“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” she says, waving a dismissive hand and giggling. She lowers her voice and leans in with a conspiratorial smile, and a cloud of boozy perfume surrounds me. “Have you had a mint julep? They’re positively divine.”
“In case you forgot, I’m sixteen, Mom.”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, too exhausted to deal with his. Trying not to think about the cops swarming Devlin’s attic, and what he said to me before that. The EMTs coming up, how hard they worked to get a stretcher through the trap door and back down a glorified ladder. The cops taking Devlin away in cuffs.
That’s the part I try not to think about the most.
I’m half asleep when I hear the door open, and Daddy steps out with Dr. Swift, the doctor monitoring Royal. They talk for a minute, shake hands, and then part ways, Dr. Swift heading for the coffee machine in the corner and Daddy coming over to us.
All the uncles and cousins stand to greet him with hand clasps and sympathetic slaps on the shoulder. Uncle Vinny, who lost a son a few years ago, hugs Daddy and murmurs in his ear.
“We’re going to get them back for this one,” Uncle Donny says. “Don’t you worry, Tony.”
“There will be justice,” Vinny says quietly. Looking at my favorite uncle, thin and bespectacled and soft-spoken with a somewhat jumpy manner, you’d think he was a tie salesman or telemarketer—anything other than the vicious, cutthroat lawyer that he is.
“Dolce justice,” Donny mutters.
“Go get me some coffee, would you, sweetheart?” Daddy asks.
I get up and head to the coffee machine, not really wanting to hear them plotting their revenge, anyway. I spent the first few hours here picking glass from the soles of my feet, and now I’m bandaged and wearing fluffy new socks inside a pair of designer kicks. Apparently someone told my brothers what a mess I was, and they brought me a whole outfit along with the high tops.
Returning from the coffee pot, I hand the cup to Daddy. “Is he awake?” I ask.
Daddy shakes his head. “They gave him morphine. Knocked him right out.”
“That’s the good stuff,” Uncle Benny says. “I’m going out for a smoke break. Anyone else?”
“I’ve got a cigar,” Uncle Donny says.
“I might just step out for a breath of fresh air,” Nonna says, standing and stretching her arms over her head. “All this sitting’s making me crazy.”
“Is that what it is?” Duke asks.
She swats at him before turning to Grandpa Dolce. “Are you going to let him talk to me that way?”
“Mind your manners,” Grandpa growls at Duke, wrapping a thick arm around mynonnalike she’s fragile. She leans down and plants a big kiss on his lips before pulling away to trail after the smokers.
“Can we see him?” I ask, sitting down beside Daddy.
“I don’t think he’s ready for all this mess just yet.”
I know what he means. My family has taken over the waiting room. I smile and lean my head on his shoulder. “He was asking for you when we found him.”
“Was he?” Daddy asks, tensing. “Did he say anything else?”
“No,” I say. “He just said not to make him move.”
Daddy finishes his coffee and hands me the empty cup. “I’d better get back in there,” he says. “I want to be there when he wakes up.”
When he’s gone, I yawn and get up to stretch, then decide to join Nonna and the uncles outside. I find them sitting on an old iron bench with an outdoor ashtray thing beside it. Donny gets up, but I wave away his offer of a seat. It’s late, closer to morning than evening, and I’ve been sitting in a cramped hospital chair for too long. There’s only one small hospital in Faulkner, and it’s definitely not just for the rich and famous. It’s an old, ugly brick building with tired staff, scorched coffee, and cracked plastic chairs.
“We were just talking about going home to get a few hours of sleep,” Nonna says. “There’s nothing we can do here, and we could all use it.”
Yesterday was probably the longest day of my life, and I’m tired as fuck, but I can’t bear the thought of being so far from Royal. We’ve only been apart for a week, but it feels like a year. I don’t want to leave him again, not yet.
“I’ll stay,” I say, stifling another yawn.
Nonna’s in the midst of trying to convince me to get sleep when a figure strolls out of the parking deck, one hand in the pocket of his ripped, light-wash jeans. Even from a distance, I recognize the lazy strut, the fringe of blond hair that he shakes out of his eyes with a toss of his head.