Page 58 of Dead Set on You
Rafael’s honesty is a battering ram, and it leaves me at a loss. The vulnerability in his gaze makes me want to course-correct this moment and say something more in line with what one mortal enemy would say to the other. Only I don’t.
“I think you’re wrong,” I start. “For one, maybe you needed some more time to figure things out, but you’re always there for your family. If listening in on your family calls over the years taught me anything, it’s that they adore you and count on you. And two—if you needed to prove to your dad that you had direction, you should have brought him to Media Lab. Don’t take this as a compliment, but you’ve done okay for yourself. I’m sure he knew it too—he just didn’t say it. Sometimes men can be obtuse and difficult … and not know how to communicate when it really matters.”
A look flits over Rafael’s features and leaves him looking at me in a way that makes me feel like I’ve undressed.
I bite my lips to keep more words from spilling out.
He clears his throat. “I … we need to make a pit stop,” he says, holding up a paper bag I didn’t notice before. “Some leftovers to drop off.”
Oh.
The abrupt change of topic has a dowsing effect. It recalibrates things. Reminds me that we arenotfriends or allies.
I swallow. “Sure,” I say, pushing to my feet. I should thank him for the reminder.
Without looking at him, I head for his truck, feeling like a stupid fool.
We take our seats, the leftovers safely in the back seat, a manila envelope shoved between his seat and the center console. I look from the folder to Rafael, who starts the engine, reverses, and doesn’t say anything as he steers his truck down the street. Like he’s thinking about how I tried to pry into parts of his life I had no right prying into. Like I made an enormous mistake that could potentially break our deal.
I shouldn’t have gone into the backyard. I should have left and … prayed. I glance out the window, up to the handful of stars in the dark sky.
If you’re not going to bring me back, at least split the ground open wide enough to swallow me whole.
The road doesn’t crack apart.
Rafael doesn’t fill the silence either.
Please?
Minutes pass. No act of God occurs.
I take a deep breath, determined to fix this. “What’s in the envelope?” I point to it. “Hush money?”
Rafael’s hand twitches on the steering wheel. “Something like that,” he says, but offers nothing else. Just more silence.
It doesn’t take a social science expert to know I ruined whatever fragile truce was between us, and it makes me feel helpless—evenmorehelpless.
I’m open to fully transitioning to ghost mode at this point!I close my eyes and send the thought into the prayer-verse.
I wait.
“I’ve been thinking.” Rafael startles me from fantasies of disappearing.
“Wish I could make a note in my planner,” I say, my tone betraying my relief as opposed to sarcasm.
“I bet that old thing misses you.” His tone hints at amusement, like he might be edging back into Evie vs. Rafael territory, like maybe this prayer thing has merit.
“Some of us like organization. I know it’s a foreign concept,” I quip, trying to do my part in getting us back to familiar ground. “And do you plan on telling me your bright idea anytime this century?”
Rafael is quiet a second too long for comfort, so I look at him. He meets my gaze, his face creasing with a smile. “Doesn’t look like you’re seeing Operation Ghostbuster in the same light as me.”
I gape at him. “That’swhat you were thinking about?”
“Too on-the-nose?”
“How are you in marketing?”
“Good looks. Great sense of humor. Impeccable persuasion skills.”
