Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,38
character’s snores.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Duran?”
Brianna stiffened. “Miss,” she said. “Ramirez. My maiden name.” She took the basket from Sofia and set it on a cocked hip. “What’s he done now?”
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Evan said.
“Is he okay?” Sofia’s dark eyes were wide, glazed with fear.
“I don’t know. I’m trying to help him.”
Brianna bulldozed at him, leading with the basket, forcing him to step aside. “You can talk while I fold in my apartment. And don’t get no ideas. You try anything stupid, all these ladies up in here saw your face, ain’t that right, ladies?”
Evan was treated to a chorus of suspicious glares and disapproving clucks.
He said, “I will be the picture of chivalry.”
As he followed Brianna and Sofia up the hall, he heard one of the ladies say, “Chivalry, hell. My ass would settle for employed.”
Brianna’s apartment was tidy and well kept, a contrast to what he’d seen of the building. Vacuum marks in the carpet, dishes neatly stacked on the kitchen shelves, photos of Sofia lined on a side table. A rickety desk held an outdated laptop and a pile of bills.
“Sofia,” Brianna said. “Go to your room.”
Sofia looked at Evan. “Just tell me if he’s okay.”
“I don’t know,” Evan said.
Sofia took her index finger in her opposite fist, bent it till the knuckle cracked. “Did he kill that man?”
Brianna said, “Sof. Room. Now.”
“I’m guessing it’s more complicated than that,” Evan told Sofia.
Sofia retreated down the brief hall, closed the door, then silently opened it a crack and peered out. She saw Evan looking, raised a finger to her lips, and winked.
He winked back at her, returned his focus to Brianna. She dumped the laundry on the couch, got on her knees, and started folding. “Talk,” she said.
“I’m a friend of a friend of Andrew’s.”
“No you’re not. Andrew doesn’t have friends like you. Clean shirt, clean clothes, smell like soap. You need a better lie.”
Evan didn’t rise to the challenge. “I’m told he’s in some real trouble.”
She snapped a T-shirt harder than seemed necessary and folded it crisply. “You think?”
“I’m trying to find him.”
“Yeah? Good luck. I been trying to pin down that man for a year and change. Like when he used to go on them benders. Gone. Just gone.” She hunted through the mound before her. “How does that girl always lose one sock? Does she take it off at school?”
Evan had never lost a sock, though Mia had made him aware that this was a domestic epidemic. He glanced up the hall again. From behind her door, Sofia mimed dramatic remorse, pressing her palm to her forehead. He bit down a grin.
When he looked back, Brianna tossed the orphaned sock aside and held a T-shirt to her face. Evan thought she was smelling it. But then he saw her shoulders trembling and understood.
“Ms. Ramirez?”
When she lowered the shirt, her protective toughness had dropped from her face, and now there was just grief, pure and simple. “He’s such an idiot,” she whispered. “But he’s Sofia’s father, and I still love him despite himself, and if he got himself killed, I’ll never forgive him.”
Evan stood there quietly.
“I mean, no one’s perfect, right?” she continued, talking at the shirt. “We’re just these … I dunno, busted creatures. And then you have a child. A daughter. And you realize you’re it—you’re the mold, the model, the example. God help them. And you pray so hard that they’re not doomed to fail like you. You’re so desperate for them not to repeat your mistakes. Marry the wrong guy. Wind up … wind up here. Like you.”
She threw down the shirt and rose, knees cracking. “What’s your name?”
“Evan.”
“Evan. Do you really think you could help him?”
“I’m willing to try.”
“What do you need from me?”
“You don’t know where he lives?”
“He had a house. But he sublet it. Couldn’t afford it no more, I guess. And he’s been living somewhere else. Won’t say where. For a guy without any pride, he sure has a lot of pride.”
“Any regular hangouts?”
“I wouldn’t know. Not anymore.”
“Friends?”
She shook her head. “That’s part of what goes wrong, right? You fold into yourself, your family. And then when it implodes, it’s just you standing there.”
“No one at all?”
“He did have a childhood friend. But you won’t be able to talk to him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s in Kern Valley. State prison. Another fine influence.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. Denny? Donnie? I wasn’t exactly supportive of the friendship.” She sighed, blew a lock of sleek hair out of her