Page 78 of Promise and Punishment

“Smile, dear,” Mama Meg reminded Al, coaching him to adjust the permanent scowl he earned as a judge.

“I am smiling! I had four glasses of fifty-year-old bourbon, who wouldn’t be?”

“I had to take over the grill,” Parker brought over a tin-foiled plate. “He kept forgetting to flip the burgers over.”

“Flip what over?” Al asked, tossing a maraschino cherry into his tumbler, turning on the radio to his favorite Motown hits.

“The patties, Dad.”

“They’re on the plate,” Al pointed, misunderstanding in typical inebriated fashion. I laughed as Parker shook his head, leaning closer to my ear.

“I made sure yours was cooked how you like. Grilled with mustard, two slices of American cheese.” His brief but secretive tone brushed along my skin. “You make the potato salad?”

“Yes,” I watched as his finger swiped a scoop of the creamy mix for a quick taste.

“You did good, Butterfly,” he quietly praised, filling me with the most stomach-warming pride.

“What were you all talking about?” Al chirped.

I was quick to shift the conversation to food. “About how hungry I am. I’ll grab the plates.” I motioned for Camilla to take the bowls, and Mama Meg the sangria, waving them towards the dining room.

I needed to collect myself before being back around the others, biding time as I carefully grabbed a stack of dinnerware, their porcelain clatter a welcomed distraction from Al’s unanswered question. When I returned, the family was already clinking glasses, reaching across the massive wooden table that silhouetted the sunset outside.

I sat down next to Parker, unfolding my napkin as Al spoke. “How are things down in MelBrook? Still on track to making partner?”

“I’ll know after summer. There are a few clients we’re still trying to secure.”

“Tri-Tech Security?”

“Well, that’s not really public knowledge yet, but possibly.”

“I heard they’re buying out four subsidiary companies. They’d be like the Amazon of security firms. That’d be huge for you, Park.” He pointed his fork like a wand, shooting the good juju through the tips of its end.

“Knock on wood. I’ve been combing through the contracts and ensuring it goes through. But once again, that’s not something anyone should know about, yet.”

“And how is that one case going?” He dabbed a glob of ketchup onto his burger, simultaneously sipping on his bourbon. “Alex Rivers, right?”

Shit.

Parker turned to me for a second, then back to Camilla. Not even the juiciest of gossip could’ve pulled her attention away as she stared at the photos of Parker and me all over the walls.

“Still in pre-trial conferences, discovering if there will be a settlement or not.” He spoke clearly, but not before taking a big bite of his burger.

I followed his example, stuffing a big chunk into my mouth. I chewed with my cheeks filled, trying not to choke.

“Hmmm. Settlement is cleaner, but where’s the fun in that?” Al spoke as if settlements diluted their honor. “I’m assuming you threatened to sue further if taken to trial; plaintiff’s never want to pay court fees. Let that son of a bitch know you’re coming for him.”

The breeze from the Atlantic rolled through the large, parted doors, settling upon the cold sweat that ran down my neck. I pretended not to hear, but my uncomfortable chewing said otherwise. I couldn’t blame Al; he was only trying to show support for Parker. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel everything: worry for Alejandro; nervousness for Parker; and concern for Camilla, whose expression warped further into distaste. My history with Parker was everywhere, rubbed in her nose with glossy black and white prints. She gave me a side glance, stabbing a forkful of fresh greens on her plate.

“We mentioned that,” Parker answered quietly, sensitive to my presence. He seemed more level-headed, no longer chomping at the bit to assert his inevitable victory in court.

“Personally, I think he should be charged criminally, I think there’s enough evidence to avoid any acquittal,” Al asserted.

“And what do you know exactly?” Parker talked through his food.

“How he beat up the Plaintiff out in Bushwick, the victim’s husband?”

“Our old stomping grounds,” Mama Meg grinned.

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