Silver Basilisk - Zoe Chant Page 0,55

with a sigh. “But in those days, women weren’t allowed, or were kept back behind baby rules for their own safety. So I had to live by my wits.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, nothing like what happened to you.” She waved a hand. “Living by my wits meant avoiding any situation that looked the least bit dubious. But there were enough close calls that made me wish I could karate chop my way through some prize jerks.”

She’d clearly been in some hairy situations, and though she had freely talked about a lot of things, casually mentioning the more colorful of her many roommates over the years, the one thing she hadn’t brought up was relationships.

But he didn’t ask, because he believed he had lost his right to.

So he resolved to leave it to her to bring up that subject.

She didn’t.

They were trading anecdotes about the first refrigerators they ever saw as the 70 joined the 80 outside Denver (where they stopped for an excellent meal of fresh-water fish). Fridges led to other “first time” encounters with various inventions, which by the time they crossed the Kansas border turned into anecdotes about Alejo’s earliest years.

Rigo wanted to hear everything about his childhood, and once Godiva saw that he wasn’t bored—far from it—out came the little stories. He got to hear about Alejo learning to climb before he learned to walk, and how at eighteen months old he managed to make it onto the garage roof before they found him. How for a long time about the only toys he had were a half set of Lincoln Logs, to which he’d add rocks and twigs, building forts for the characters he’d draw himself on old newsprint and laboriously cut out.

His first lost tooth (knocked out by trying to fly from an eight foot wall), his first film (Disney’s Peter Pan, which had finally made it to the cheap theaters, resulting in said attempt to fly), his first friend, his first fight with a friend, his tree house secret club that wasn’t very secret, his knack for knowing all the names of every animal on the block within a few days of moving to a new place, and how he’d save bits of his meals to hand out to said animals if he thought his mom wasn’t looking.

His first overnight, with the Boy Scout troop that his friend Lance’s dad was Scout Master of—and how Godiva spent that entire night pressed up against the apartment door in case the phone in the hallway rang.

“I never told him about those long sleepless nights,” Godiva said. “I knew he had to do boy things. And I liked Lance Jackson Senior. He was a firefighter, so I figured he knew about camp safety. But I hated those overnights until I could trust Alejo to find a bus, and to keep hold of a dime to call home if he had to.”

Rigo understood what she was saying, perhaps unconsciously—that she’d lost her trust in men. But she had still done her best to raise Alejo to be a good man. And she’d done a terrific job.

Every time they stopped, he found texts from Alejo asking for updates. He knew what their son wanted to hear, that the mate bond was true, that they were together again. He wasn’t sure what to say, except variations on the So far so good theme.

The night before they crossed into Illinois, they encountered so much summer traffic that the motels were all full. Since they could both afford a hotel, they were resigned to the inevitable, though, as Godiva grumped when they pulled their suitcases out, “I was living hand to mouth for long enough to really resent shelling out more than two hundred clams just to park my butt for eight hours. I don’t need fancy décor. Just clean, and plenty of hot water.”

He spoke without thinking, “Well, since we’ve got the fancy décor, shall we enjoy what we paid for and have a nightcap?”

Her gaze shifted around, then she looked up at him, and there was another flicker of the old smile. “Sure.”

They met in the bar, which was decorated on a New York theme. They ordered, and as she looked around slowly, he was very aware of a silence building. “Ever been to New York?” he asked, figuring that was innocuous enough.

She switched those luminous, expressive eyes to him, then said, “Nope. Had a couple invites, but they always seemed to come with interrogations attached.”

“Interrogations?” he repeated.

“Interviews. Which are really polite