His Stockholm syndrome was coming along nicely. After lunch (still mindful of the toxins swimming in his system, Rake stuck to bruschetta with most of the tomatoes scraped off—so, stale bread), he and Delaney and Lillith got into a plush Peep free-for-all and at one point he was dodging several bright yellow marshmallowy missiles. Her speed was scary, her aim devastating. And Delaney wasn’t bad, either. “Not the face, not the face!”
Elena, Teresa, and Sofia came back to the room to find them whipping small foil-wrapped eggs at one another, and Elena let loose with a burst of Italian that even Rake had trouble following.
Delaney and Lillith stopped at once, a costly mistake. Sorry, ladies, Rake didn’t get that memo! Ha! Ya like that, cutie? And another! Ha! And—
“Ow!” He whined and rubbed his cheek. “You could have put out my eye, you rotten bitch.”
“You’ve got a spare,” Delaney replied with a smug smile.
“Exactly what I was saying to you!” Elena was about five eight, pleasantly round in all the right places, with deep brown hair, latte-colored skin, and loads of freckles from forehead to chin. She told Rake she was in her twenties, but only spiritually. “Stop that! Stop wasting the candy.”
“She’s right,” he replied, humbled. “Wasting is the one thing you never want to do with candy. That and boiling it. I really have only this to say and then we can drop it: Delaney started it. She is responsible for everything.”
“Ah, yes, Rake Tarbell’s go-to excuse for everything: ‘Hey, it wasn’t my fault.’” Which would have been a great point, except she lost the moral high ground when she stuck her tongue out at him.
“The good news is we’re done for the day.” Sofia was so cheerful she could make the return of the plague sound like a positive (“If I’m sick now, I won’t have to worry about being sick later!”), but anyone could make that news sound good.
“Great! We’re done!”
“Baskets are done. Not you, pal. We’ve got other stuff lined up for tomorrow.”
He muttered something under his breath that might have been “Well, fuck.” “Whatever tomorrow’s job is, it won’t be worse than what I’ve already had to deal with. That was not a dare!” he added when Delaney opened her mouth. “Seriously, please don’t set right out to prove I’m full of shit again. Always happy to be selfless and also earn more money for steaks and cherry tomatoes and a phone and eventually money to ransom my way to freedom.”
Delaney smiled, but it wasn’t her usual “Go to hell if you can’t take a joke” smirk. This one was sad, and a little … bitter? “I don’t think I’ve met anyone who has more freedom than you do. Even now.”
Hmmm. Wonder if that’s got anything to do with your “eventful childhood” leading to your “eventful adulthood.” But he let it go. It wasn’t the time (he was hungry and pooped), it wasn’t the place (he didn’t want to get into it in front of the others, especially Lillith), and, again, it wasn’t the place (he was pretty sure he had Peep dust in his hair; he definitely had some on his face).
“Did you tell them?” Lillith asked Delaney.
“We’re going to pick up Rake’s phone tomorrow,” Delaney replied. Poverty was making him paranoid, because that almost sounded like a warning. Certainly the others didn’t hang around long after that.
“Why’d you tell them?” He didn’t mind, but couldn’t help being curious. “And why were they in such a hurry to take off after you did?” He’d barely had time to blink before the three of them were on the other side of the door.
“Oh. They—they’re curious about you is all.”
“I can’t be the only American they’ve worked with.”
“True, but you’re one of a kind, Tarbell.” She shook off whatever odd mood she was in and found another smile, a real one, the pretty one that made him want to kiss her on the nose and collect a giggle. “You want some grub?”
“God, you’re so cute and you sound like some kind of cowboy/city slicker hybrid.” He’d said it without thinking—it certainly wasn’t a criticism; he liked that she had very different moods at very different times. But once it was out of his mouth, he thought about it and realized that sometimes she seemed almost schizophrenic. Big-city sophistication one minute
(“The best sushi I’ve ever had was in Chicago, along with the best pizza and the best pumpkin pie. Isn’t that a weird trifecta of best?”)
and country cowgirl the next.
(“I’m not crazy. If you ever tried milk fresh from the cow, you’d love it. It’s warm and foamy and rich, it’s like drinking dessert. Stop making gagging noises!”)
But when he’d asked about it, he’d gotten the patented Delaney shrug and a casual “I lived all over as a kid.”
Yeah, I’ll bet. Were you happy anywhere as a kid? Or was it all “eventful,” all the time? Where’d you come from? What happened between your birth and watching me pitch my wallet into the lake? And where do the others fit in? Especially Donna?
“Take two ladies to supper?”
“No, but I’ll take you guys. Don’t you make a face at me, Claire Delaney. If you open the door like that, you can’t be mad when I walk through it.”
“Shut up,” she said kindly, and he did. For a while.