Prodigal Son (Orphan X #6) - Gregg Andrew Hurwitz Page 0,77

him, too.”

“How do you know?”

Evan thought about it. “Because I know your mom. And I know what kind of mom she is.”

Peter blinked up at him. Nodded.

“Which means we know what kind of man she’d marry,” Evan said. “Don’t we?”

Peter nodded again.

“And that’s why you’re wearing his shirts, I think. To be close to him.”

“But…”

“What?”

Peter said, “Even if that’s true…”

Pinocchio and Jiminy had made their way home across dark cobblestone streets, pounding on the front door with frustration. But no one was home.

“Even if that’s true…” Peter took a deep breath and scratched his nose, hiding his eyes. “I don’t have anyone to be proud of me.”

There were a hundred pat answers, none of them suitable. Evan sat with the words Peter had entrusted to him. Then he reached over. His hand looked so big resting on Peter’s knee.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” Peter kept his face tilted down, away. “But Mom doesn’t count. She has to be proud of me. She’s my mom.”

Evan marveled that Peter could take something like that for granted.

Again he pictured Veronica on that big white couch.

Why didn’t you want me?

My circumstances weren’t suited to it.

Peter placed his hand on Evan’s, a double stack atop his knee. He returned his focus to the movie, and Evan followed suit.

They watched for a time, the boy’s hand warm against his.

Finally Mia called over from the kitchen: “Okay. Bedtime for Bonzo. Brush, floss, pee.”

“Mom! Evan Smoak’s here! Twenty more minutes.”

“Are you kidding? You are way past bedtime already.”

“Ten more minutes?”

“Hmm. Let me consider. How about…” Mia came around to the front of the couch, a finger rested alongside her cheek, pondering theatrically. “… no more minutes. You know why?”

Peter singsonged, “You don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“That’s right.”

“Can I have a glass of eggnog?”

“No. Too much sugar. And besides, it’s expired.”

Peter slouched off toward his bedroom. “Like my dreams.”

Mia pursed her lips, rolled her eyes. Evan followed her back to the kitchen and helped her put away the last few dishes. A Post-it stuck next to the telephone had another quotation from that Jordan Peterson book she was always reading: Do not hide unwanted things in the fog.

She often scattered notes around the condo as parental touchstones for Peter. It was always a challenge for Evan to wrap his head around the notion of a childhood guided by carefully curated life lessons. Especially in contrast to his own, shaped by the rule of the foster-home pack and a set of Commandments designed to sharpen him into a lethal implement.

She gestured to a top shelf in the cupboard, out of her reach, and then handed him a salad bowl. He took it, their fingers brushing, and set it high in its place.

“Did that go okay?” she asked, head tilting toward the couch.

“I think so.”

“Just getting him to talk about it is a help,” she said. “It’s hard for him to bring it up to me. I think he thinks it’s … disloyal somehow. Like I’ll take it that he’s saying I’m not enough for him as a parent. And I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leaned close, and again Evan caught the scent of green apple from her damp hair. “No one’s enough as a parent.”

“I’d argue you’re pretty close.”

She swung around, leaning back against the sink, her arm pressing into his as he dried a water glass. “You’re pretty helpful for a tough guy. Do you do windows, too?”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

“Is that so.”

Amused, she rolled her lips to moisten them. Her bottom lip, even fuller than the top, protruded just slightly. He remembered having it between his teeth, her legs outside his, heels sliding on his calves, slick with sweat.

“You know, we never really talked about it,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“You saved my life. And you saved his life.”

He had. And she was right. They’d never addressed it. They couldn’t without compromising her as a district attorney and introducing something between them that could never be taken back.

“And I can’t thank you properly,” she said. “And I can’t be with you.” She came off the sink to face him. They were standing very close. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “But I want to be with you.”

Keeping his eyes on hers, he set down the glass on the counter. “What would you do if you could be with me?”

A sparkle behind her eyes, a playful crease in her cheek as her lips pulled to one side. “For starters?” She lifted a finger, brushed the side of his