Some generous soul had brought a thinly sliced roast, but I passed it by, and instead got some broccoli, a fruit casserole baked in some kind of curry sauce, a roll, and a cold three-bean salad. There was the dining table in the dining room, a set of barstools at the kitchen counter, an informal family table, or we could go back in the living room, Diane told us. I got my utensils (rolled up in a bright napkin) and sat at the kitchen counter, since I was spry enough to climb up onto the high stool. When I'd been settled there approximately ten seconds, Esther put a glass of tea by my plate, her bright toothy smile as ferocious as a shark's.
'Unsweetened,' she said. 'Okay?' Her voice hinted that it better be.
'Good, thanks,' I said, and she swam away.
To my surprise, Victor sat beside me. I assumed he'd gotten his grandmother's cane and delivered it. His plate was invisible beneath a truly amazing array of food, very little of it involving vegetables, I noted. He had a can of Coke that he popped open with a defiant hiss.
'So, what you do, it's just weird, right?' was his opening conversational gambit.
'Yes, it is.'
Maybe he'd meant to offend me. If so, my matter-of-fact reply took him off base. I was actually glad to get a dose of sincerity.
'So, you travel all the time?'
'Yeah.'
'Cool.'
'Sometimes. Sometimes I wish I had a nice house like this.'
He glanced around him contemptuously. He could dismiss the value of a beautiful and cared-for home, since he'd never lacked it. 'Yeah, it's okay. But no house is good when you're not happy.'
An interesting and true observation—though in my experience, comfort never hurt whether you were depressed or whether you were cheerful.
'And you're not happy.'
'Not much.'
This was a pretty intense conversation to be having with someone I didn't know at all.
'Because of Tabitha's death?' Since we were being blunt.
'Yeah, and because no one here is happy.'
'Now that she's been found and she can be buried, don't you think things will get better?'
He shook his head doubtfully. He was eating all the while we were having this incredibly doleful conversation. At least he shut his mouth when he chewed. Suddenly I realized I was closer in age to this boy than anyone else in the house, and I knew that was why he'd sought me out.
'Maybe,' he said grudgingly. 'But then we gotta get ready for the baby to come, and it'll cry all night. Tabitha did,' he added, almost inaudibly.
'You really were fond of her,' I said.
'Yeah, she was okay. She bugged me. But she was okay.'
'The police gave you a hard time when she was taken.'
'Oh, yeah. It was intense. They questioned me, Dad had to get me a lawyer.' He was a little proud of that. 'They couldn't get that I wouldn't have anywhere to put her. Why would I take her? Where would I take her? We fought, but even real brothers and sisters fight. You fight with your brother, right?'
'We grew up in the same house,' I said, 'but he's not really my brother. My mom married his dad.' I was surprised at my own words. Sentences just kept coming out of my mouth.
'That would be freaking weird, living in the house with someone your own age you weren't even related to. Especially if you're not the same, you know, sex.'
'It took some getting used to,' I admitted. It hadn't taken long before Cameron and I and Mike and Tolliver had bonded against the common enemy. I took a deep breath. 'Our parents used drugs,' I said. 'They used a lot of cocaine. Weed. Vicodin. Hydros. Whatever they could buy. They used alcohol to fill in the cracks. Did your parents ever have a problem like that?'
His mouth literally dropped open. Not as sophisticated as he'd thought himself, Victor. 'Geez,' he said. 'That's awful. Kids use drugs, not parents.'
If that wasn't the most naive thing I'd ever heard, it was pretty damn close. But it was kind of nice, too, that he still had illusions like that. I waited for a direct answer.
'No,' he said, having gathered himself. 'My folks would never. Never. Use drugs. I mean, they hardly even drink.'
'That's good,' I said. 'I wish all parents were like that.'
'Yeah, Dad and Mom are okay,' he said, trying to sound tough and careless. But he'd been shaken. 'I mean, you can't tell them stuff. They don't know anything. But they're there when you need them.'
He even called Diane 'Mom,' and that reminded me how young Victor had been when Diane had married Joel.
'You've been around a lot,' Victor said, running a hand through his auburn hair. 'You've had a real life.'
'I've had more than my share of real life,' I said.
'But you would know…' His voice trailed off, just when the dialogue was turning in an interesting
