settled farther into the sofa, the plate precariously balanced on top of the mound that contained her unborn child. “Well, consider this. If I was okay, they probably really would come take me away.”
“Good point,” Mercy said. “But with the baby coming and everything? Dana and I are just worried about you, you know?”
Dana Malone, the third partner in their business venture, was—thank God—not in evidence at the moment. “Don’t be. Please. You know hovering makes me crazy.”
“Tough. If we didn’t bug you, you’d probably starve to death.” Yards of ebony corkscrew curls, only minimally tamed by a narrow, blue velvet headband, tangled with the collar of her suit as she shook her head. “For someone so savvy about running a business, you’re pathetic when it comes to taking care of yourself.” Teak eyes settled on Cass’s plate. “Why didn’t you eat the liver?”
“Because I’d rather cut out my own. So live up to your name, Mercy, and show me some.”
“Liver’s a good source of iron, which you need for the baby—”
“So bring me a bowl of Total. Get off my case.”
Mercy humphed, then scanned the room and the dwindled-to-almost-nothing crowd. “Your ex left?” she asked, making Cass jump.
“Only temporarily,” she said, trying to sound blasé. “Lucille got her claws in him and invited him to stay over.”
“Stay over? As in, here?” One sapphire nail jabbed downward. “In this house?”
The soft leather cushioned Cass’s aching neck muscles as she leaned back against the sofa and faced her partner. “Does that mean I’m not the only one who thinks this is a little strange?”
Her brows now dipped, Mercy leaned over and snitched a taquito off Cass’s plate. Crossing her legs, she propped her elbow on her knee as she munched, waving the truncated taquito around for emphasis. “I think…I think I don’t know what I think. Except… Dios mio, he’s a hunk and a half. Oh, God—” Five long fingers clamped around Cass’s wrist. “That was really stupid.”
“Forget it. Besides, you’re right.”
Up went the brows again.
“Oh, for crying out loud, Merce. Look. If someone lets you borrow something—like, I don’t know, a beautiful piece of jewelry or something—it’s no less beautiful when you have to give it back, right?”
Mercedes considered that for a moment, then said, “Well, all I have to say is, what you gave back is serious Harry Winston material.” She shook her head, then picked a cheesy something or other off Cass’s plate and popped it into her mouth. Mercedes Zamora, Cass had decided a long time ago, epitomized the word spitfire. Petite, pretty, vivacious, adorable figure, just quirky enough to keep you on your toes. “So what happened? Why’d you two break up?”
And deadly.
“Geez, lady. Anybody ever tell you your timing stinks?”
Mercy pinned her with a look that could intimidate a Mafia goon. “Maybe. But you have this nasty habit of holding things in, and that’s not good, you know? Very bad for the blood pressure.”
Cass closed her eyes, hoping against hope the woman would go away. “I’d rather think of it as keeping my personal life, well…personal.”
But going away was clearly not on Mercy’s to-do list. From two feet away, Cass could hear her chewing. “The guy’s history, right?”
The mantel clock chimed during the several seconds that passed before Cass replied, her eyes still closed. “Ancient, even.”
“So?”
“So…” So she would toss her friend a scrap and maybe then she’d go away. “We got married too early. We couldn’t handle it. End of story.” The baby squirmed again; Cass absently rubbed the little elbow or knee or whatever it was. And through the anger and the confusion and all the dreck that threatened to turn her into a raving nutso, floated the love she felt for the little guy who knew nothing of any of this.
“And…you’re not going to say anything more.”
Tired as she was, Cass opened her eyes, looked her friend straight in hers and lied. “There’s nothing else to say. Really.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things.”
Mercy rolled her eyes and stuffed another taquito into her cute little mouth.
* * *
Blake’s head was still softly buzzing, like overhead power lines, from his far-too-close encounter with current pop culture. More than his humming head, however, he’d regretted that the noise had precluded conversation. Now, as he tossed his overnight bag into the car before returning to the house, he decided to get the conversation going before his son made any musical requests.
“So…how’s school?”
The sardonic smile seemed far too old on a fifteen-year-old’s face. “Dude—” he buckled up, adjusted his shoulder strap “—you sound like every lame father in every lame movie, you know, when the father is, like, trying to ‘relate’ to his estranged kid.”
Blake tried not to tense. Or get defensive. Or ask if Shaun wanted the music back on. “I see. Well, unfortunately I really am interested in how you’re doing in school. Lame though that may be.”
“’S’okay,” the kid allowed, and Blake felt a muscle or two relax. “I made Honor Roll last nine weeks.” He leaned forward, index finger poised to send Blake over the edge. Blake caught his wrist.
“Forget it. My brain cells are still staggering around in my head, thudding into each other. They need some time to recuperate, okay?”
Shaun was giving him that odd, pitying look again. Then he scrunched down in his seat, his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah. Whatever.”
They pulled out onto I-40, headed back toward Albuquerque’s Far Heights. “Good for you. About the Honor Roll, I mean.”
“Yeah, but like, Mom is still on me about everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Where am I going? Who am I going to be with? Crap like that.”
The reprimand fell out of Blake’s mouth before he could catch it. “Watch your mouth, Shaun.”
“God.” The word came out on a groan. “Not you, too.”
“Yep. Me, too.” Blake checked his side mirror before pulling into the left lane to pass a truck. “A regular tyrant. In any case, your mother has every right to know where you are and what you’re doing. In case you missed it, you’re not legal yet. She’s responsible for you. If you screw up, she gets blamed.”
Shaun shifted in his seat, his brow beetled. “Why does everyone assume I’m going to screw up?”
Remembering what it was like to be his age should have helped. Instead, thinking about the Dark Ages of his youth only made Blake feel old and tired and woefully inept. For a split second he envied his partner, Troy, and his three-year-old twins.
