Page 66 of Haunted

“We didn’t get arrested!” Jonny says.

“Oh. I was going to say that I had bail money now. Hi Lance. You haven’t changed a bit. And for God’s sakes, it’s Shelley now. You’re an adult. Are these two back together?”

“Yes,” the Broussard side of the table says in unison.

“Oh good. The other option was that he would have sold himself to Lance to get out of the clink. Which would have been a damned better story than this piece of shit,” she says, picking up the book with disdain. “Scootch,” she orders me and sits next to me. “Can I have eggs and raisin toast?” she asks the waitress. “And coffee.”

“I love your aunt Shelley,” Bree says. “You two should get married so she can be my aunt Shelley.”

“Yes, that is exactly why we should get married,” Jonny deadpans.

“I kinda thought you’d have a better proposal than that, but that’s a hard yes,” I answer.

“Well, you’re not seventeen anymore. You’re old enough to know your own hearts,” Mom says. She leans over the table. “Why is it every time Glenda picks a book it’s so terrible? And why does her cheese dip taste rancid? How do you ruin store-bought cheese dip?”

“Tell us about India, son,” Dad says. “Tell us everything.”

I put my hand on the small of his back. Sure, I want him all to myself, but now my dad is calling him son. He’s one of us again.

No, not again—he has always been one of us. My dad just called him son. Nobody at this table has forgotten him for one single day.

Jonny knits his brow. He glances down at where my hand is, and then up at me in surprise. I cock my head. Do you want me to take it away? He shakes his head, very slightly. “No,” he says, under the noise of the table. “I like it.” Then he turns back to the family. “So, let me tell me about the time I wound up stranded in a tiger sanctuary with a very talkative prostitute name Laxmi.”

“I love the Laxmi stories!” Shelley says.

My sister’s jaw drops. “You’re friends with a prostitute. I have so many questions, and mostly, how did you get so much cooler than my brother?”

“Hey!” I say.

“Practice,” Jonny says. “I knew that if I ran into him, I would want to impress the pants off of him.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Mom mutters, spearing her hash browns. And then, to my complete and total mortification, my father gives her an old-people’s high-five.

Chapter twenty-two

Jonny

Iundo my seat belt when we pull into his space in the parking garage on Flint Street. “That was—intense. I can’t believe we spent four hours at a Waffle House.”

“My ribs literally hurt from laughing. You should write a memoir. Those stories were epic.”

“It was really fun to tell them,” I admit. “I hope I didn’t sound like that guy who comes back from living abroad and thinks he’s special.”

“But you are special,” Lance says, getting out of the car.

“Meh. I’m okay.”

“I mean it. You were independent and brave as hell.” He opens the door to the stairwell. “I’m in awe, honestly.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t go to battle for anybody. That’s brave. What I did was—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. Being in the Marines meant I let someone tell me what to do for eight years. They said jump, I didn’t ask how high. I just did it. You, on the other hand, decide you’re going to see a swami on top of a mountain and you literally do it. Boom. Done. That’s something.”

“Well, thank you.” I put my hands in my sweatpants pockets because I don’t know what to do with them.

“What are you thinking? You’ve got a funny look on your face.”

“I was thinking about first dates. I’ve had some really romantic ones, but this was the best first date ever. It had everything I didn’t know I wanted. Needed, even. Thank you, Lance.”