Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,61

maybe someone was playing a joke on him. Only, who would play a joke? He didn’t know anybody, didn’t have any friends on the outside.

They met for coffee at a fancy café off of Monroe Drive. John had worn a new shirt and his only good pants, the chinos Joyce had sent to him so he would have something to wear when he left Coastal. The custom was to just give the inmate back the clothes he’d come in with, but John was several sizes larger than that scrawny kid who’d ridden the prison transport down to Savannah.

The night before, he had taken off work early so he could go to the gift shop down the street. John had spent an hour picking out a Christmas card for Joyce, going back and forth between the cheap ones and the nice ones. The weather had made business at the Gorilla sporadic. Art was laying off guys left and right. John had saved as much money as he could during the flush times, but he had finally had to get a winter coat. Even though he told himself he was never going to wear used clothes again, John had no choice but to go to the Goodwill Store. The only coat he could find that halfway fit him was torn at the collar and had a funky smell to it that he couldn’t wash out at the Laundromat. It was warm, though, and that was all that mattered.

Joyce was five minutes late to the café, and John was sweating it out over the fact that he’d had to pay three dollars for a cup of coffee just to be able to sit at one of the tables when she rushed in. She looked harried, her sunglasses pushed onto the top of her head, her long brown hair down around her shoulders.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. She left about six inches between her and the table, even more space between her and John.

“You want some coffee?” He started to stand to get it for her but she stopped him with a terse shake of her head.

“I’ve got to meet some friends in ten minutes.” She hadn’t even taken off her coat. “I don’t know why I called you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She looked out the windows. There was a movie theater across the way and she was watching the people who were standing in line.

John pulled the Christmas card out of his pocket, glad he had gone for the more expensive one. Three sixty-eight, but it had glitter on the outside and the inside was folded so that when you opened it, a snowflake popped up. Joyce had loved pop-up books when they were little. He could remember her giggling over one that had farm animals jumping off the pages.

He held out the card. “I got you this.”

She didn’t take it, so he set it on the table, slid it toward her. He had spent most of last night testing out his thoughts on notebook paper, not wanting to give her a card with words scratched out or worse, to write something stupid that would ruin the card and make him have to buy a new one. In the end, he had simply signed it, “love, John,” knowing there was nothing else he could say.

He asked, “What have you been up to?”

She focused back on him as if she had forgotten he was there. “Work.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Me, too.” He tried to make a joke of it. “Not like what you do, but somebody has to clean those cars.”

She obviously didn’t think he was funny.

He stared at his cup, rolling it in his hands. Joyce was the one who had called him, inviting him to this place where he couldn’t even afford a sandwich off the menu, yet he felt like the bad guy.

Maybe he was the bad guy.

He asked her, “Do you remember Woody?”

“Who?”

“Cousin Woody, Lydia’s son.”

She shrugged, but said, “Yeah.”

“Do you know what he’s up to?”

“Last I heard, he joined the army or something.” Her eyes flashed. “You’re not going to try to get in touch with him again?”

“No.”

She leaned forward, urgent. “You shouldn’t, John. He was bad news then and I’m sure he hasn’t changed now.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“You’ll end up back in jail.”

Would she care? he wondered. Would it be better for her if he was back at Coastal instead of living right under her nose? Joyce was the only living