Page 31 of Everything You Hate
“Details.”
They grin at each other down the length of the table, and I set down my fork.
“How far apart are you two, exactly?”
The table laughs. All of them, at once.
“Why is that funny?”
“Everyone asks,” Colter says. “It’s become a running joke.”
“Not everyone,” Henry says. “Most just assume he’s my son from a previous relationship. I’m twenty-one years older. Our parents had me young, and then Dean was a?—”
“Mistake,” Dean says.
“A happy surprise,” Henry corrects and turns back to me. “Mom was forty-five. Dad was forty-nine. They were shocked, but he kept them young.”
“I was trying to figure out the relationship, but I see it now.” I swing my spoon between the two of them. “It’s so obvious I’m kicking myself for not figuring it out. The last names threw me.”
Henry’s smile is warm and indulgent. “I took Lana’s name when we married. Our parents were good people, but the rest ofthe Kinsellas, not so much. I didn’t want to burden my kids with that legacy.”
Beside me, Dean keeps eating.
He’s the only Kinsella left at this table. Henry got out. The kids were born Havens. And Dean doesn’t give a word of protest when his brother called their name a burden.
You of all people, Kinsella.That’s what Curt said on the dock, and now I realize it had been meant as an insult.
I have so many questions.
But I don’t ask.
Not yet.
The pie Wren brings out for dessert is everything Henry promised and more—warm apple filling, a crust so flaky it shattered at the first touch of a fork, a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting into the crevices. I eat two pieces before I catch myself and set the fork down, embarrassed by my own appetite.
Nobody comments on it. Nobody counts my calories with their eyes the way my mother used to. Mimi just refills my wine without asking and keeps talking about the time someone with the unfortunate nickname Bilge ate an entire bag of Cheetos and got stuck in the bag, which sends the whole family into a fit of laughter when I ask how he managed that.
“Bilge is a rat,” Hazel squeals.
“A dock rat,” Colter clarifies, laughing. “Lives down at the marina. Somehow older than God and twice as ugly. Fish Monroe feeds him better than he feeds himself.”
“He’s not a rat, he’s a legend,” Mimi corrects, pointing her spoon at Colter. “That rat will outlive us all. Show some respect.”
“I have nothing but respect for Bilge,” Colter says solemnly, and the whole table dissolves into laughter again.
“Has anyone heard from Knox?” Zade asks suddenly, and the laughter goes quiet.
“And the killjoy strikes again,” Colter mutters.
Shea elbows him before answering Zade’s question. “Not since last week’s call.”
“He didn’t call this Sunday?”
“He’s on a line, Zade. There’s no signal on a line.”
“I know where he is.” Zade sets his fork down. “I’m asking if anyone’s heard from him.”
Nobody answers.
