The words had poured in a torrent, drowning out any other attempts at speech, any other attempts at questioning. Now they stopped, and Tom reached for the coffeepot handle, as if to get up and resume his rounds.
"Tom," Edward said. "Where are you going?"
"It doesn't matter. Just . . . somewhere. Somewhere till things cool with the triad and until . . . No, I don't suppose I'll ever forget. I'm not . . . good."
"Perhaps you could consider coming home?" Edward said, and before Tom could correct it, "To my home. You can, you know. I don't mind."
He expected anger, or perhaps a huffing of pain. But instead Tom inclined his head once. "Maybe. After . . . when the triad isn't looking anymore. Perhaps they'll even give up on the idea of revenge, and calm down, and then, maybe."
Edward knew Tom was wrong. He knew Tom was wrong about Kyrie and Rafiel. He'd seen the three of them together and while Rafiel might look a lot at Kyrie, Kyrie looked at Tom. Now, most of the time she looked at Tom with annoyance or borderline irritation.
But that was part of it too, wasn't it? The ones who could annoy you most, the ones who could get under your skin most . . . He remembered what she had told him about how she knew that Edward still liked Tom, still had paternal feelings for him. How it was all about how he fought so hard to counter those feelings.
From what he'd seen, Edward guessed Kyrie had known from experience. She was, at the very least, seriously in lust with Tom. For a moment or two the day before, he'd thought she'd need a drool catcher to avoid staining the carpets of his hotel room. But she would bet there was more there, too. Because Kyrie was not the type to confuse lust with love.
He could let Tom go on believing this, being miserable. Tom would then probably end up in New York again and, knowing his intelligence and his new-found focus, be at Harvard or Yale within the year. And eventually he would find another woman.
But Edward looked at his son's pale face, his set mouth, which looked rigid enough not to tremble. Rigid enough not to betray the desolation within.
"Tom, I've watched her, and I think you're wrong. From her reactions, since I've met her, and from seeing her with him, I've . . . I don't think she's interested in him. And I think she likes you a lot."
Tom shook his head. "No, trust me. I had some hope. Not a lot. I mean, I know our different standings. But she was nice to me, and I thought maybe . . . But then I saw them kissing." He gestured with his head. "Up front. I know. I saw." He shook his head. "And I never expected it to affect me so much." He frowned, thunderous eyebrows low over his blue eyes. "I wanted to shift and flame something. Preferably his pants."
Edward almost laughed at this, because it was so much like Tom, to want to flame his rival's manhood right off. But he didn't want to laugh, not while Tom was in pain.
"I just thought you should know. I think you're wrong. But if you still think you must leave, then . . . I hope eventually you'll come back to my home. And before that, call me, okay? Tell me where you are. I'll wire you money. There's no reason for you to be deprived."
It was probably a measure of Tom's state of mind that he didn't protest the offer of money. Instead, he nodded and walked away.
"Man, he has it bad," Keith said. "I didn't realize it was that serious."
"I suspected it," Edward said. "I just didn't know he would take it in his head to run away from it all."
Was that what he'd taught Tom, when he'd thrown him out? To leave difficult situations behind?
* * *
Kyrie was shaking. Mostly with repressed rage. That Rafiel would dare grab her like that. That he would dare kiss her. And in front of half the diner too.
She put her apron on, and resumed serving her tables, but felt as if people were staring at her, and found herself blushing. How could he?
She suspected Rafiel was the center of attention to his parents, the center of their lives. His "handicap," the fact that he shifted, would make him far more precious to them, and they far more attentive to him. And he'd grown up to be the center of the universe.
Kyrie would bet too that with his body, his easy, self-assured personality, he would have girls falling from his hair and tumbling into his lap. She would just bet. So he probably was not too well aware of the meaning of the word no. Well, she would buy him a thesaurus at the first opportunity.
No, as in never. As in negation. As in I'm not interested. And even if the girl hasn't said it flat out, if she'd given him reason to think she was less than pleased with his interest, then Mr. Rafiel Trall would learn to keep his hands to himself. And his lips too.