Free Shout Down the Moon by Lisa Tucker Page B

smiling, saying, “Come on, show me what you’re made of.” He looks up, notices me watching. He stares into my eyes like he’s asked a question and he’s waiting for my answer. I quickly look away, move back into the kitchen.
    Harry is laughing softly. He says he wasn’t born yesterday, he’s been around, he’d know if any shit was happening. Irene puts her hands on her hips and asks if he doesn’t think it’s odd Rick never mentioned he knew me. Harry shrugs. “I think he did say something about Patty. I don’t remember. We didn’t talk chicks, we talked music.”
    I’m not surprised Harry is reacting this way. I’ve hung around the guys enough to know that they like dealers; they even like the idea of crime. To hear them talk, crime is like jazz: outside the mainstream, against society, cool, hip. They don’t have a clue what it’s really like.
    Irene asks Harry to tell Rick to leave. He says he can’t do that, but Rick will leave soon anyway. “We just have to settle the finances.” He pulls her close, rubs her neck. “You’re so uptight, girl. Want a hit?”
    Irene says no, somebody needs to keep their head together here. When she says she’s going to start dinner, I walk back into the living room, hoping Harry’s right, Rick’s about to go.
    He isn’t, he’s still talking to Carl. Willie is over by the television now, running his fire truck by the baseboard. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention, but still, I don’t like him being any part of this.
    I walk over to him, whisper, “Why don’t you go in our room, buddy? Set up all your cars on the bed, make a big traffic jam.”
    “No,” he says loudly. “I stay with the big guys.”
    “Please, baby. I’ll help you.”
    He stands up reluctantly and drags his feet in there. As soon as I sit on the bed and start lining up the cars though, he gives me his whole-face smile and says he loves me “bigger than an elephant.” I reach out and pull him to my chest, hug him until he’s squirming to get away.
    “Cars,” he reminds me.
    For the next forty-five minutes, we play cars. The bedroom door is shut; I tell myself we’re fine, we’ll just stay in here until Rick leaves. I look out the window every few minutes, hoping I missed the sound and the truck has disappeared.
    Finally, there’s a knock on the door. I assume it’s Irene giving me an update, but it isn’t.
    “Your friend has dinner ready,” he says. Willie says “Yum,” and escapes before I can stop him.
    Rick steps into my room, glances around. We look at each other for a minute before I whisper, “What are you doing here?”
    He stares at me. “Helping out your band.”
    “For real.” There’s a note of pleading I can’t keep out of my voice. “I don’t understand what’s going on. First Zeb shows up at the club and now this. What do you want?”
    He comes so close I can see the little scar above his lip, a patch of stubble on his cheek he missed during his morning shave—but he doesn’t touch me. After a moment, he says, “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back, Patty. You know that, right?”
    “But there’s nothing you can do,” I say, looking at the wall behind him. “I told you it was over; I told you—”
    “I haven’t forgotten,” he says. “I remember exactly what you told me.”
    Before I can say another word, he’s turned around, walking to the door.
    I stand for a minute, thinking or trying to, until an alarm goes off. Willie. I have to go out and see what he’s doing.
    He’s already climbed into his booster seat. He tells Irene he’s hungry, then he says, “Feed me, Eeyore,” and grins. He’s heard Harry tell Irene, “Feed me, Seymour”—a line from one of their favorite movies. Willie grins because he knows Irene will crack up; she always does when he says this.
    When Irene gives him a plate of spaghetti, I sit down next to him and start cutting it up. She’s the only one in the kitchen; she says Carl and Dennis are