissed her hand earlier, and she’d felt very little, but her face was a different thing entirely—different nerves, wired to different memories.
“I suppose that doesn’t change your mind, love?” he asked her after, sensing that his kiss had had an effect.
She shook her head.
“What if I try a different location?” He touched her chin, just under her lower lip. “Like, maybe here, for instance?”
She shook her head again, and it felt powerful, the certainty of it. “No.”
“No?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “No.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I don’t think I hate you anymore,” she said. “Which is nice. It was exhausting hating you. But I don’t want to be with you again. I mean, I really don’t.”
“Just like that?” he said. “You don’t want to think about it? It’s a big decision.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for years.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “Because of him? Because of Billy bloody Perkins? Really?”
