Page 48 of Petty's Crime

“Fuck knows what she wants,” he growls.

I hesitate before asking, “And what do you feel about her? Are you pleased she’s back?”

“Fuck no.” He spits out the denial. “She and I were doomed from the start. You want the fuckin’ truth? I was saved when she was locked up.”

I inhale sharply, thinking that sounds a bit harsh, and also a very strange thing to say. “What was her crime?”

“Assault.”

I look at him quickly. “You?”

“No. Some innocent fucker.”

There seems to be an unspokenthis timethat he hasn’t voiced. Suddenly things start to gel in my mind, like the bruise on his back and his admission he didn’t fight back. Is his wife violent or was her crime just a one-off?

“Petty…” I pause, then use his real name. “Clark. Was it she who hit you?”

“It was an accident,” he says fast, facing me fully with his eyebrows raised in challenge. “A fuckin’ accident, okay?”

I stare at him. Yeah, I’d been tempted to pass Saul’s first attack on me off as that until I realised I couldn’t risk there being a second time.

The tense moment is interrupted by an announcement informing us the plane is indeed landing, and the flight attendants coming around to make sure we’re all buckled in safely.

As I shrink back into myself, my nails starting to dig into my skin, he reaches over and clasps my hand firmly. I don’t pull away. Instead, I squeeze tight and don’t let go until the wheels touch down, the brakes are successfully applied and the plane begins to slow. When the plane comes to a halt, I wince as I see the prints of my fingernails on his hand, but Petty says nothing about it.

Instead he stands and reaches into the overhead bins, pulling down our carry-ons. Then, as I move from my seat to stand beside him, he leans down.

“I don’t consider myself married, okay? It’s no hardship for me to play boyfriend.”

Is that a suggestion I should think of him as available? Or just an endorsement that in my acting role in front of my parents, I can do anything I feel it’s necessary to do?

Along with the other passengers we shuffle forward and eventually get off the plane. Bypassing baggage claim we go direct to the arrivals hall, where I easily spot Mom and Dad waiting for me.

As I start walking faster, Petty catches on fast. He’s wheeling my suitcase and has his own duffle bag over his shoulder. He places his free hand in the small of my back. The move makes me falter for a split second before realising he’s slipping into the role we agreed.

My steps speed up as I approach my parents, throwing myself first into my father’s outstretched arms. After a quick hug, he hands me to Mom, who puts me at arm’s length and gives me the once-over, checking that I’m the picture of health which, luckily, I am.

“Clark.” I hear Petty’s deep voice as he introduces himself to my father.

Remembering my manners I turn, linking my arm with his, the action feeling surprisingly natural.

“Mom, this is Clark. Clark, my dad, Rufus, and my mom, Martina.”

There follows the obligatory shaking of hands and, as we walk toward the parking lot, the conversation revolves around their hopes that we had a good journey, and our assurances that we had. Dad tries to take my suitcase from Petty who refuses to give it up, hefting it into the trunk of my parents’ car when we reach it in the parking lot.

I notice Dad eyeing the duffle that Petty has placed beside it.

“Army?” he challenges.

“Yes, sir,” Petty replies. “Did my eight years.”

“Thank you for your service.”

Petty looks embarrassed, so I try to move my dad along. “We going straight home?”

“Yes, unless you’re hungry and want to stop on the way?” Mom asks. “I’ve got your favourite dinner for later.”

Petty grins down at me and stage whispers into my ear, “What’s your favourite?”

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