Draw One In The Dark(93)

Then she realized she could very well be speaking about herself. She had spent an awful lot of the last six months reassuring herself of how impossibly annoying Tom was.



Of course, he was annoying. Tom was quite capable of sulking through an entire work shift, for reasons she never understood. And he had this way of looking at her, then flinching away as if he'd seen something that displeased him. Particularly on those silent, sulking days. He was also quite capable of doing exactly the opposite of what you asked him to do, if he thought you hadn't asked him nicely enough. But . . .



But Tom was also unexpectedly generous. He would cover for her if she needed it, not complaining about the extra work. He would cover her tables, too, if she was moving slow because she was tired or not feeling well. He would bus a disproportionate number of tables and not call her on it. He had a way of smiling and shrugging and walking away when she offered to give him part of her tips after he'd helped her with the tables. And once when she'd pressed him, he'd said, "Oh, it all evens out, Kyrie." She remembered that.



And he had a way of appreciating the funniest of their diners. Sometimes, while enjoying a particularly funny interaction between a college-age couple, Kyrie would look over and find Tom smiling at them, in silent amusement. And, of course, he was—she remembered him naked, in the parking lot—distractingly handsome. As disturbing as the circumstances had been . . . it couldn't be denied that he was attractive. Despite his height, she'd often seen college girls batting eyes and displaying chests and legs at him.



So, her constant annoyance at him might very well have been a defense.



She realized she was grinning, as well as blushing because Edward Ormson was looking at her as if she had just taken leave of her senses.



"I'm sorry," she said. "I just realized why your son annoys me so much," and was gratified to see him look puzzled at this. "But you don't need to worry about him right now. He is . . . fine now."



"He is?" Edward Ormson started to get up, then sat down. He looked as though someone had cut all his strings, or whatever had been holding him up. He visibly sagged in his chair.



He looked so relieved that she had to smile. She picked up his coffee cup. "Let me get you another coffee. Warmer."



But he got up and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. "No," he said. "No. I don't think I need the coffee. Or the . . . pie. I just need to go to bed. I'm . . ." He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I find I'm very tired." He pulled something else from his wallet and wrote rapidly in the back of it. "This is my card. There's my cell phone on the front and I put my room number at Spurs and Lace." He handed it to Kyrie. "If Tom should . . ." He swallowed. "If you tell Tom . . ." He shrugged. "I don't want . . . Let him decide."



"I owe you about ten, twelve dollars change," Kyrie said. "Even with tip."



But he waved it away. "I don't want to waste time. I don't care. I'm very tired. I haven't slept in . . . much too long."



Kyrie almost argued, but then she saw him stumble to the door. She put the bill in her apron pocket. She would ring it up later.



She wondered where Tom was and how he really was. And what was happening.

* * *



When they stopped at the convenience store, Keith went in first.



"I forgot to ask if he had any money," Rafiel said from the back.



Tom had been dozing. He opened his eyes and looked back at Rafiel, then at the front of the brightly lit store and grinned. "I'd tell you that he probably does, but since we're talking about a man who thinks driving while looking backwards to talk to you is a perfectly safe practice, I can't really be sure."



Rafiel nodded. He looked . . . less than composed and was hiding behind the backseat. Fortunately though even at this time of night the convenience store/rest stop was full of people, Keith had parked in a place with two empty spaces on either side. Of course, the store was brightly lit in front and even with the tinted windows, Rafiel had to feel awfully exposed.



"I don't think anyone can see in," Tom said, in what he hoped was a friendly voice. He was still starving and his mouth felt dry as sandpaper, but the brief doze had made him feel much more human, much more in command of his own faculties. He felt . . . almost like himself. Enough to feel sorry for the guy. Even if the guy had a lot more chances with Kyrie than Tom himself.



Rafiel raised his eyebrows at Tom's comment, and nodded. "I hope not, I would never live down being arrested for indecent exposure. Even if I explained it—somehow—and went free. It's not something police officers are supposed to do, walking around naked."