Page 50 of Penny For Your Thoughts
Diem grunted and scanned me up and down. “Aren’t you cold?”
“I’ll survive. We aren’t going far.”
“You need a better coat.”
“I know, D.”
I offered him a hand, a show of solidarity. Unity. Support.Your anger wasn’t misplaced, it said.You didn’t frighten me. I will love you no matter what.I get it.
Diem took my hand, weaving his warm fingers with my colder ones. If he clung a little tighter than usual, I pretended not to notice.
Diem led the way, letting Echo stretch her legs and pee on every hydrant and pole we passed. She wore her working vest, so when Diem silently insisted that she stay by his side, she didn’t argue. The two communicated in their own language.
We stopped at the main road where four lanes of rush hour traffic zipped by in both directions. A red city bus half full of commuters rounded the corner and vanished into the night, its taillights diminishing the farther away it got.
I scanned the corners. A short way down the busier street, a bus stop sign advertised three routes. A mirroring stop occupied the opposite side of the road, routes taking people in the other direction. The cross street offered two more options. Eastbound and westbound.
Any hope of finding out where the kid had gone died. If he had taken a bus, he could have ended up anywhere in the city.
“This is a dead end,” Diem mumbled, coming to the same conclusion.
“Unless Marcy saw which bus he got on.”
Diem huffed. “Even then, he could transfer anywhere.”
“We should still talk to her tomorrow.”
Diem didn’t respond.
By silent agreement, we headed back to Evergreen and our vehicles.
***
At home, Diem was antsy. While I cooked dinner, he wandered the apartment like a lost puppy, cracking his knuckles and pausing more than once at the refrigerator, where he stored his not-so-secret stash of that week’s liquor of choice.
Twice, he opened the fridge and peered inside. Twice, he closed it again without taking anything out. At one point, he removed a half-empty twenty-sixer of bourbon from the freezer and dumped it down the drain. The bottle landed in the recycling bin with a crash and a self-deprecating curse.
I pretended not to notice.
Diem hovered as I chopped onions and fried meat. Every plate or knife or spatula I dirtied, he washed the instant it hit the sink.
He petted Echo when she whined at his feet, assuring her he was okay.
She knew as well as I did that he was not. This Diem was made of glass. This Diem’s ugly emotions were on display. His thoughts were loud.
When Echo persisted, he found her toys and played with her for a few minutes before telling her to lie down. Then, he squatted in front of Baby’s terrarium and talked softly to the snake, who remained curled inside her hollow rock, oblivious to his turmoil.
At seven, I announced dinner was ready. Diem sat and ate distractedly, knee bouncing so violently that it was like dining on an airplane while flying through an especially turbulent storm.
Echo returned to Diem’s side, nudged him, leaned against his thigh, and whimpered. Diem absently stroked her fur, but he wasn’t calming like he normally did in her presence.
She persisted.
“Are you okay, D?” I finally asked as though I didn’t know the answer.
“What? Yeah.” He focused intently on his plate. “Dinner’s great. Thanks for cooking.”
I wasn’t sure he heard what I said or if his answer had anything to do with the question I posed, but I let it go.
