Page 15 of Steadfast
“You okay?” she asked now.
I shrugged, because I didn’t want to lie to May. But a shrug wasn’t a lie. And I really had no clue how this night would end.
“Forget your toothbrush?” she teased.
My voice was flat. “Forgot how to get through the day without heroin.”
Her eyes were deep pools of empathy. “Did you use?” she asked me calmly.
I shook my head. “Nope. Came close, though. Swear to God, if the neighborhood pusher hadn’t been on a piss break, I’d be off the wagon right now.”
She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. What shedidn’tdo was spout any wisdom. May was as solid as they came.
Another door on my shithole car opened, and May’s brother Griffin Shipley climbed into the back seat. “This where the party is?” he asked, closing the door against the chill.
I grunted.
“Is there a reason you’re not coming into the house?” he asked, bumping the back of the driver’s seat with his big knees. Griffin was built like a Mack truck. Farming gave you muscle, but he’d be a huge guy even if he sat at a desk all day.
“I just drove out of town because I needed an hour away from my place,” I said. “Didn’t realize it was Thursday Dinner.”
“You just have naturally good timing,” May said, nudging my elbow with hers.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “I excel at timing.” You have to have impeccable timing to kill your girlfriend’s brother the only time the two of you ever got into a car together.
“Is this a sandwich?” Griffin asked. I heard a rustle, and then he said, “Mmm. Chicken Caesar.”
“Don’t eat Jude’s food!” May yelped, spinning around to glare at her brother.
“Why not? Mom and Audrey are slicing up a giant ham right now. This is just a warm-up. Bite?” He offered the wrap to the front seat.
“You keep it, man,” I said. Food didn’t appeal to me when I was feeling twitchy.
“We’d better go inside,” May said, reaching for the door. “Heads will roll if dinner doesn’t start on time.”
“I should go home,” I muttered.
She turned to pinch me on the arm. “No freaking way. You’re here already.”
“Didn’t mean to invite myself to dinner.”
“Get out of the car, Jude. There’s apple-cranberry pie.” She knew it was my favorite.
My empty stomach picked that moment to growl, which made her laugh. “Come on.Out.” She gave me a shove.
Caving, I got out and followed the two of them through the kitchen door, because I really could not go back to Colebury right now. Mrs. Shipley stood at her worktable, slicing ham into slabs. “Good evening, Jude,” she said. “It’s lovely to see you.”
Lovely of you to show up empty-handed for dinner. I was such an asshole. “I’m sorry to just drive up without calling.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I specifically invited you back for Thursday Dinner.Thisis Thursday Dinner. You are only allowed to apologize for arriving late. Now wash your hands and find yourself a beverage.” Then, having no more time for discussion, she set down her knife and hefted the platter of ham.
The Shipleys were good at dealing with strays, that was for sure. I found a water glass in one of Mrs. Shipley’s cabinets, and filled it. Then I carried my drink of choice through the double doors and into the crowded dining room.
Candles lit the enormous table, where most everyone was already seated. At the far end sat Isaac and Leah Abraham, the hippie neighbors from a few miles down the road, their toddler on Isaac’s knee. The Abrahams were an odd pair in their late twenties. They’d run away from an honest-to-God cult somewhere out west. Then there were the other Shipley kids, Daphne and Dylan—a set of seventeen-year-old twins, Grandpa Shipley, and a cousin, Kyle, who’d picked apples with us over the summer.
Everyone turned to look when I came in. “Hey,” I said stupidly. But as full as the room looked, there was an empty seat on the bench next to Zachariah, so I moved around the table and snagged it. Zach wasn’t much of a talker. He was a stray, too. A couple of years ago, he’d been booted out of the same cult that the neighbors had escaped. So Zach hitchhiked his way across country to find them. He’d turned up on their doorstep without shoes and without having eaten in days.
Here he sat now, two hundred pounds of blond, solid muscle. If you Googled the word “healthy” you’d probably find a picture of Zachariah. He knew more about farming than I ever would, and he was an excellent mechanic to boot.
