Page 58 of Hitch
When we’re done, I pick up the plates and my mom rips them from my hands. Duane stands up with me.
“We’ll take care of those dishes for you, ma’am,” he says.
“Nope. Nope. Nope,” Mom says, shooing us into the living room. “I need to put on a pot of coffee anyway. Regina can give you a tour of our embarrassing family photos while I take care of the kitchen. My apartment, my job. You understand.”
“Family photos?” Duane asks. He glances over at me. “I can’t resist seeing embarrassing pictures of this little thing.”
My skin flushes red. “Thanks, Mom,” I mumble.
She laughs, and Duane doesn’t hesitate. Almost instantly, he finds a picture of me in seventh grade hanging on the wall. In it, my hair is still black, but in frizzy waves on my school uniform. Added to that, I’ve also got braces and an acne scar on my cheek.
Amusement swims over Duane’s lips, and though I can tell he wants to tease me about those years, he doesn’t say anything yet.
But I don’t stop myself from asking him about his life. I want to know everything about him.
“What about your family?” I ask. “Where are they?”
The joy drains from his expression. He checks me out, as if to make sure that I’m seriously asking.
“Dead,” he says. “My mother died when I was young. And my father, that was more recent.”
I hold my throat, wondering if that’s why he moved to California.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be. He was an angry son of a bitch.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m surprised the rage didn’t kill him sooner.”
“The rage?” I ask. “Was he abusive?”
“I suppose he was. But I was talking aboutmyrage.”
I blink rapidly, trying to comprehend the meaning behind his words, but deep down, I know what he really means: Duane killed his own father.
“Did he hit you?” I whisper.
Duane cocks his chin toward me. “Is that the excuse you want to give me for what I did to that bastard?”
I stare blankly at the picture of me in seventh grade again, trying to figure out what to say. Duaneisa killer, and yet, for some reason, I don’t think he’s a bad person.
Yes, he’s been dealt a bad hand. And yes, he has murdered people. Even his own father.
But he’s loyal too. Loyal to me.
“Sure. He beat me,” Duane says in a quiet voice. “It’s not uncommon in my family. But that’s not why I killed him. I killed him because he disrespected me for the last time.”
Apologize for disrespecting her,Duane had told the Mortician, as if disrespecting me was an insult tohim.
So much of Duane’s outlook is about respect. It’s threaded into every action that he takes.
My mom bustles out of the kitchen with two coffee cups. She hands them to each of us.
“So how do you know each other?” she asks. “Give me the details. What are you two, anyway?”
Duane looks in my direction, leaving the answer to me. I suck in a breath. My mom must expect me to say that Duane is my boyfriend, but it’s never been like that with us. And even without our paid sexual arrangement, I doubt it will be now. Whateverthisis, it’s strange, but I like it. For once, it’s like I’m with someone who actually sees me. Like we’re in this together.
“He’s my partner,” I say.
Chapter19
