So I went back there, grabbed a pack of smoky treats, a lighter, ashtray and camped out on the couch with my beer and the folders.
What seemed minutes later but I knew by how much I’d read wasn’t, Creed came out with a plate of food that smelled divine in one hand and another cold one in the other.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” he muttered, handing me the plate and setting my beer on the table in front of me.
“You shouldn’t either,” I threw out my guess and his eyes caught mine.
“That’s why I know you shouldn’t do it,” he replied, confirming my guess and moving back into the house.
I looked at the ziti. It was baked. There was tons of cheese, some of it baked brown. It reeked of garlic and I knew at a glance it would be delicious.
I set the plate aside, put the file that was open on my lap on the low, rectangular table in front of me, grabbed the plate again, nabbed the fork stuck in the food, sat back and commenced eating. Upon my first bite it was confirmed. It was delicious.
Creed joined me, sitting in the wicker chair furthest from the door, putting his booted feet up to the edge of the table and his eyes to me.
He shoved a big fork full of ziti in his mouth and asked through it, “Questions?”
I didn’t have any. He was thorough. He didn’t miss a trick. This was added proof he was skilled, talented and experienced.
“You did a shit ton of work and got a month of nothing,” I told him something he already knew.
“This is why I know the ride’s gonna get bumpy,” he replied then shoved more ziti in his mouth.
I shoved more in mine, chewed and swallowed.
“So, no questions about the file, let’s get this closeness crap outta the way,” I suggested and he grinned while still chewing.
Then he invited, “Shoot.”
“Arizona?” I asked.
“Phoenix,” he answered.
I shoved more ziti in my mouth, buying time to find it so I could ask it.
Then I found it and asked it, “Married?”
“Divorced. Six years.”
Six years, divorced. His oldest child was twelve. I wondered how long he was married before the divorce. In other words, his first child was born four years after he left me so I wondered how long it took for him to replace me.
I didn’t ask this. It was clear we had to talk about our pasts, get to know each other. There was no avoiding it. But there were places we weren’t going to go.
I nodded then continued, “You work out of state often?”
“If the job feels good and the pay is right, yeah.”
“How long you been in state?”
His eyes held mine even as he shoved more ziti in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
He was preparing me.
He didn’t have to. I was already braced.
Then he gave it to me. “Left Kentucky, went to Michigan. Moved from Michigan to South Carolina. Met Chelle there. Her parents moved to Arizona, she got pregnant, wanted to be close, we moved there.”
“Chelle?”