Candy Colored Sky, стр. 42

I’m grabbing my chest, sweating from A: her scaring me, and B: I smell like beer.

“I thought you were upstairs,” I say. Please don’t sound buzzed.

“I must have fallen asleep watching the news. They might have a lead on the case. For Addy?” she explains.

That’s where the Trombleys are. I feel selfish somehow for feeling slighted by Eleanor not being home or answering my texts.

“Did they make an arrest?” I slip past Mom and move to the couch, noting that the only thing showing on the television now is a rerun of Friends.

“They haven’t said. Just that they would probably hold a press conference in the morning. They wouldn’t do that if there wasn’t something new to talk about.” My mom rubs her eyes and rights herself in the chair before leaning toward me and wrapping her hand around my arm affectionately.

“So tell me, did you clean them out in poker?”

I lean back and laugh.

“I didn’t do too bad. I think Gary might ban me from playing with them,” I say.

“Oooh.” Mom winces as if she feels bad for Gary. He’s her least favorite. He’s the one who brings the cigars.

“I’m pretty sure Grandpa knew I was counting cards, though.” I shrug and lean to the side, pulling out six twenty dollar bills. I did better than I thought, tripling my money.

My mom chuckles, then reaches toward the coffee table where her coffee has gone cold.

“I can warm that up or make you a new one,” I say, taking it from her. Partly it’s an excuse to get out of close quarters before she really starts to study my red eyes and sniff my breath. I’ve already decided to lie and blame Gary for spilling a beer on my shoes.

“Maybe tea instead?” She leans her head back and watches me round her chair.

“Sure,” I say, carrying the mug into the kitchen and giving it a quick rinse.

“Your dad used to do that, you know. Count cards.”

I smile behind her while I heat some water and fish out a tea bag from the cabinet.

“He did?” I mean, I would guess if he was ever in a gambling situation, he deployed his skills. I would think pit bosses wouldn’t be too keen on him at blackjack tables, but I don’t recall a time he and my mom ever went to a casino.

“Uh huh,” she confirms. “So I’m sure your grandpa noticed you counting cards. How do you think he gets so lucky?”

I pause my dunking of her tea bag at that realization. Grandpa’s been holding out his math skills on me. Either that or he decided as a young lad that he would follow the dark side of math. Can’t say I blame him. A guy gets more chicks on the dark side for sure.

“I found a picture in Dad’s notebook.” I’m not sure whether it’s the beer buzz or the moment, but I decide it’s time to share the photo with my mom.

“Oh yeah?” She hangs an arm over the back of the chair.

I snag my backpack from the floor and reach inside, feeling between the pages for the photo. I hand it to her and her face instantly lights up with recognition.

“My God, do I remember that day.” One hand rests on her chest as she stares at her younger self in the small photo in her palm. “We were so young and so in love. You know, your dad wasn’t just numbers and formulas. That man, he could be downright romantic.”

I twist my lips, playing grossed out. Oddly, I’m really not. I’m curious. I want to know about these other sides he had.

“Did he ever write you poetry?” I’m assuming so given the short stanzas I found in his book.

“He did,” she says through smirking lips. “But those are for me and me alone.”

My mouth sours again, and this time I’m not quite kidding.

“Okay, fair enough.” I hold up a palm.

My pocket buzzes as I stand, and I pull my phone out to see a message notification from Eleanor.

“You should keep that,” I say to my mom, knowing full well I’m not prying that picture out of her hands tonight.

I retrieve her tea from the kitchen and set it on the table for her. She’s already lost to memories of my dad, though. Happy ones that press a smile into her face.

I read the message from Eleanor on my way toward the stairs, but before I climb, her words hit me hard.

ELEANOR: Jonah, I need you. Can you come outside? Please.

And here is the difference between me and those other guys who won’t even bother to walk her to the door after taking her out. One word, and I drop everything. I leave my bag at the bottom of the steps, ignore my mom’s worried questions over what has me in the sudden hurry, and bust through our front door. I leave it wide open behind me and rush toward Eleanor as her legs try to carry her weary body my direction. When we meet in the center of the road, her weight collapses against my chest as she throws her arms around my neck and climbs into my embrace, giving me all of her to care for and hold.

I don’t understand, yet despite that I lift and cradle her while she buries her face and lets go of suffocating tears. Her hair is a tangled mess, covering her face and eyes and sticking to her arms that are too bare for how cold it is outside.

“Eleanor, what’s wrong?” She shakes her head and cries harder.

I look over her shoulder as I hold her, toward her open garage. Morgan stands in the open doorway at the back, a dim light showing her form. This is a deflated version of her sister, different from the one who marched into my world a week ago and tore Eleanor away from my company.

“Elle, you need a jacket or a sweater. It’s too cold out