of Julian, who isn’t answering his phone.
The small, ancient tube TV that Lorna keeps on the kitchen counter is tuned to Jeopardy!, which just started. I’ll take “What the Fuck Is Wrong with Everybody Tonight?” for six hundred, Alex.
“Motherfucker,” J.R. shouts suddenly from the other room.
Kenzie jumps, dropping her fork into her casserole at the sound of a beer bottle hitting the wall. It shatters, the shards falling onto the wood floor.
Across from her, Lorna is rigid, her eyes flickering to the living room, ears pricked. She relaxes slightly a few seconds later when she confirms that whomever her son is mad at, it’s not her. A plastic container of Two-Bite Brownies sits open on the table, and she grabs one, munching rapidly even though her plate is still half-full of tuna and macaroni. She mumbles syllables under her breath that sound like words, but Kenzie still can’t make out what she’s saying.
Is she really not going to ask her precious boy why the hell he just smashed a beer bottle against her living room wall? Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, the both of them.
J.R. calls for her, and Kenzie leaves Lorna at the table. She steps into the living room, careful to avoid the shattered glass all over the floor.
“Julian isn’t picking up.”
“Uh, yeah, I got that.”
He glances past her into the kitchen, checking to see if his mother is listening. She’s not. Lorna has scooped a helping of casserole onto J.R.’s plate and is now studiously buttering a dinner roll. Kenzie rolls her eyes. For fuck’s sake, old woman, he said he wasn’t hungry.
J.R. grabs Kenzie by the arm, harder than necessary, and yanks her a few paces farther away from the kitchen.
“Julian’s phone is going straight to voice mail,” he says.
“Maybe it’s dead.”
“He has a charger in his car.” J.R. jabs at his phone again. “If he fucks me out of this money, I swear to God…”
“Why would he do that?” Kenzie rubs the spot on her arm where his fingers pinched her. “He has no reason to do that. You’re being paranoid.”
J.R. resumes his pacing. “Derek said he’d pay the money. Julian is supposed to text him when he gets back to Seattle with a meet-up point, and then let me know when it’s happening. He hasn’t texted.”
“Maybe he’s still driving.”
“He should have been in the city an hour ago at the latest. They should be meeting up right now.”
“Maybe they are, and he’ll text any minute.”
“Then why is his phone off?”
“Maybe they’re at a place with no cell signal.”
“He wouldn’t pick a place like that if he was meeting up with the guy who has the money, M.K. For fuck’s sake, think.”
“I am thinking. Maybe he just … forgot to check in.”
“Julian doesn’t forget.” J.R. looks at her. “He’s gonna fuck me over, I can feel it.”
“Well, if that’s true, it means he’s fucking me over, too.” Kenzie flops onto the sofa. “And you know what, I don’t even care at this point. I’m so sick of this. If you had let me handle it, I would have had a hundred grand in my pocket and been done with him.”
“Yeah, and I would have gotten nothing.”
“Why do you deserve anything?” She glares at him. “Derek was my rich married boyfriend, not yours. Mine. None of it was supposed to go down like this. These men were a source of income for me, do you understand? They treated me like a side piece, but hell, they were my side hustle, so fair’s fair. You were never supposed to be involved in any of this. You’re not my pimp.”
“I deserved this,” J.R. says. “I need this money, M.K. You think it’s easy running a bar and supporting my mother and supporting myself? We got nothing from the sale of the winery once the creditors were paid, and my mom’s still in debt. But if Julian’s done what I think he’s done, then he’s got all of it. All five hundred thousand. And now he’s fucking gone.”
Kenzie looks up. “Five hundred thousand? What are you talking about?”
He pauses his pacing, glances at her. “Never mind.”
Whatever he just let slip, he didn’t mean to, and she sure as shit isn’t letting it go. “J.R. What five hundred thousand?”
He cranes his neck, looking into the kitchen again for his mother, but Lorna is gone. J.R.’s plate of casserole is gone, too, as is the container of brownies. Strange. Her bedroom is down the hallway. She would have had to pass right