These Mortals
Page 24
“We should,” I said.
“It’ll help us sleep. Right?”
“What are you two beautiful kids discussing?” said Stackhouse. She was reclined on the larger leather couch. Her crutches leaned against the wall within easy reach, and her purple ankle cast was propped on Timothy’s lap. She and my father both held tea cups of chamomile in one hand, and answered emails on their phone with the other. It was cute, their synchronicity. Stackhouse’s chin was stitched.
“They’re going to marriage counseling,” said my old man.
“No, señor. Just regular counseling. But they’ll talk about marriage,” said Manny. He was lying flat on his back on the floor, as he liked to do, his head on Darren’s foam pillow. His forearm and shoulder were bandaged, bulky under his shirt. With his good hand, he used his cell to send Noelle Beck links to fashion articles and skin care advice.
“How do you know?”
Manny said, “He told me. Said the difference isn’t important, but marriage counseling still carries a stick man with stupid people.”
“Stigma,” I said.
“What I said. But then he said it shouldn’t carry a stigma and even I should get some marriage counseling. I said I don’t need counseling cause I have America.”
Quiet, said Kix. I’m watching Frozen. I’m not sure how Elsa will get out of this one.
Ronnie looked at her watch, a dainty silver thing that also counted her steps. “We have to go or we’ll be late for our first marriage counseling session.”
“It’s not marriage counseling. We’re only engaged.”
“We’re both,” she said.
“Either way, this is counseling with a therapist specializing in PTSD. We happen to be married, but mostly we need help getting our pieces put back together.”
“I could use some of that,” Stackhouse muttered into her teacup.
“We all could,” said Timothy. “We’re a mess.”
I said, “A good mess. Our harvest is worth a dirty stable.”
I set Kix beside Manny. Kix said, Hello Manuel, but didn’t take his eyes from the television screen. Some days he seemed to love Manny as much as he loved me. Which, I thought, was hurtful.
“Babe, explain that thing you just said? About the dirty stable,” said Stackhouse.
“If there’s no oxen, there’s no mess in the stable. But our stable isn’t empty. We’re in it. Thus, there’s a mess.”
“We’re the oxen?”
“Yes. A dirty stable means you gotta deal with crap. But the harvest is worth it,” I said.
“Are you quoting something?”
“I am. But botching it.”
“The harvest is worth it. I like that,” said Ronnie. “You’re my harvest.”
“And your oxen.”
Stackhouse smiled. At us. “I just adore you two. My whole life got better when I joined this crew and this living room. Sometimes the grass really is greener.”
Timothy raised his teacup in a toast. “I couldn’t agree more. Happiness is knowing you’re in the green field.”
Manny rolled his eyes and did a groan. “White people and their white people emotions.”
“Right?” I said.
I left for marriage counseling with my wife. She held my hand the whole way.
And we were foolishly in love.
Dear Reader
Dear reader,
I hope you enjoyed These Mortals. I’m exhausted from writing it. I delayed writing it for a year, instead working on Desecration of All Saints and two books about Manny/Sinatra, but I knew eventually Darren must be dealt with.
And so he has been. Whew.
It may interest you to know, my typing cannot keep up with my brain. I already have the next two Mackenzie mysteries fully outlined in my mind, as well as the next two Sinatra thrillers.
Here’s a vague sneak peek.
In an upcoming mystery, Mackenzie maintains a friendly and professional rivalry with another local private detective. She’s good. Almost as good as he is, he thinks. Modestly. But to solve a case baffling Roanoke’s law enforcement, they’ll need to work together.
In another upcoming mystery, Mackenzie gets framed for murder. Whoever did it, he or she is thorough. Even Mackenzie’s stumped.
In an upcoming thriller, Sinatra meets his match, though he’d never admit it.
I hope you’ll stick around. It’s going to be fun.
It’s my pleasure to remain,
Your favorite mystery writer for the next twenty years,
Alan