Page 12 of The Evening Wolves

Then, the madness of the arraignment, the farce of Judge Platter reading out the charges, the nightmare unreality of John in cuffs as he entered his plea, the courtroom packed with people who wanted to see John-Henry Somerset brought low after a lifetime as the town’s golden child. And coming home to find the empty cans of spray paint—

Now, the sound of steps on the porch made him stop his pacing, and a moment later, the door swung open. John stood there, dressed in jeans and a sweater, eyes smudged with fatigue. He smiled when he saw Emery and said, “Thank God.”

It was John’s smile. It was John’s voice.

Emery reached him in two steps and wrapped him in his arms. John hugged him back. He smelled like cheap soap and day-old clothes, but also like John. His body was John’s, fitting to Emery’s the way it was supposed to. He was breathing slowly and deeply, pressing his head hard against Emery’s, his fingers knotting Emery’s shirt.

Movement came again, and John stepped aside as his parents came through the door. Glennworth Somerset had opted for a sweater and loafers under his winter coat, instead of the suit he usually wore as part of his mayoral image. Grace Elaine wore a button-up and black pumps. If seeing their only son arrested and charged with one of the most disgusting crimes imaginable had affected them, it showed in different ways. Glenn looked hollow with exhaustion. Grace Elaine, on the other hand—Grace Elaine looked like Grace Elaine, and Emery wished he knew what that meant.

“I thought you’d be home hours ago,” Emery said.

“We met with Ms. Thompson,” Glenn said.

Grace Elaine smiled as she shrugged out of her coat. “We didn’t want to bother you, Emery.”

Emery opened his mouth to reply, but John shook his head, mouth twisting. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I tried.”

It was harder than Emery expected to let that go, but finally he nodded. “Have you eaten? There’s pizza—”

“J-H?” Colt appeared in the entry hall, glanced around, and then charged. His feet slapped the floor, and then he crashed into John. John hugged him, and almost as quickly as it had happened, Colt disentangled himself, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face. Biscuit came after him, but her pace slowed when she saw Glenn and Grace Elaine, and she slunk across the remaining distance to greet John—clearly reluctant to get too close to his parents. One of them, Emery suspected, in particular, even if fur coats weren’t in style any longer.

“Look who’s home!” That was Cora, John’s ex-wife and Evie’s mother. She smiled at them and pushed back dark curls as she nudged Evie into the entry hall.

“Daddy,” Evie informed him, “Mommy says we’re having pizza, and all my friends are here!”

She raced back toward the kitchen, and Cora gave a small laugh. “I tried.” Her face changed, and she asked, “Are you ok?”

“I’m here,” John said, bussing her cheek. “That’s better than ok. Thank you for coming.”

“I’m totally useless, it turns out. Evie’s obsessed with—”

“John-Henry?” Shaw passed through the opening from the living room. His auburn hair was up in its bun, and he wore a snowsuit (blue, with cartoon flames crawling up the arms and legs) that rustled as he ran toward them. His crash sounded only slightly less enthusiastic than Colt’s, and the hug went on significantly longer. When Shaw finally stepped back, he whispered, “We were so worried.”

“Hey,” John said in that tone so many people used with Shaw. “You’re here.”

“We’re all here,” North said, one arm braced across the opening. He held a can of Four Hands, and his blond brows were knitted together as he assessed John. Whatever he saw must have reassured him—to a degree, anyway—because the look on his face passed and he said, “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“What do you mean—”

“Yo,” Jem said as he squirmed under North’s outstretched arm. “You’re alive!”

John gave a laugh and cut his eyes toward Emery. “Am I awake?”

“Auggie called them,” Emery said. “They flew out on a red-eye.”

“Not us,” Shaw said. “We drove. Well, North drove. I offered to drive, but North said he’d rather have a—” He glanced around, spotted Grace Elaine, and mouthed—directly at her—finger “—in his—” He mouthed butt. “Only he didn’t say finger. Oh! And he didn’t say butt either.”

“Will you stop talking?” North asked, clamping a hand over Shaw’s mouth. “They’re trying to have a heartfelt family reunion, and you’re over here being fucking Pudd’nhead Wilson.”

Another day, another time, Emery would have relished the look on Grace Elaine’s face.

“Hi, John-Henry,” Tean said from behind North and Shaw’s wrestling. His hair was wilder than Emery remembered, and he wondered if he had missed something. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little tired.”

“His hair looks like that because North was giving him noogies,” Jem said. “It’s one of the top ten cutest things I’ve ever seen in my life, like that time Scipio sneezed.”

“It wasn’t cute,” Tean said. “I feel like it’s important for everyone to know that.”

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