“Does she depend on me to enforce rules so she gets along in our household?” Creed kept going.
“Like Gun follows rules,” she mumbled.
Creed ignored that too.
“So she’s like another child and if a dog’s gonna make her unhappy, we’re not gettin’ a f**kin’ dog.”
“Jesse loves dogs.”
“Jesse’s gonna have to wait until he has the body coordination to feed it to get one.”
“You’re so strict,” she muttered.
“I’m a Dad. That’s what Dads are.”
She pulled slightly back so she could tip her head to look at him.
When her green eyes locked with his, quietly, she said, “Creed, I want a dog.”
To which Creed immediately replied, “When we get home, I’ll get you one.”
She grinned.
Creed bent his head and kissed her.
Her lips tasted partly of Snickers but mostly of sun…
And Sylvie.
* * * * *
Thirteen hours later…
Creed stood beside the bed in the dark.
Sylvie was in it, on her side, her legs curled up.
Jesse was in his Diamondback pajamas on his back, tucked to her front with her arm around him. He had his arms over his head, his legs splayed out, his little fist tucked against Sylvie’s lips.
Carefully, Creed pulled the sheet up to his wife’s waist before he turned to his bag, dug into the bottom and pulled out the envelope and the flashlight.
Silently, he left the room, the hotel and got in their rental.
Then he drove.
He entered from the south side and parked where his research told him it would be.
He shut down the ignition and sat in the car.
“Understand why I gotta do this,” he said into the car.
As ever, over the years when Creed spoke to his father, Brand Creed didn’t reply. And as ever, over the years when Creed spoke to his father, he hoped like Christ his father heard.
And this time understood.
Creed got out, turned on the flashlight and illuminated the headstones as he walked until he found it.
Bissenette.