Deja New Read online

  “You might be onto something.”

  “But I have to explain why I was such a miserable, hateful bitch before— Wait a sec, was there a pastry swan on that plate?” She hadn’t noticed the telltale empty dessert plate on the nightstand before, but now her eyes had adjusted well enough to see the crumbs.

  “Yeah, there was, and it was delicious, and you can have the crumbs after you go away and let me go back to sleep.” He fussed with the blankets and glared at her. Beside him, Leah murmured something, then went back to gargling gravel or whatever the hell she was doing, my God, how did he ever get a wink of sleep?

  “Jack made that for her?” How does she rate? she thought but didn’t say. Nothing against Leah, but the swans were special.

  “I think your little brother is in love with my fiancée, which I assumed would be the most unsettling thought I’d have tonight.”

  “I’m almost done. Please be patient with me just a bit longer.” She shook his shoulder a little for emphasis. “You know I’m a fan of hers. Lots of people are, the woman has groupies, for God’s sake.”

  Archer nodded in the semidarkness. “You should see some of the stuff they send her. She has a fluoroscope at work.”

  “That’s . . . sad, actually, but it doesn’t surprise me. And when I found out I was an Insighter, I just knew I was going to be able to fix everything for everybody. That’s what I told myself. So I pushed it and practiced my gift on everyone who would stand still and some people who wouldn’t. But I could never see your lives. And I just couldn’t face up to that. So I figured the problem had to be you.”

  “Angela.” He fumbled for her hand and patted it, yawning. “There’s no need for this. I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself at . . .” He looked at the clock and his grip tightened. “Two-thirty in the morning?”

  “Shhhhh!”

  “You shhhh! And Leah doesn’t sleep, she hibernates. Jesus Christ. Now? You need to do this now?”

  “Need” was exactly the right word. Because this was about making amends, sure, but it was also about learning to live with the fallout from all her mistakes. Even when I apologize, I’m selfish. Was that funny? Sad? All of the above?

  “No matter what I did, I was never more than a magician doing card tricks. But Leah was already making a name for herself. She could make people appear within other people. She helped them see the dead. I could never do it so well, and—and I took that out on you.

  “It drove me nuts that I couldn’t see your other selves, it just reminded me of my own failings, made my amateur status that much more obvious. And it drove me nuts that you couldn’t see them, either, couldn’t learn like the rest of us, couldn’t be enlightened like the rest of us, like I thought I was.” She could hear herself practically snarling and couldn’t stop. “I wouldn’t admit you were special, and you paid for it. When I apologized last time, I didn’t tell you the whole story. And I thought—I thought you deserved it. To know all of it.”

  Silence.

  “Do you promise you’re done?”

  She thought it over, still kneeling beside the bed. “I . . . yes. That’s all of it.”

  “Okay. My turn. Yeah, you were a jerkass, and not just when you were a kid. You were shitty to me when you were old enough to know better and that sucked, and you know it and I know it and everyone in the family knows it. But you made amends. We got right with each other. And then, mysteriously and to my intense aggravation, you were compelled to make amends again.”

  Compelled. Yes. Exactly right.

  “But, cuz, even if you hadn’t, your actions didn’t define me and your apologies didn’t, either. You were wrong about me. I was right about me, and that’s what mattered more to me back then. But you’re not the supervillain here. You’re the stubborn baseball manager who tells the hero—moi—that I’ll never make it in the big leagues. So I go out and work hard and make it to spite you and in the process end up rich and successful. You’re not Lex Luthor, you’re the B-villain who admits he was wrong at the end and respects the hell out of the hero. What you did, right or wrong, it helped make me a stronger person. Maybe even a better person.”

  “Okay . . .” She might have to mull that one over.

  He sighed, picking up on her hesitance and confusion. “In other words, I was just as self-involved as you, my ego’s just as fat as yours, we both got some things wrong about each other and some things right, I will fart on your face very soon now, the end.”

  That made a little more sense. Not the farting. The rest of it. “Okay. Thanks for indulging me, I got home from Jason’s and couldn’t go to bed until I amended my earlier apology.”

  Her eyes had adjusted quite well to the gloom by now; she saw him blinking at her. “So you got home from your weird date with Detective Chambers—”

  “It wasn’t weird!” she hissed, still mindful of waking Leah. Then she thought it over for a second. Tombstone cleaning, prison visit, uncle dropping the C bomb and promising at least one murder, a delicious fuck, a bitchy blow-off all culminating in a bedside confession. No wonder she was exhausted. “Well, okay. It was weird.”

  “And then you came up here to wake me up out of a sound sleep and remind me that you can be a self-absorbed jerkass but tonight, at least, you were an apologetic self-absorbed jerkass.”

  “No, I took a shower first.”

  He settled back and hauled the blankets up under his chin. “Good. Glad we got it all cleared up. But make a note, because in another ten years I want a middle-of-the-night apology for this middle-of-the-night-apology. Just make an appointment or mention it in the Christmas newsletter so I know when it’s coming.

  She giggled, something she hadn’t imagined doing even once during this conversation. “Done.”

  “You promise?”

  “Super done.”

  “Go away, you controlling, aggravating, bitchy idiot.”

  She wanted to hug him, but she’d disrupted his sleep cycle enough for one night. Instead she took the plate and quietly closed the door, and wasn’t too proud to lick her finger to get every one of those delicious pastry swan crumbs.

  FORTY-FOUR

  His cell rang, which was unwelcome. Jason wasn’t stupid enough to imagine it was Angela explaining she had waited until summer to pull an April Fool’s prank.

  He’d known trying to go to sleep was futile and it was too soon to wax the floors again. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t thirsty. He had no stomach for work and didn’t feel like reading. So he was flipping through channels and rediscovering what most insomniacs knew: It didn’t matter how many channels you had or where in the world you were, there was nothing on at 1:00 a.m.

  The hell with it. He didn’t recognize the number, but picked it up anyway. Woe betide the pollster in the wrong time zone who wanted his opinion on current events.

  “Hello.”

  “I hear you been stirring shit with a stick over at ICC, Chambers.”

  “Mom?”

  A gusty aggrieved sigh: “You know damned well I’m not your dead mom. This is Kline.”

  Perfect.

  “Kline, why are you pestering me in the wee hours? Are you so bad at retiring they’ve kicked you out of retiring? And if you are, why the hell would you call me to complain?”

  “Buddy of mine works Intake Processing gave me a call tonight. Name’s Maller.”

  Hmm. “Yes, I met him this afternoon.”

  “He’s not really a buddy,” Kline explained, as if Jason had declared Kline had no buddies and demanded the exact truth of their relationship. “He’s married to my niece. She’s a nice kid, but he’s a shithead. He’s a gun owner and says he likes hunting, bullshit! He’s a vegetarian! How the fuck does that happen?”

  “This is fascinating, Kline. Please don’t confuse that genuine sentiment with sarcasm. I’ll be crushed.”

  “Anyway, tur
ns out he was tryin’ ta help you out and got fired for it. I coulda told him it was a waste of time.”

  Oh, hell. “Sorry to hear that.” And he was. Maller had seemed like a good enough guy, and had appeared to genuinely appreciate Leah’s offer of help.

  “Well, he was short, outta there by the end of the month anyway, wasn’t all bad. They’re moving to the ’burbs and he hates the commute.”

  “It’s kind of you to keep me up-to-date on the minutiae of your family’s lives.”

  “You think I’m callin’ you at . . .” He heard hissing and immediately knew what Kline was doing. He was fond of belching, but felt it was ungentlemanly to make a lot of noise indulging his frequent, Coke-inspired gas attacks. So he hissed the belch into his fist, which took longer, was more startling, and called more attention to him than just letting it rip would have. Of all the noises Kline’s body made, the hissing was the one Jason missed least. “. . . one-fuckin’-thirty in the morning to give you updates on my niece’s move?”

  “Yes, Kline. That’s what I think. Feel free to set me straight, unless you want me to commit to helping them move, in which case, I will cordially invite you to get lost.”

  “Lighten the fuck up. I swear you’re the most uptight guy. Know what your problem is?”

  “That would be problems, plural. And yes.”

  “You need ta get laid.”

  Jason laughed and for a few seconds, worried he might not be able to stop. He had to wipe his eyes before he could continue. “You were saying why you called.”

  “Yeah, I was. So whatever you and those Insighters did, ya freaked Dennis out.”

  “Astute and to the point, Kline, as ever.”

  “Shaddup. I got the whole thing from Maller when we hit the bar. So ICC hadda do a whole TD* and bundle his howling ass to seg, right? Well, while they were bringing Drake to his new digs, he was yellin’ ’bout how his wife was gonna kill him, how even after all this time she was still pissed and she wasn’t gonna let go until the kids let go.”

  Jason, who had been slumped on his couch half watching a rerun of The Tudors

  (pilgrimage of Grace and Jane Seymour, not bad but season two’s more interesting. more and Fisher and the court of two queens)

  dropped the remote. On his foot, but he hardly noticed. “Dennis Drake isn’t married.”

  “Picked up on that, didja?”

  “He’s never been married.”

  “Yup.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Thought you’d like that. Toldja something was weird about this case.”

  “You have said that about every single case that ever came your way.” It was automatic. Jason hardly knew what he was saying. He couldn’t hear Kline anymore. He was too busy remembering how he felt after Pat Chambers overdosed in front of him.

  I am living a stolen life.

  “Kline. I have to go. Thank you. For calling. My best to your niece and nephew-in-law.” He fumbled for the button to end the call and dropped the thing; it fell beside the remote.

  Holy shit.

  FORTY-FIVE

  “He did what?”

  Angela wasn’t too proud to bask in the group outrage, which was deafening and chaotic and made her feel better. A little better.

  Paul had jumped to his feet. “I’ll strangle him with my tape measure! Normally I only use it to measure, but for this? I’ll make an exception.”

  Jordan stabbed a bite of French toast from Paul’s unguarded plate. “I’ll buy you another tape measure and we can choke him out together.”

  “Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?” Jack slammed his spatula down for emphasis, which was why there were now drops of syrup in her eyebrows. “The minute this white chocolate bread pudding is out of the oven, we’re all gonna pick out our favorite blunt object and pay him a visit.” Jack checked the oven timer. “In seventeen minutes!”

  The best part of all of this, Angela thought, was how menacing-yet-adorable Jack looked in his WHAT PART OF “IT’S NOT READY YET” DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? apron.

  Archer and Leah, motivated by hunger or curious about the source of the ruckus, came in. “Told ’em, huh?”

  “Well, yeah.” Angela quit trying to rub the syrup out of her eyebrows with a paper napkin. “I would have had to eventually.”

  “Good morning.” From Leah. “You have napkin shreds in your eyebrows.”

  “Because of course I do. I’ll go wash my— No!” Her hands shot out to keep Archer at arm’s length since he’d crumpled up a napkin and licked it. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare do that disgusting thing when a mom spits on a napkin or Kleenex and then scrubs your face with a spit-soaked napkin. God. Revolting.”*

  “At last we agree on something.”

  “Agh! Jeez, Mom. You scared me.”

  “In my defense, I was standing on the other side of the open fridge door.”

  Sure. That was it. Not the fact that you’re fully dressed at 10:30 a.m. and having breakfast with the family.

  “Say what you will about my parenting skills—”

  “Nobody’s got that kind of time.” From Paul, who continued the vicious cycle of stealing food from other plates by taking Jack’s bacon.

  “I never did the spit-on-a-napkin thing.”

  “Y’know, I have to concede that point, Mom.” Hey, when she’s right she’s right. And is it my imagination or are we having a normal family-type breakfast the way millions do all over the world?

  “Ow!” From Paul, who jerked back and clutched his knuckles, but never stopped chewing.

  “Keep your fingers off my plate and away from my bacon or the next one goes between your eyes,” Jack warned. He twirled the spatula between his fingers like a rock drummer and Paul pretended he didn’t flinch.

  “Auntie Em, did you hear? Did Angela tell you? About what Dennis said?”

  “I heard.” She tsk’d and condensed a vague lecture into a short phrase: “I warned you.”

  “You warned me that if I persisted, Uncle Dennis would promise to randomly murder someone and call me a bitch and then I’d throw up? I thought I was having some déjà vu yesterday. It was like you foresaw it all.”

  “Yes, yes, you love sarcasm, you’ve all made that clear over the years. But if that admittedly unpleasant confrontation is what it took to come to your senses, fine. Jack, is there any bacon left?”

  “Sure, Mom.” He went to the microwave, grabbed his tongs, put a rasher* on a small plate and handed it over. “It’s not as crisp as you like, though. I didn’t know you were— I mean, I can cook it a little longer if you like.”

  Their mother shook her head. “It’s fine, Jacky.”

  Paul finished Jack’s bacon, then leaned in. “Can we get back to the incarcerated shitstain who has invited all our wrath?”

  “Must we?” Emma muttered.

  “What are we gonna do to him? Shouting epithets at Angela while horrified onlookers pretend they can’t hear or see anything is a privilege, not a right. He’s gotta pay.”

  “He’s serving a life sentence,” Angela reminded them. “He’ll never see his family again. He’ll be in a cage until he dies. I think we can safely say that ICC has this.”

  “Speaking of ICC.” Leah helped herself to a glass of orange juice and sipped while she looked at her phone, then up at Archer. “I spoke with CO Maller and it looks like we’re going forward.”

  Leah hadn’t been talking to her, but Angela jumped in anyway. “The guy with the gambling addiction?”

  “Gambling problem. Yes.”

  “He got canned yesterday,” Archer added, “so Leah’s gonna see about getting him a new job.”

  “He did? She is?” I slept for four hours and missed all sorts of updates!

  “Angela got someone fired again?” Jordan shook his head. “You’re a general menace, you
know that, right?”

  “It wasn’t me this time, it was Leah. And Uncle Dennis, who had something of a breakdown that after today we’re not going to discuss anymore.”

  “Why’d you do that?” Jack asked Leah.

  “When did you do that?”

  “I set up an interview for him an hour ago, and I’ll meet with him next week,” Leah replied, seeming surprised at the sudden interest. “What? We always need good security people. A client tries to smack one of us around every month or so.”

  “Can we talk again about how much I hate that aspect of your job?” Archer said. “Because I fucking hate that aspect of your job.”

  “Leah can take care of herself,” Jack said stoutly.

  “Of course she can, I knew that within ten seconds of meeting her.”

  “Hey, that’s right!” Paul poked Archer in the shoulder. “She stabbed you!”

  “Twice. So, yeah, Leah can take care of herself. I just hate that she has to.”

  “Regardless. We’re always in need of good security, so.” Leah shrugged. “I made some arrangements.”

  “Except.” Angela cleared her throat. “Technically, he’s not a good security guy. He totally ignored the rules because you butted into his personal life.”

  “That’s another way to look at it,” Leah admitted. “But we all know it was more complicated than that. He did us an enormous favor and suffered for it. Why wouldn’t I try to help him? Chances are he won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “You hope.”

  “I hope,” she conceded.

  “But how did Maller even know to reach you?” she asked Leah. “Oh, wait—he must have gotten your personal info off one of the intake sheets.”

  “Actually.” Now Leah was the one clearing her throat. “Detective Chambers called and told me a couple of hours ago.”

  “He called you?” What are you freaking out for? You made it clear he sure as shit wasn’t supposed to call you anymore. Still, she couldn’t help saying it again. “You?” First the pastry swan, now this? Usurper!