Page 42 of Prodigal Son

“St. Clare’s?”

“No.”

“St. Mary’s?”

“No, Vito, jeeze! And why do you know the names of so many convents?”

“We do a seven deadly sins night at the club and the girls dress up like nuns. We name drinks after the local nunneries.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“Tell me about it. If not one of them, what convent was it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. There were pale green walls.”

“That’s all you got?”

Frustrated with her own shortcomings, she snapped, “Yes, that’s all I got, so back off. I had a nasty fall.”

“Hold up. This doesn’t make any sense. First of all, how would a bunch of nuns find you in the woods? And why was a bishop at a convent? Don’t they usually stick to the fancier places like the Archdiocese or the Vatican? Is there even a big church in Jim Thorpe.”

“There are churches everywhere. Why are you so obsessed with the church? You should be concerned with my health. I had a nasty—”

“Fall. I know.” He waved away her reminder.

She drew back. “Hey, I could have died out there.”

“But you didn’t. You got lost in the woods and fell down. You should be more concerned with the fact that you can’t remember how you got home.”

“It was a nasty fall.”

“Did you break a leg or sprain anything? It couldn’t have been that bad for you to be standing here perfectly fine.” He looked at her suspiciously. “You better not be lying to me, D.”

“It was a nasty fall!”

“All right, all right, I get it. Nasty fall.” He held out his hands in a calming motion. “Did anyone at the convent notify the cops? I had an MPR out on you.”

Cops. Once again, she had the urge to form her hand into a C and place it over her heart. No police… A male voice drifted through her mind like a shadow, but the moment the thought occurred, it was gone. Irretrievable. “Why would you put out a missing person report?”

“That’s what you do when someone goes missing. I was worried sick, D.”

Her head lowered, unsure why she was being difficult when he’d only acted out of concern. She should be grateful. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Well, you’re home now. Where’s my crossbow?”

She scrunched her nose. “How the hell would I know where your bow and arrow is?”

“Crossbow,” he corrected. “And probably because you took it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. It was my Barnett Buck Commander Crossbow, and I’m telling you right fucking now it better be here or you’re reimbursing me the five hundred I paid for it.

“Vito, why the hell would I take your”—using air quotes she emphasized—“crossbow?”

“I want my key back. You don’t steal people’s shit and leave it in the woods. And don’t tell me you had a nasty fall. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place!”

She didn’t have time to listen to his ridiculous accusations. She probably had hundreds of notifications awaiting responses.

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