Page 143 of Trust Me

Continuing down the street, I chuckled. “Probably. But he did tell me, ‘When you know better, you do better, and if you don’t get the chance to look the bad sons of bitches in their ugly mugs, you can never learn what better looks like.’ I think he might’ve been a little crazy now that I think about it.”

“Well, consider me a convert. Mr. Beauford was the modern-day Aristotle.”

Turning down another street, I nodded toward a gas station. “I tripped on a scooter right there and limped for half a mile on a broken toe before someone stopped to ask if I was okay.”

We reached a run-down building with boards on the windows.

“We had my eighth birthday there when it was an arcade. That’s also where I learned that clowns are literal demons. Blake still talks about how I screamed like a girl.”

Oli was still laughing when we made it to the community basketball court. There was a group of guys inside the fence playing a heated game.

“My dad and I would play here, up until his doctor told him he needed to stay off his feet. Blake brought me for a while, but then he left for the army.”

“How old were you?” Oli asked.

“Thirteen.”

He took my hand, and I was glad he didn’t say anything else as we continued.

I hadn’t recognized there was still grief there, or maybe I’d learned to ignore it. I couldn’t even remember the last time my family had all gathered together in our house, and I found myself wondering what it would be like when my dad got back today.

I looked up at the sky and watched a group of birds soar overhead. If Remi knew what he was talking about—and that was a big if—maybe Oli would bring us Kennedys a little bit of luck this week. We sure as hell could use it.

*****

As we roamed the grocery store, Oli pushing the cart and me directing him where to go so he wouldn’t get distracted by shiny things, we settled into a sort of domesticity. I found myself wanting to make it the norm to buy food together. We could budget it out and split it down the middle. We’d get home and jot down what we spent in our spreadsheets. He’d complain about it, and I’d remind him that he wanted a yard so he could get a dog, and having a yard wasn’t for people who didn’t have money in their savings account.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked as he scanned the items at self-check.

“Just thinking.”

“Share with the class, Broku.”

“I want a boxer.”

“Like Muhammad Ali? I don’t think he’s looking for a new home.”

“Well, he’s dead.”

“Guess we need a shovel.”

I punched his arm lightly. “A boxer, like a dog.”

“Oh. Those are cute. They have those big jowls.” He grabbed his cheeks and pulled them outward.

“They slobber a lot. Kinda like you.” I touched his lips with a smirk.

He jerked his chin away from me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t compare me to a house pet.”

Chuckling, I watched the total rise at an alarming rate. I had to remind myself that Oli had all that cash on him. Never in my life had I spent so much at once. Not even in one month.

After we’d loaded everything into the cart, we went outside to wait for our ride. The weather was starting to warm up, but there was still a slight chill in the air. I wrapped my arm around Oli’s waist and perched my chin on his shoulder.

“Would you . . . want a boxer?”

“I haven’t thought about it.” After a second, he shrugged. “Sure.”

“Well, maybe we can plan for it.”