They ate their burgers at a small table out of the way. The food tasted better than it had any right to. Janet knew she was feeding her emotions, but she didn’t care. Like she said to herself, she deserved the little indulgence. Janet ate quickly, not saying much, which she knew would activate Madeline’s radar.
It did-in the form of a motherly hand on Janet’s arm.
“Honey,” Madeline said, “I saw who was in that parking lot the day before yesterday. I know who you were talking to. Is he back in town for good?” Madeline asked.
“I don’t even think he knows the answer to that question.”
“He was always a good-looking one.” Madeline sighed as though Michael were the great lost love of her life. “I know you always had a thing for him.”
“Every girl in the school did.”
“So.” Madeline grinned like a naughty child. She scooted forward in her seat. “You can tell me. Did you and he ever-you know? When you were young?”
Janet smiled. Despite Madeline’s busybody tendencies, Janet liked having a friendship with an older woman. She liked to imagine that her relationship with her own mom would have developed this way as they both grew older-shared confidences, passed on wisdom. Would she have that with Ashleigh someday? Janet wondered. She knew mother-daughter relationships changed with time and the easing of adolescent tensions, but it was hard to picture herself engaging in girl talk with Ashleigh. Did Ashleigh engage in girl talk with anyone?
“No,” Janet said. “Never. I wanted to. As long as I knew him, ever since we were little, I wanted to be his girlfriend. But I always just followed in his wake, I guess. It would have been awkward, I suppose, with our families knowing each other so well.”
“But not impossible.”
“Not for me,” Janet said. “But he had plenty of girls to choose from. I settled for”-she paused, trying to think of a number that summed things up-“fiftieth best, maybe?”
“Let’s not even talk about Tony. Please? I mean, he gave you a beautiful daughter and all, but that’s just called being a sperm donor.”
“It was a little more fun than that, as I recall,” Janet said, causing them both to laugh.
When they collected themselves, Madeline pressed on. “So what is Michael doing back in town then? He’s barely shown his face around here over the years, and all of a sudden he’s back.”
“He lost his job,” Janet said.
“There’s a lot of that going around.”
“And he’s worried about his mom. I guess her health isn’t great.”
“Rose Bower,” Madeline said. “A very sweet lady.”
“I think he’s also thinking about the twenty-fifth anniversary as well,” Janet said. “Maybe he just wants to be someplace familiar for a change, around people he knows.”
“Maybe,” Madeline said. “But if he’s looking for a port in the storm, be careful.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “How about one night’s shelter?”
“I told you, I’d introduce you to my nephew in Dayton. He’s recently divorced and looking to date again.”
“You never give up, do you?”
Madeline finished her fries. “No. And you shouldn’t either.”
But Janet didn’t hear Madeline’s last comment.
She saw a movement across the room. A man in a blue shirt. She didn’t know why this person caught her eye among all the others. But he did. Janet got a quick glance, a brief look before he slipped back into the crowd and out of the cafeteria. The man looked back once before he left. He looked right at Janet.
She recognized him. The short blond hair, the thin frame.
She blinked her eyes but knew the truth: it was him-the man from the porch.
Chapter Fourteen
Stynes saw Reynolds in a corner booth of Judy’s Grill, a Dove Point diner and local landmark. For close to seventy years, city council members and county commissioners gathered in the booths, making deals and pulling strings over eggs and coffee. Stynes and Reynolds used to eat there at least once a week. They liked the food and the cheap prices. And they liked to make fun of the self-important politicians.
Reynolds drank from a tall glass of soda as Stynes approached. Stynes noticed that his former partner’s hair looked thinner, the skin of his scalp touched with pink from time in the garden. Reynolds chewed on an ice cube as Stynes sat down. He wore a few days’ worth of gray stubble.
“Nice to see you, handsome,” Reynolds said.
“Some of us still have to work,” Stynes said.
“I waited to order. You know I’m diabetic now. I have to eat regularly to keep my blood sugar right.”
“Is that why you’re drinking a Coke? Your blood sugar?”
“Fuck me,” Reynolds said. “It’s
Stynes ordered a patty melt, fries, and regular Coke. Reynolds winced as he listened to the order, then asked for a turkey club and a salad.
When the waitress was gone, Reynolds said, “How was Reverend Fred?”
“Full of God’s love. He has his dress over his head about an error his bookkeeper made.”
“Guy has a bookkeeper?” Reynolds asked. “Isn’t that place worth about fifty cents? It’s in East for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s trying to properly render unto Caesar, I guess.”
“He’s given sanctuary to more mutts,” Reynolds said. “Every guy we’ve ever arrested over in East has passed through Reverend Fred’s church at one time or another. Somebody ought to bring him in.”
“For what? Having a messiah complex?”
Reynolds rubbed his hand over his stubble. “And now he has Rogers there. Jesus.”
“I saw him.”
“Rogers?”
“In the flesh.”
“What the fuck kind of work is he doing?”
“He’s the right reverend’s administrative assistant and Bible study partner apparently. He was stuffing envelopes when I saw him. Looks like he’s aged forty years since he went away. I mean, the guy really looks like shit. He must have had hell’s own time inside.”
“Good. I hope someone tore him a new rectum.”
The waitress brought the food. Stynes salted his fries. He was blessed with good genes. No blood pressure or cholesterol problems. He’d never smoked. Reynolds had gone through hell quitting cigarettes fifteen years earlier, and he was still kicking at sixty-eight.
“Look at this shit,” Reynolds said, nodding toward his plate. “I might as well be a vegetarian.” He took an unenthusiastic bite of his salad. “What did Dante have to say for himself?”
“Not much. Says he’s a born-againer, found Jesus on the inside and did time for his wicked, wicked ways.”
“He confessed?”
“Not to the Manning murder,” Stynes said. “I think he’s just admitting he’s a perv, you know?”
“That’s headline news.” Reynolds grabbed the salt and sprinkled a liberal amount on his salad and sandwich. “Speaking of which, what gives with that article? This little bitch trying to stir the pot or what?”
“She’s trying to make her bones.”
“I bet the Reverend Fred ate it up with a knife and fork.”
“He did manage to bring it up,” Stynes said. “Acted like we’d railroaded Dante.”
“Pissant.”
They chewed their food in silence for a while. Silverware clinked against dishes, and a low murmur of lunchtime conversation filled the air. A busboy went by with a huge tub of dishes. Stynes watched him go through the swinging doors into the kitchen, then spoke up.
