Page 70 of Roadrunner

“Are you staying?” he asked.

“For a few more days,” I said. “Then I need to get back to Arthur.”

He nodded.

“And then,” I said. “I don’t know. I need to think about what comes next. Practically. There’s the house. Arthur’s school. Things to sort out.”

He said nothing.

“I’m not asking for anything,” I said. “I want to be clear about that. I came here to see if you were still here. If you were—” I stopped. “I didn’t come here with expectations.”

He pulled into the hotel lot and parked.

He turned and looked at me.

“Have dinner with me,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“Tonight,” he said.

“Okay,” I said again.

He almost smiled. “Okay.”

That evening, we went to a place on the edge of Marana that had been there since before I arrived in Arizona the first time. Low light. Wood interior. A menu that hadn’t changed significantly since the eighties and didn’t need to.

I ordered a chilidog.

He was watching me, something like amusement pulling at his mouth.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“It’s what I always order.”

“I know,” he said. “I ordered one here by myself once, about three years back, just to see if it tasted the same.” He shook his head slightly at himself, like the memory embarrassed him a little. “Wasn’t the same. Never figured out if that was the recipe or just me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I reached across the table and took his hand, briefly, and let go before either of us had to decide what it meant.

He ordered a burger. We ate. We talked. The conversation moved the way it always had, finding its own level without effort. He told me about the club. About the charity work they’d taken on over the past few years.

“Price organized it?” I asked.

“Price organized it.”

“The same Price who once told Sparks that community service was for people who got caught?”

“The same,” he said. “He’s mellowed.”

“Price has mellowed.”

“Slightly,” he said. “Don’t push it.”

“What happened?” I asked. “To make him mellow, I mean. People like Price don’t just soften on their own.”

Riley considered the question, turning his glass slowly on the table. “His sister’s kid,” he said. “Got in trouble a few years back. Bad crowd, worse decisions. Price paid for a lawyer, quietly, never told anyone until Lackey found the receipt by accident.” He shrugged. “Kid straightened out. Went into a trade program. Price started showing up to things after that. Never explained why. Didn’t need to.”