“Hank—” I whispered, interrupting him but he kept going.
“And I like what they see.”
Yowza.
“I’m in trouble,” I said.
“I already know that.”
“I’m talking about you.”
“Good to know you’ve got your eyes open too.” He didn’t even let that sink in. He kissed my nose, moved away, grabbed his paper cup of coffee off the table and he was gone.
“Holy cow,” I breathed.
“Sugar bunch, you can say that again,” Daisy cal ed. She was sitting on the book counter, legs crossed and leafing through a copy of Us magazine. Though her hands were moving the pages, she was looking at the door that had just closed behind Hank.
“Holy cow,” I said again.
“We’re al f**ked,” Duke’s gravel y voice said from somewhere in the books.
I had the feeling he wasn’t wrong.
* * * * *
Uncle Tex got off work and took me to a Middle Eastern restaurant on University Boulevard cal ed Jerusalem. We both ordered the combo platter, which arrived brimming over with rice, baba ghanoush, hummus, fattoush, tabbouleh, stuffed grape leaves, falafel, gyros meat, three kinds of kabobs and pita bread. “Holy cow. I’m never going to be able to eat this,” I said, staring at my plate.
“Then don’t eat, talk. What’s goin’ on with you?” I started eating.
“Roxanne Gisel e…”
“Jeez, Uncle Tex, you sound just like Mom.” His eyes flickered, pain slicing through them and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
“Okay, I’l talk,” I said, mainly to take his mind off whatever it was that was hurting him.
I told him about Bil y.
Halfway
through
the
story,
around
about
the
sledgehammer part, he boomed (pita bread and baba ghanoush flying out of his mouth). “I’m gonna f**kin’ kill that motherfucker!”
I looked around at our gawking neighbors.
“Uncle Tex, calm down,” I whispered.
He swal owed.