Chapter 8
“You did what?” Becca shouted in shock and incredulity. If she hadn’t been holding the bowl of pasta salad, she would’ve throttled him (or at least given him a good shake, to try to bring him to his senses and attempt to release her anger).
“Jonah’s back, isn’t he?”
“You did what?” She repeated, setting the bowl on the table and standing across from him in the dim hot kitchen with her hands on her hips.
“She signed the consent form, didn’t she?” But the confidence in his voice was fading under her angry glare. He had never been this deep into Becca’s wrath. He hoped the storm would pass quickly.
“Zach, he’s a drug dealer.”
“With a busted up house just like all the rest you send me to fix.”
“Those others don’t transact illegal business under their roofs. Who knows what this guy is capable of? Who knows what you might get caught up in?”
“He may be a dealer but he’s not a fool. He’s not about to do anything illegal in the witness of his honky handyman.”
“You presume a rationality that doesn’t exist in this guy’s world. They don’t act by our rules.”
“They act by the rule of survival—and for Snake, survival means using my assistance to keep his house from being condemned. He’s not going to undermine his own well-being.”
“Until he’s cornered—then he’ll cut you in a heartbeat.”
“That won’t happen. I won’t let it.”
“Zach, you’re not a superhero. You can’t swoop into their underworld and do your repair thing, fending off every surprise attack and disaster. We can’t even control our own lives, how are you going to control his?”
“Becca, I’m going to spend a few days—days, not nights—in his house doing basic repairs. I’m not trying to control his underworld or even interact with it—I’m replacing rotten boards and clearing clogged pipes.”
“As if you can enter his house and not enter his world.”
“Becca, who entered who’s house on that street first? Who freely chose to enter that world?”
“I was visiting a client.”
“You were following your heart.”
“You shouldn’t have got involved.”
“I was following my heart, and it followed you.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten in that deep, Zach.”
“Passed that stop sign a long time ago.”
“You should’ve run it by me.”
“You would’ve said no.”
“I would’ve been right.”
“And Jonah would’ve still been out there tonight, holed up in the closet of some crackhouse with a bottle of pop and a bag of chips.”
Becca looked at him across the table and shook her head slowly. “So instead you’ll be buying time in the crackhouse.”
Zach smiled. “Better a superhero than an eight-year-old boy.”
Becca circled around the table and laid her whole body up against his—her arms squeezing him tight, her thighs pushing against his, her head rubbing up and down against the stubble of his chin. She said into his T-shirt, “If something happens to you, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”
“First, forgive me.”
“Already done.”
He nodded into the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“No, Zach—thank you.”
Birthday Dinner Page 17
