“Hard to guess.” Myles sat down so he could tie his laces. “Are you big for your age?”
“Not really.” He seemed disappointed.
“Well, everyone grows at a different rate. And you don’t have to be big to be tough.”
“Football players are big.”
“Fishermen don’t have to be.”
He seemed to consider this. “I guess that’s true. Hunters don’t have to be big, either.”
“No. Anyway, you should be plenty tall. Your mother’s got some height.”
“So does my uncle Virgil. He’s huge!”
Myles froze while picking up the Swiss Army knife he’d left on the nightstand. “Virgil? Is that your mother’s brother or your father’s brother?”
“My mother’s.” He pointed at what Myles was holding. “Is that a knife?”
“With a few tools attached. Want to see it?”
“Sure!”
Hoping it would preoccupy the boy enough that he could learn a bit more about this Virgil person, Myles handed it over. “So where does your uncle live?”
“My mom hasn’t told me.” He held up some needle-nose pliers. “What do these do?”
Myles showed him how they worked. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Uncle Virgil?”
“Yeah.”
Jake hesitated. “A long time.”
“You don’t have any contact with him?”
“No.”
“Look, here’s a little screwdriver.” Myles pulled that out to show him.
“Cool!”
“What about your father?”
Enthralled with the small pair of scissors he’d discovered, Jake didn’t seem to be listening. “Can I have one of these someday?”
“We can certainly suggest it to your mother. Or maybe your father. Do you ever see him?”
Instantly wary, Jake looked up and Myles tried to mask his eagerness to hear the answer. He had to act as if this discussion was no big deal, as if he was just passing the time, or the boy would clam up. “No. He never gives me anything. He doesn’t even call.”
The heartbreak in those words hit Myles like a right hook, made him realize how much Vivian had been coping with. “Where does he live?”
“Don’t know, or I’d go see him.” He kept opening various tools on the knife.
“How long has it been?”
“Since before I saw Uncle Virgil.”
Myles helped Jake close a serrated blade. “Why’s that?”
He returned the Swiss Army knife. “I guess he doesn’t love me anymore.”
His response showed how badly he missed his father, which was sad. Had Vivian’s ex been as abusive with the children as he’d been with her? If not, why weren’t they allowed to see him? Was she that scared of him?
From all indications, she was. But what was that business about someone being shot that he’d heard from Chrissy? “Are you named after your father, Jake?”
He scuffed one sneaker against the other. “Sort of.”
“How can you be ‘sort of’ named after someone?”
“My dad’s name is Jacob. But everyone calls him Tom,” he said without lifting his head.
This was the first time the boy had shared the smallest detail about his father. Myles had tossed out a few questions in the past, but they’d met with monosyllabic answers, or shrugs where monosyllabic answers weren’t possible. “So your dad’s name was Jacob Thomas Stewart?”
Jake glanced at the door. “You ready?”
The question had made him uncomfortable; Myles had pushed too hard. “I just need to brush my teeth.”
“Okay.” He headed toward the hall. “I’ll wait on the porch.”
Myles muttered a silent curse as he watched the boy go. He’d been so close to a full name. It couldn’t be Stewart. Vivian wouldn’t be able to hide very easily if she’d kept her ex-husband’s name. And Stewart didn’t match the initials on her arm. Myles had merely been hoping Jake would correct him.
At least he knew more than he did before. Vivian had an uncle who was in prison, an ex named Jacob Thomas or Tom H, and a brother named Virgil—not a very common name. She also had a gun that might have a serial number he could trace. And since he’d caught her carrying a concealed weapon without a permit, he had the legal right to do it.
It wasn’t a lot, but it was a start.
Besides all that, thanks to the ungodly hour, he’d have a bit more time with Jake. Who knew what the kid might say? Especially with a few more carefully constructed questions…
12
When Vivian opened her eyes, she wasn’t staring at her bedroom ceiling, as usual. She was looking up at the high plaster ceiling of her living room. Why? She never slept anywhere except her bedroom. Not unless she dozed off at her design table downstairs. That happened occasionally during her busiest season. She wasn’t quite as far along as she wanted to be. There was a lot to do, but she had a few weeks before she had to finish her designs for next spring. They didn’t go to the wholesalers until September.
Then the reason everything was so different came to her—Rex. He’d been in her house, waiting for her last night.
She rolled off the couch and landed hard on the floor before she woke up enough to move with any coordination. But the thump brought no reaction from anyone else and that made her frantic. Where was he? She hadn’t dreamed that he’d shown up, had she?
After the stomach-churning worry of the past few days, she thought maybe her mind had been playing tricks on her. Maybe it’d fooled her into believing he was okay, that they were all safe for the time being, so she could get some rest…?.
Only when she spotted the blanket she’d given him, cast aside near the easy chair he’d sat on while they talked, did she know it’d been real.
“Rex?” she called.
No answer. Surely he hadn’t left without saying goodbye.
“Pretty Boy?” She switched to the nickname he’d had while he belonged to The Crew. That was how she preferred to remember him because it hailed back to the good feelings they’d had for each other before everything fell apart. Besides, his nickname fit him well. He didn’t look anything like the other members of the gang, most of whom prided themselves on their tattoos and over-muscled physiques, even their scars. Rex was on the tall side—and thanks to a metabolism that ran like a turbine engine, he was lean and lithe. He had trouble keeping weight on even when he wasn’t using drugs. He had no tattoos or injuries that hadn’t healed perfectly, despite all the fighting he’d been involved in over the years. But he had other scars, on the inside. And they were deep, so deep Vivian didn’t think he’d ever be completely whole, which was why she couldn’t be part of his life.