Violet Grenade(41)

The boy sucks a syrupy brown drink through a striped straw. "Whatever you think," he says after he's swallowed.

Poppet sits him down on a beanbag and snuggles in close. "Tell me everything there is to know about you."

For the next two hours, I draw and Poppet laughs with such zeal that other customers begin to wander over. When I see girls giving us dirty looks, I warn them with a scowl that says I'll do to them what I did to Mercy. They don't call my bluff, and soon we have two customers lounging on the beanbags instead of one.

Cain watches from the bar. For a second, my attention to my sketchpad wavers, and I think about how he looked at me this morning. When he saw Mercy's face, he eyed me like he somehow knew I was to blame. I wonder if he's repulsed by my behavior. Maybe he's the kind of guy who likes dainty girls who don't mark their own skin and attack people.

To each his own.

"May I join you?"

I glance up and see the blond guy with the dangerous dimple. He's looking at me like I'm the only person in the room. My eyes return to his ring finger, but I smile as best I can and nod toward the beanbags.

He plops down in a red leather one and Styrofoam pebbles shoot out the side.

"I'm not married anymore," he says, causing my face to flush.

I return my gaze to my sketch. "I didn't ask."

Poppet gasps and slaps me on the arm. "I'm sorry. She's not feeling well tonight."

"You saw where I wore my ring," he pushes playfully. "Thought I was a dirtbag, right?"

I'm drawing a picture of the two dudes sitting on either side of Poppet. Now I try to work the new guy in. He's all hard lines, except for his face, which is velvet soft. "I wasn't looking."

"She passed away seven months ago," he announces.

I stop drawing, and Poppet practically crawls into his lap. "Oh, my gosh. How terrible. Tell us about her," she insists.

I would never have thought to ask the man about his wife. It seems like a touchy topic, but Poppet is brazen. The man smiles as he speaks about how they met, and even the other guys listen in on the story. Poppet ensures everyone is involved in the conversation.

Once, as the guy is speaking, a Carnation storms over, her lips pursed in frustration. I shoot to my feet and stare her down until she loses her nerve and returns to the other side of the room. I motion for Poppet to keep the guys talking, and when the night is all but over, we retain their attention.



       
         
       
        

I show them my finished illustration-three guys who look like the best of friends being adored by a beautiful girl-and the guests praise my work. Poppet asks them to pick a number to see who keeps it, and makes them promise to return this weekend.

Bronze coins fall into slots, and we start to clean up. Before long, Mercy will call for us to get ready for bed, and a new day will dawn. But for now, there's something I want to do. It's been too long since I tasted the night air, and I'm craving a real conversation, one without borders or false pretenses. So when backs are turned, I slip out of the entertainment room and from there the front door.

I count to thirty before the door opens a second time, and Cain appears. I nod toward the back of the house.

He follows without a sound.





Chapter Twenty-Five

The Moon and the Stars

Cain and I sit outside in silence for a few minutes. Not much time at all, but it feels stolen and delicious.

Wilson glares at Cain, wary.

You don't need a guy around, he reminds me. Have you forgotten about Dizzy? He hurt you. I can't allow that to happen again.

I glance over at Cain, expecting to see Dizzy's face, but he looks nothing like him. The two are as different as the moon and stars. One boy twinkles and shines with unrivaled energy. The other is solid in his approach; always there, under clear skies and overcast.

I'm not sure how I know these things about Cain. Call it a hunch.

"You hit that girl?" he asks, getting comfortable in his chair.

I turn my face away. "Yeah, I did."

He nods, but doesn't say anything else on the subject. His eyes return to my body and we meet each other's gaze. "Did one of the girls talk you into changing how you look?"

I wrap an arm around myself. "No one talks me into anything."

Cain laughs.

"What?"

He shrugs. "You're different, that's all."

"How so?"

"Most of the girls here are rotten inside. It's not their fault. It's just they let their past turn them. But you took a different approach. You built a wall on the outside to keep the inside intact."

"Don't pretend you know me."