Page 9 of Philly
He nodded and watched her leave, smiling inside at her confidence—Ava was not a woman to question whether she’d find something, because she’dalwaysfind something.
“Now, back to my question,” Monk said.
Philly scanned the bar, checking to see if anyone was waiting to place an order.
“Everyone’s all set for now,” Monk said. “How are you?”
“You’re killing my jam,” Philly replied, leaning against the back bar so he could keep an eye on the room.
“The conversation with Ava diverted your attention—served a purpose, too. But you’re going to have to deal with it sometime,” Monk replied.
“And here, in the middle of Rita’s with fifty French bikers in the bar, is when I should do that?”
Monk shrugged. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
Philly huffed a laugh. “No,neveris as good a time as any.”
“That shit festers.”
“I’m aware.”
“It always finds a way of coming out.”
“Not this,” he said, even as a tiny voice inside his head mocked his hubris.
He expected Monk to laugh. When he didn’t, Philly turned and looked at his brother. His stomach twisted at the expression on Monk’s face—part disappointment, part…not pity, but maybe empathy or concern.
Philly sighed and caved enough to appease him. “I’ll deal with it when I can. I’m not there yet, though.”
Monk studied him, then nodded. “When you are, we’ll all be here.”
As much as he wanted to never revisit that part of his life, that wasn’t reality. If the past two months had taught him anything, it was that forgetting about that one day so many years ago wasn’t possible. He’d managed to shove it into a deep, dark corner for years, but it had never left him. The second Callie Parks stepped into the room, it reared its ugly head and came roaring into the light.
“Scipio should be here in ten minutes. You got this?” he asked. Monk nodded. Philly exhaled. “Great, ’cause I need another run.”
5
Flight delays in LA kept Callie from arriving when planned. Instead of landing and driving straight to Lyda’s, she ended up staying the night at an airport hotel in Albuquerque. Now, as the sun hung bright and unforgiving in the wide-open eastern sky, she navigated her rental car north toward Santa Fe. Lyda lived twenty miles north of the iconic town, but she wanted to pick up thank-you gifts, and Lyda had also asked if she wouldn’t mind stopping by the art store to collect some supplies they had on hold for her.
By the time Callie pulled up to her host’s house, it was nearly noon. She knew, both from Elizabeth and from experience, that Lyda didn’t prioritize food, so she’d also grabbed a couple of ready-made meals and some food staples from the local co-op. Having skipped breakfast, she was starving—or as starving as she got these days—and her mind turned to the sandwiches she’d make for lunch as she opened the car door.
Anu, Lyda’s black-and-white mutt, darted up as Callie climbed out. Dropping her purse on the seat, she knelt and gave the large dog a good scratch behind his ears, his long silky fur tangling in her fingers. Her parents had never allowed any pets,and while Callie wasn’t as comfortable as someone who’d grown up with them, she loved both cats and dogs.
She murmured nonsense words as Anu licked her cheek, then nuzzled into her chest, his warm, happy presence lifting Callie’s spirits. Then, as if hearing something Callie didn’t, Anu leaped back and darted toward the house, spinning with an exciting yip.
“Callie,” Lyda said, emerging from the shadows of the deep patio. “It’s good that you are here,” she added, coming toward her. She’d lost weight since Callie had last seen her, a feat for a woman already on the petite side. She’d also aged, but that didn’t surprise Callie. Lyda and Liza had been close, and although Lyda refused to get sucked into the dark side of grief, loss shadowed every line on her face, every black strand of hair turned gray, every heavy step.
“It is,” Callie said, wrapping her arms around the tiny woman she considered more of a mom than her biological one. Anu paced around them, the herding part of his DNA happy she and Lyda stood close together.
“Your art things are in the trunk,” Callie said. “If you want to grab those, I’ll bring in the food. I can come back for my things later.”
Lyda nodded and stepped away. A few minutes later, Callie set the grocery bags on the thick, heavily scarred wood countertop and began unpacking as Lyda sorted through the items from the art store on the dining table.
“Did they get it all?” Callie asked, watching Lyda examine a deep blue powder.
Lyda nodded but didn’t otherwise respond. Relief replaced Callie’s worry. Lyda hadn’t been clear what her order contained, so Callie hadn’t been able to confirm whether they’d included everything. She didn’t like disappointing people, especially notLyda, and she would have hated if something had been missing or wrong.
With that concern eased, she focused on her task at hand. Setting aside what she needed to make sandwiches—along with the bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos Lyda loved—she gathered the items that needed refrigeration and carried them to the ancient appliance. Pulling the handle, she swung the door open then eyed the sparse contents, pleased she’d erred on the side of buying more rather than less.
