Page 27 of The Best Shot

“Not his fault.”

Likely his fault.

“It… wasn’t the right environment.”

Of course it wasn’t.

“That’s tough,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Shaun’s eyes flicked up, searching my face for whatever I wasn’t saying.

“Maybe you could talk to Hale. Put in a word.” Mama’s voice softened. “All he needs is an opportunity. Something stable. People like Hale understand hard work.”

“I can ask,” I said. Lied straight through my teeth. Hell would freeze over before I subjected Hale to Shaun.

Mama’s face brightened immediately.

“But I can’t promise anything,” I added. “It’s not my garage.”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Just ask.”

Shaun didn’t look at me.

“What are you doing for work now?” I asked him.

He stabbed at his rice. “Quik Stop. Nights and weekends.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. Which is what you’re real good at.”

“Shaun,” Mama said quietly.

My eyes moved to the shelf behind him, to a frame Mama dusted but nobody looked at anymore. In the photo, Shaun and I were nine and seven, dressed in matching Easter yellow because Mama had liked a theme. His clip-on tie sat crooked under his chin, my frilled dress was dirty at the hem, and he had one arm hooked around my neck while I wrapped mine around his waist, both of us grinning up at the camera.

I picked up my fork and kept eating.

The chicken was good, because of course it was. My mother could make a meal feel like care even when the room itself felt like a warning.

We finished the rest of the meal in silence.

I left twenty minutes later, with Mama trailing me to the door. “You’ll talk to Hale? About the job?”

“I said I’d ask.”

“And you’ll check in on CeeCee? When you get a chance?”

I stopped. “I thought you said she was fine.”

“She is. She’s just…” Mama smoothed her hands down her dress. “It would be good if someone talked to her. You two always got along.”

“What’s really going on, Mama?”

“It’s just a difficult time. For everyone.”