Page 11 of Jonesing for a Spy

delicious poison

Strider

Jamie isn’t gone long. He returns with plates of food, setting appetizers on the bar in front of us, and taking a position behind it with his shorter, far-less-serious brother.

Davie, true to what I’m learning is his personality, keeps the conversation going. “Arcade-slash-bar-slash-kitchen on the weekends. Life is grand.” He gestures to the food. “It’s not fancy shit, but apps with good ingredients sell lots of beer.”

My sister would concur. Fried shrimp, egg rolls, and a couple of hot dips with chips are joined by fried chicken fingers and more sauces than I’d ever consider.

“It’s Alabama. You know I couldn’t skip the chicken fingers,” he continues, sliding another beer my way, and passing what looks like a Sprite to Mirren. Charlie’s already working on beer number two, and Jamie sips water as if he won’t let his guard down, even with his family.

“It’s a thing,” Mirren adds from my right. “Georgia just outpaced us, but Alabama’s been the number one producer of broiler chickens in the nation for years.”

“That’s a weird factoid.”

“Until you start discussing chicken fingers in a state that perfected them. Then it’s common knowledge. Try the comeback sauce.”

I bite my tongue for the joke that’s there for the making and do as she suggests. At this point, the woman could invite me into a dank basement dungeon and I’d follow along to see her ass swish ahead of me.

“Yeah, that’s good. Davie, remind me to get you a recipe my sister shared with me for fry sauce. It’s a Utah thing, but the Denverites have it down.”

“I love Colorado,” Freckles offers. “But I’m more of a Pagosa Springs-Durango-kind-of-girl. Denver is traffic and concrete.”

“And you’re more moose and death hikes?” I hope it comes off funny and not sarcastic.

“Something like that.” She smiles as she takes another bite.

“Everything like that,” her eldest brother says from my side. “The girl⁠—”

“Woman,” she corrects.

“…Woman would be outside every minute of every day. How do you think she keeps those freckles? You’d think the Army would’ve ruined tent camping for her, but no.”

“The Army doesn’t create new. It engrains what’s already there.” Jamie holds his sister’s gaze, and he visibly softens before his stoicism returns and he becomes a soldier once again.

The two of them have a connection that’s deeper than the others, or at least different from the rest.

“Were you Army as well?” I ask him, scooping up what turns out to be a hot seafood dip. Melted cheese burns my finger as I lift the bite to my mouth.

“Navy.”

So sailor, not soldier. Seems the nickname thing was missed a little. I’ll ask at some point, but the serious turn makes it hard to joke or even ask.

“Are you still active duty?” It’s innocuous enough. Or so I think.

He shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate further.

All righty then.

“Jamie’s in shipping and boating. He’s⁠—”

Davie cuts her off. “Bubba Gump.”

“Not exactly,” the man in question corrects.

“Eh.” Davie mimes juggling. “You say potato, I say po-tah-to.”

“I was willing to die for his shit.” Jamie says directly to the woman at my side. Is it just me or is she leaning closer to me? Or is that me leaning closer to her?