wandered around the park, past several of the college buildings, and down to the weathered picnic tables skirting the lake. Clouds gathered above and turned the water a deep gray, but the breeze was still somewhat warm.
As planned, I found my cousin Pauley O’Shea perched on a table, slightly hunched over, a bag of breadcrumbs in his hand as he faced a gaggle of ducks at the water’s edge. Nobody else was around yet. Gingerly, I sat my butt on the table, careful not to slide on the rough wood and rip my skirt. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His long fingers slid into the bag, and he tossed crumbs at the squawking birds. The breeze lifted his thick brown hair, and I glanced at his thin shirt and pants. He should have on a coat, but I didn’t mention that yet.
Instead, I nodded toward a sign pounded into a nearby tree that said, ‘Don’t Feed the Birds.’ “You’re breaking the rules.”
He threw another handful, rocking slightly, not looking at the sign or at me. “Nobody will yell at me.”
Probably true. “How was your first week of summer classes?”
“Same as last semester, which was my first semester in college.” He watched the birds for a few more minutes. “Everyone is old, and it’s boring.” He rocked back and then forward. “I am smarter than the teacher.”
“You’re smarter than almost everybody,” I said absently. At sixteen years old, in college, he was probably the youngest in the classes. Was that going to be a problem?
“Are you checking on me?” he asked, his neck rolling fractionally.
I nodded. “Sure. I also like talking to you, which you know.” He was Lacey O’Shea’s younger brother, and the closest person I had to a brother. I reached for the bag.
“No.” He pulled it away. “You will get in trouble.”
I snorted. “Because I’m not autistic?”
“Yes. I get away with stuff.” His lips twitched with almost a smile.
That was true. Pauley was autistic with savant qualities, and he used it to his advantage once in a while. “Well, I’m pretty,” I said slowly. “I could charm my way out of trouble.”
“You are not charming.” Pauley tilted his head a fraction, his expression thoughtful, even as he stared straight ahead. Then he held the bag out to me, barely shifting his weight to do so. “Though you are pretty.”
I grinned and took a handful. “Why aren’t I charming?”
“How should I know?” He moved the bag to his other side. “Charming people are smooth. You are not smooth. You are fun and lively and goofy. I like you better than charming.”
Everything inside me went gooey and warm. “Thank you.”
He almost shrugged. “Just telling the truth.” Then he paused. “Lacey was in a shootout in Detroit yesterday.”
I blinked. “What? I hadn’t heard that yet. Is she okay?” My heart kicked up several notches.
“Yes. I think she shot the other guy, but she is not giving full details yet.” Pauley shook out the bag so the bread bounced around.
While I’d become a lawyer to fight the bad guys, Lacey had gone ahead and become a cop. A pint sized one with a tough attitude. We video-conferenced at least once a week. I swallowed. “I wish she’d come home and get a job somewhere around here.” For some reason, she wanted big city experience first.
“Me too,” Pauley murmured. “Heard you got shot, too.”
“Barely,” I said, leaning cautiously back on my hands. The tabletop scraped my palms, but the wood was cool. “Aiden Devlin saved me.”
Pauley nodded. “I heard. No secrets if you’re from Silverville, even though it’s fifty miles away. Fifty miles. Fifty is a gold wedding anniversary. Fifty.” He quickly looked at me sideways for the first time since I sat down. Then he focused at something across the lake. “Is he good or bad now?”
So apparently news of Aiden’s incarceration had hit the streets. “I don’t know. In fact, I’m not sure what to do. I want to help him, but it might be my job to put him back in jail.” The words poured out of me before I could stop them, and I cut off abruptly. This was too intense for a sixteen-year-old to listen to. “Sorry. That sounded like a confession.”
Pauley threw more bread, his arm movement jerky. “I am not a priest,” he agreed.
Humor took me. “True. What do you think Father Hamlet would say?”
Pauley scratched his head, his profile pale. “Probably to follow the law. Though laws, like the bible, were written and interpreted by men. Good and bad