He shifted and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray he had resting on the edge of the railing.
Then he came back to me, curving his other arm around me so he held me loosely in both and asked, “What happened to him?”
This question was confusing so I asked back, “Who?”
“Guy who did your parents.”
I sucked in an unexpected breath like he’d struck me with a surprise body blow.
He either didn’t hear it or was focused because he repeated, “What happened to him?”
“He got life,” I whispered.
“No shot at parole?”
I shook my head. Two murdered people who were doing nothing but driving to work. They were the parents of a seven year old and killed by a man who took their car because he was literally on the run from cops. Cops who finally caught up with him because he was wanted for putting his pregnant girlfriend in the hospital because he was pissed she was pregnant. A problem he solved since she lost the baby.
No. No parole.
Knight kept at it. “He livin’ a long one?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“He died in prison, it’s likely cops would let you know.”
“Would they tell my aunt?”
“If he bought it when you were a minor, maybe, expecting her to tell you. Now, no. They did it, they’d find you.”
“Well, I haven’t heard anything.”
He was quiet a moment before he muttered, “No shot at parole, nothin’ to inform you about.”
I suspected this was true but I had no idea. I didn’t think about him. Ever.
And I didn’t want to now either.
“Why are you asking about him?” I asked quietly and his arms gave me a light squeeze.
“Nothin’. Just curious, baby. I’ll shut up about it, yeah?”
I nodded.
Knight asked, “Hungry?”
For some reason I giggled then explained, “Uh… lunch was kinda big.”
“Yeah, babe, but lunch was also six and a half hours ago.”
I blinked up at him.
“Is it that late?”
“Uh… yeah.”
Whoa.
“Maybe I should go home,” I mumbled to his throat and I got another light squeeze.