New York City
May 16
Miller and Miles Buchanan sat in the back booth of the bustling Midtown deli. They had laughed over shared memories: Miles breaking his leg jumping off the roof of their childhood home with game boards taped to his arms in an ill-conceived attempt to fly, Miller vomiting during their school’s holiday program. They made a plan to visit their parents’ graves, something neither man had ever done, and planned for the future.
Tox bit into his Ruben and chewed pensively. “And this is something you want to do?”
“I want to do it. Be nice to know my paycheck was coming from somebody I respected.”
Tox nodded.
“And South Carolina?”
“It’s as good a place as any. We went there once. Remember?”
Tox furrowed his brows.
“We were five. Maybe even four. Mom and dad took us to Hilton Head? Dad caught that big stingray?”
Tox’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah. The guide took the stinger to make a necklace. I remember that trip now. It’s funny, the first time I went down there with the team, I thought it felt familiar. Must have been the dormant memory of that trip.”
“Like when you saw me on the street with Calliope that first time, dressed as an old man.”
“I didn’t pay any attention to it at the time, but on some level there was recognition.”
“For me, it was on the top level. I knew it was you. I knew my foster mom had lied to me. I felt like my skin was going to blast off my body. I don’t know how the fuck I held it together.”
“Speaking of Calliope,” Tox said.
Miles set his turkey sandwich down on the brown paper bag and cocked his head just so.
“She’s it. I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. She’s lucky to have you.”
Before Tox could reply, his brother pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket, uncapped it, and scrawled something on the paper napkin.
“It’s in the diamond district. Ask for Avi. Tell him Hutch sent you.”
Tox folded the napkin and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, while Miles tossed a tip onto the table.
“Like Starsky and Hutch?”
“Of course.”
“So, you gonna stick with Caleb?”
“Caleb Cain is just an alias, like the rest. My name is still Miles Buchanan.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Just not many people know that.”
Tox said it again with emphasis. “Yeah?”
Miles’s eyes lit. “Y-”
“E-”
“A-”
“H!”
The twins laughed recalling their childhood cheer. They had walked into the deli as Tox and Caleb, but they walked out in matched step, as Miller and Miles Buchanan.