Free The Egg Code by Mike Heppner

tongue.”
    The mob near the entrance scuttled back out into the waiting area as a lone usher opened the huge double doors.
    “Looks like the line’s moving.” Donna glanced over the crowd. “I’ll let you folks get a seat. But don’t you forget, now, we’ve got a couples’ cruise coming up in the fall.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Steve scratched his beard, casually considering the ramifications. “I think I can find some time off.”
    Lydia yanked his hand away from his face. “Steve, if my mother finds out you’ve been blowing our money on expensive cruises, she’ll take back that allowance so fast you’ll never pee straight again.”
    “Well, I just won’t tell her then, what do you think about that?” Bright eyes. “This is my family, my business. I’ll do whatever the heck I want to. Enough of this noise.” Turning to Donna, he said, “If there’s any way, ma’am, I’d really like to meet Mr. Skye.”
    “Steve.” Lydia moistened her fingers and dabbed at his forehead. “Your hair.”
    “I know that’s a lot to ask.”
    “Your hair’s sticking straight up.”
    “I don’t know if he works that way. I mean, I know they do it with the pope sometimes, if someone just wants to speak with him in private.”
    “Your hair. Hold still. You look like a homeless person.”
    “An audience, they call it. That’s what you get with the pope.”
    “It’s not that formal.” Donna opened and closed her jacket, fanning her face. “He’s a very nice man.”
    “I think I’d make a good impression. I’m just out of college, see, and I’m really interested in work and . . . work-related activities.”
    “That’s great.” She hesitated, seeing her husband’s stern face. You said
what
? “I don’t know if he can help you out with that.”
    “I mean, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve got skills like all get out. You betcha.”
    “Honey, you look like a raving lunatic.” Lydia brushed his scalp with her fingers. “Where’s my comb? People will think you’re demented.”
    Bored already, Donna began to drift away from the couple. “I’ll see if he can spare a minute or two,” she said. Waving goodbye, she snuck through the crowd and followed an escort down a ramp to the backstage door. A fat woman dressed in tight dungarees stood just inside the entrance, swinging a flashlight, casting a bright arc across the carbon-black wall. Donna blinked as she moved toward another beam, then another, lights swaying like a team of illuminated pendulums, wildfires leading her to him. Opening the door to an unmarked dressing room, she found her husband alone, reviewing the words of his speech. He stepped away from the mirror. “Honey.”
    “I brought you your scarf,” she said, drawing it out of her pocket.
    Stark lights hid Derek’s dark eyes under a heavy shadow. His nervous hands ran across the countertop, finding a bottle of prescription pills. “I’d rather have some warmer weather.” He twisted the bottle open. “Think you can help me out?”
    “What?”
    Disappointed, he wadded his tongue against his lower lip. “Never mind. It was a joke. You didn’t get it.”
    “Tell me.”
    “I was saying, if you could . . . change . . . the weather. Oh, I don’t want to be here. I
don’t
want to be here.” Leaning away from the mirror, he blinked at his own tired reflection.
    “So, come home with me.”
    He looked over his shoulder. “You know I can’t do that,” he said. “The promoter is squeezing me for everything I’ve got, and don’t tell anyone I said that.”
    This was what she loved about her husband—his bitterness. The rest of the world knew the man’s easy side, but the darkness belonged to her alone. Drawn to it, she stepped across the room and pressed the scarf against his cheek.
    He backed away. “Don’t,” he said. “That thing’s filthy.”
    Donna laughed, then squeezed the scarf and held it in her fist. “How did this get so wrinkled?” she asked, touching his sports