Page 101 of Backlash

“Never,” I promise.

I pull out my phone and check the listing for Levantine, my favorite falafel place. It’s still there, just a couple blocks away, and open for another couple of hours. “I know just the place.”

“Lead on, Ford.” She points the way—although it is the wrong way—with the authority of a career general.

“Lucky, you are just full of surprises today,” I marvel.

“Yeah, and it’s all your fault. Showing me new things and what not.”

“Good thing there is always new stuff to try,” I say, using my hand to crush her body against mine.

“You can say that again. Now feed me or lose me forever.”

25

Adair

Dinner with Francie is a casual affair, since I’m still stuffed from eating half of what New York has to offer. She tells me stories at the kitchen table, Sterling objecting every few seconds, until she looks at the clock on the microwave.

“I’ve got to be up early,” she says.

“Are you working?” I can’t help being surprised. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I’d expected to spend the day with her.

“Tomorrow and the next day,” she says with meaning. “Nurses don’t get holidays.”

This, however, is news to Sterling. “I thought you got time off.”

“Two more shifts and then I have three days to spend with you,” she promises. “It’s better this way. I get holiday pay, and I had Thanksgiving off. Fair is fair.”

She stands up and ruffles his hair affectionately before stretching her arms over her head. Looking down, she shakes her head. “I never even got out of these scrubs. I’ll be out of the bathroom in a few. You two going to stay up longer?”

“We’ll head to my room. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Your room?” I repeat. “I thought I was sleeping on the couch.”

Sterling and Francie share a look.

“Why would you sleep on the couch?” he asks.

“You don’t mind?” I question Francie. Even now, a few months from getting married, after living together for a year, my brother and Ginny sleep in separate rooms when she spends the night. It’s how things are done in Valmont.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want, sugar, but it’s not very comfortable,” she warns me before disappearing up the stairs.

“Worried I’ll try something?” Sterling nuzzles against my ear, laughter in his voice.

“I know you’ll try something,” I mutter. “I guess I’m not used to…”

“Being treated like an adult?” Regret flashes in his eyes the moment it’s out of his mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No, you’re right,” I stop him. “My father doesn’t treat me like an adult. He’s disinterested in everything but keeping up appearances.” That’s why he makes a big show of holiday parties and separate bedrooms. He cares more about what the world thinks of him and his family than he does about me.

We climb the steps to the upper floor, the stairs groaning under old shag carpeting. Sterling pushes open the first door in the small hallway.

“It’s not much, but I spent most of my teen years in this room—after I came to live with Francie, that is.” Sterling looks nervous. I think he’s afraid I’ll take one look and declare I’m getting a room at the Ritz.

The room is tiny, about half the size of a Valmont dorm room. A small window looks out on the red brick building across the alley, and there’s a twin bed in the corner next to it. The rest of the room is filled with books. Wherever there isn’t room for a bookcase, shelves have been bolted onto the walls. I notice that most of the books are marked with white Dewey decimal stickers.

“Is there anything left at your local library?” I say without thinking.