Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way #2)(35)

"Please," Manning said. "Just do it."

We all turned to him. He wanted me to change? With his tormented words, I felt suddenly selfish. I had no idea what Manning had been through, or what he needed from me. I wanted him to see me, but not if it hurt him, so I took off my left shoe and returned upstairs, changing quickly so I wouldn't miss anything. In a plain t-shirt and jeans, I went back down without shoes-but I still took the stairs two at a time.

Mom had set out a dish of black and green olives and was pouring two glasses of wine. "Charles," she called as I entered the kitchen. "Why don't you make Manning a drink?"

"I shouldn't," Manning said. "I'm meeting my PO tomorrow." Before I could wonder what that was, he added, "Parole officer."

"Oh, of course. Lake, go tell your father never mind. Could you drink in jail?"

Ugh. Seriously? I blew a sigh out of my nose and hurried out of the kitchen while trying to listen. "Prisoners can make alcohol if-"

"Make it?" Mom asked.

"It's called pruno . . . not like cigarettes, which you can get-"

I stuck my head in dad's study. "He doesn't want a drink," I said, then ran back through the house.

"What'd you miss most?" Mom asked as I entered. I moved out of the way so she could get in the fridge. "I should've had Tiffany call to find out so we could've had it here."

Seated at the breakfast bar with a glass of wine and a half-smile on her face, Tiffany tried to get Manning's attention. He leaned on the counter in one corner of the kitchen, keeping his eyes toward the doorway. I inched a little closer to him. I remembered him being stiff the last time he was here, but it was as if he weren't completely present. His guard was up. I couldn't fault him that. I needed to be alone with him to feel his presence like I had that night in the truck, and who knew when that would be?

"I missed a lot of stuff," Manning said without inflection. "Carpet. Towels that aren't falling apart. Privacy. But especially steak." 

Mom blushed. At the kitchen's island, she checked on the tray of meat, turning the slabs over in the marinade. "You're just saying that because I have it for dinner."

"No, ma'am. The food inside was sh-excuse me. It was no good."

"Poor thing. I can't imagine how hungry you must be."

Manning dropped his eyes to mine. "Starved."

The word, only the second he'd said directly to me, pulled at my heart. No man of his size and importance should ever go hungry. I decided then and there-he'd never starve as long as I was around. It was worth the time and effort I'd put in to make sure every detail of tonight's dinner would be perfect for him.

Mom hummed. "It's a wonder you stayed so . . . healthy."

Healthy was one way of putting it. I couldn't remember Manning having any fat on him before, but somehow he looked more angular, hardened, his jawline sharper and his arms carved from stone.

"Wasn't much to do in there worthy of a mention, except hard labor and education," he said.

"Like school?" Mom asked.

"They had a guy come in for some classes, but I did a lot of reading myself." Manning swallowed, as if talking this much was hard for him. "I'd like to go back and finish my degree at some point."

Tiffany perked up. "Really?" she asked, smiling. "For criminal justice?"

The room got quiet-Tiffany didn't even realize her blunder.

Manning scratched above his eyebrow. "No."

"He's not able to be an officer anymore," Mom said quietly. "You knew that, honey."

"Of course I know." Tiffany sniffed. "I just meant, like, the other things he can do besides being a policeman . . ."

"Yes," Mom said, "but you have to be more aware of what you say . . ."

While they argued, Manning's gaze returned to me. His pain showed, the absolute depth of his hurt, right there in his eyes. It only surfaced when he looked at me. I did that. I caused him pain. His behavior began to make sense. His silence since the day he'd gone inside. My unanswered letters. His curled fists and quiet plea earlier.

Manning blamed me for this. The way he looked at me, like he couldn't bear it. The way he wouldn't speak to me. He'd probably done nothing for the last year-and-a-half but sit and wish I'd never forced my way into his truck or into his life.

"Sorry," Tiffany said, exasperated with Mom.

Manning turned to her. "Don't be. That wasn't the path for me. I took a business course offered by the prison and did other stuff, like helping manage the construction of a new wing of the facility. Taught me a lot."

"But you already knew how to build a house," Tiffany said.