“Six-two.” He accepted his pants. “You?”
“Dunno,” he replied with a shrug.
“We can measure you when we go downstairs, if you want.”
The boy’s gaze slid around the room, over Myles’s gun, the uniform hanging from the open closet door, the electric razor Myles had left on the dresser, some outdoor magazines that passed the time when Myles got bored with the big-screen TV. Even the wallet and change on the nightstand seemed to interest him.
“I like your bedroom,” he said when he’d surveyed it all.
“You do?” Myles was tempted to laugh but didn’t want to embarrass the kid. He hadn’t really looked at his surroundings since he’d boxed up Amber Rose’s things and carried it all to the attic. She used to take great pride in their home, decorated every room, but he only cared about functional, not beauty. Especially now that she was gone. She’d taken the joy she’d brought to such activities with her. “What does your room look like?”
“It’s got some stupid football stuff painted on the walls.”
Myles felt his eyebrows go up. “Football’s cool, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. I love it. Every guy likes football, right?”
“It’s just that it has bears with helmets, stuff like that,” he explained. “It’s for babies.”
And he definitely didn’t view himself as a baby. “I see. Maybe your mother will let you paint over it. Have you asked her?” He reached for a clean T-shirt. “I could help.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
He seemed hopeful for a few seconds, then his shoulders slumped. “I don’t think she’ll let us. She always tells me not to bother you. She says you’re too busy. Even if you tell her you’re not, I don’t know if she’ll believe you. And she says paint costs money.”
Sidestepping Vivian’s reluctance to include him, he tackled the money issue instead. “It can get expensive with all the rollers and stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s just…I hate those bears.” He edged closer to the dresser. “But I probably wouldn’t care about them if I had a TV like this.”
The kid was nine going on nineteen; he wanted to be a grown man more than any boy Myles had ever known. What was his hurry? Was it that he felt he had to take his father’s place? “Maybe you’ll be able to get one when you’re older,” he said, digging his shoes out from under the bed.
“How tall do you think I’ll be when I’m all grown up?”
“Hard to guess.” Myles sat down so he could tie his laces. “Are you big for your age?”
“Not really.” He seemed disappointed.
“Well, everyone grows at a different rate. And you don’t have to be big to be tough.”
“Football players are big.”
“Fishermen don’t have to be.”
He seemed to consider this. “I guess that’s true. Hunters don’t have to be big, either.”
“No. Anyway, you should be plenty tall. Your mother’s got some height.”
“So does my uncle Virgil. He’s huge!”
Myles froze while picking up the Swiss Army knife he’d left on the nightstand. “Virgil? Is that your mother’s brother or your father’s brother?”
“My mother’s.” He pointed at what Myles was holding. “Is that a
“With a few tools attached. Want to see it?”
“Sure!”
Hoping it would preoccupy the boy enough that he could learn a bit more about this Virgil person, Myles handed it over. “So where does your uncle live?”
“My mom hasn’t told me.” He held up some needle-nose pliers. “What do these do?”
Myles showed him how they worked. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Uncle Virgil?”
“Yeah.”
Jake hesitated. “A long time.”
“You don’t have any contact with him?”
“No.”
“Look, here’s a little screwdriver.” Myles pulled that out to show him.
“Cool!”
“What about your father?”
Enthralled with the small pair of scissors he’d discovered, Jake didn’t seem to be listening. “Can I have one of these someday?”
“We can certainly suggest it to your mother. Or maybe your father. Do you ever see him?”
Instantly wary, Jake looked up and Myles tried to mask his eagerness to hear the answer. He had to act as if this discussion was no big deal, as if he was just passing the time, or the boy would clam up. “No. He never gives me anything. He doesn’t even call.”
The heartbreak in those words hit Myles like a right hook, made him realize how much Vivian had been coping with. “Where does he live?”
“Don’t know, or I’d go see him.” He kept opening various tools on the knife.
“How long has it been?”
“Since before I saw Uncle Virgil.”
Myles helped Jake close a serrated blade. “Why’s that?”
He returned the Swiss Army knife. “I guess he doesn’t love me anymore.”
His response showed how badly he missed his father, which was sad. Had Vivian’s ex been as abusive with the children as he’d been with her? If not, why weren’t they allowed to see him? Was she
From all indications, she was. But what was that business about someone being shot that he’d heard from Chrissy? “Are you named after your father, Jake?”
He scuffed one sneaker against the other. “Sort of.”
“How can you be ‘sort of’ named after someone?”
“My dad’s name is Jacob. But everyone calls him Tom,” he said without lifting his head.
This was the first time the boy had shared the smallest detail about his father. Myles had tossed out a few questions in the past, but they’d met with monosyllabic answers, or shrugs where monosyllabic answers weren’t possible. “So your dad’s name was Jacob Thomas Stewart?”
Jake glanced at the door. “You ready?”
The question had made him uncomfortable; Myles had pushed too hard. “I just need to brush my teeth.”
“Okay.” He headed toward the hall. “I’ll wait on the porch.”
Myles muttered a silent curse as he watched the boy go. He’d been so close to a full name. It couldn’t be Stewart. Vivian wouldn’t be able to hide very easily if she’d kept her ex-husband’s name. And Stewart didn’t match the initials on her arm. Myles had merely been hoping Jake would correct him.
At least he knew more than he did before. Vivian had an uncle who was in prison, an ex named Jacob Thomas or Tom H, and a brother named Virgil—not a very common name. She also had a gun that might have a serial number he could trace. And since he’d caught her carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, he had the legal right to do it.
It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.
Besides all that, thanks to the ungodly hour, he’d have a bit more time with Jake. Who knew what the kid might say? Especially with a few more carefully constructed questions…
12
When Vivian opened her eyes, she wasn’t staring at her bedroom ceiling, as usual. She
