Chapter 30-Always Through Such Strong Resistance

Thursday, June 4

5:30am

Logan

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

How big a fuck does a fuckup give, when his own son doesn't give a fuck?

The answers, it seems, are a chuck, and a giant fuck.

Logan stands straighter when the curtain in the front window moves, then rests back against the front of the truck when he sees Veronica come outside in running shorts and a tiny tank top, shiny with sweat. He schools himself to keep his eyes on her face. "Morning."

"Morning," she says back, walking up to him and matching his low tone so as not to wake the neighborhood. Thankfully, she pulls on the same oversized sweater she wore the other morning as she gets closer. "How's it going?"

"Not bad. We close escrow today."

"Char told me. Congratulations."

"Thanks. I was thinking of doing it up fancy—pizza dinner on the back patio, surrounded by weeds. Want to join me, make it a party?"

"Double meat, extra cheese?"

"And a cardiologist on call."

"Sounds perfect. Gai has dinner with his grandparents Tuesdays and Thursdays, so tonight works out great. What can I bring?"

"Just yourself." Logan pushes himself off the front of the truck and turns toward the driver's door. Remembering, he spins back around and points a finger at Veronica. "Actually, when was the last time you picked a lock?"

"It's been a while. Why?"

"No one could find the keys to the garage. I was hoping you could help me out."

Her smile is impish. "This sounds like my kind of evening."

Before he can formulate a response to match her joking tone, Gai's friend Fish appears out of the almost-darkness. Stick-thin, with white legs that glow brighter than the heather gray, paint-stained hoody hanging almost to her knees. She throws a towel on the hood of Logan's SUV and hands Veronica a hair band. "Will you do my braid?"

"Um, sure?"

Fish turns her back to Veronica and faces Logan. Veronica shrugs and works the girl's hair into a braid. "Fish, it's 5:30 in the morning. Where are you going?"

"With Logan. He's teaching me how to surf."

"I am?"

Veronica, biting back a grin, affects a note of casualness. "Did you tell your mom?"

"She's working. I left her a note."

"Okay."

Fish grabs her towel when Veronica snaps the hairband into place, and jumps into the front seat of Logan's car like she owns it. She slams the door shut and leans over to fiddle with the radio. A fast-paced drumbeat comes through, loud enough they can hear it where they're standing.

Logan goggles his eyes from Fish to Veronica. "Wait, so I'm doing this?"

Veronica gestures toward the truck with her chin. "First time I met Fish, she was six. She walked into the house without knocking, saw Sam playing piano, Gai squeaking on his sax, and Mike flubbing the bass. She watched for about a minute, shook her head, and said, 'You gotta learn me drums'."

"And?"

"You saw her the other night."

Logan runs a hand through his hair and glances back at the front window of Veronica's house. If the thought of spending the day with Gai makes him nervous, spending it with an adolescent girl absolutely terrifies him. "Won't it piss off Gai if I take off with one of his friends?"

"Probably. But in my experience, he'll be even more pissed if you turn her down."

"I'll take his wrath over the Amber alert."

Veronica laughs. "I'll call her mom. She knows how Fish operates."

Logan scratches the back of his neck. "I guess, tell her mom we'll be back by eight?"

"Nine. If I know Fish, she'll wheedle a meal out of you, too."

"Says the master wheedler."

"Yeah, well, Fish is smart enough to recognize an easy mark when she sees one."

"I've been called worse. By you, in fact."

"You really want to go down that particular memory lane?"

Logan scrunches up his face. "Probably not a good idea."

"Jackass," Veronica coughs into her fist before flashing him a bright smile. "Have fun! Oh, and Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Fish is pretty used to doing things her own way."

He glances at Fish, her shoes up on his pristine dash and arms flailing with the song's beat. "Why does it feel like I'm getting in over my head?"

"You'll be fine. Just make sure she knows you're in charge."

"Am I?"

Veronica gives him a crooked grin. "Parenting 101. Fake it." She waves and runs back up to the house. He reluctantly climbs into the driver's seat and notes Fish changed his XM station from Alt Nation to Faction Punk.

Logan reaches over and turns it down before putting the car in drive and pulling away from Veronica's house. "Compromise. You pick the station, I pick the volume. Deal?"

Fish tilts her head and adopts a tone you'd use when scolding a small child. "If you can talk over punk, it's not loud enough."

"How about this? If you ride a wave today, you pick the music and the volume for the ride home."

"Today?" Fish widens her eyes at him. "Like, today, today?"

"Depends. How well can you swim?"

"Duh. My name is Fish."

"Yeah, I knew a girl named Angel once, too. Doesn't mean she was."

"I can swim."

Remembering Veronica's warning, he takes the next turn and fixes Fish with what he hopes is a stern look. "Great. How good are you at listening, following directions?"

At that, the girl's eyes shift away from his, and she squirms in her seat. "Whatever."

"Not whatever. When we're in the water you do what I say or we're done for the day."

"Was that an accident this time, or did you mean to make a rhyme?"

They're stopped at a light long enough to arch an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, but keeps the smartass comment he can see in her eyes to herself.


8:15am

Veronica

"Dammit, I told you to be ready." The metal curtain hooks give a satisfying screech in their tracks when Veronica yanks them open, making Matthew wince at both the light and noise.

"I am ready."

"No, hungover and smelling like a bar mat is not ready." Veronica studies his face, noting not only the bloodshot eyes but dark shadows under them. She sighs, recognizing for Matthew drugs and alcohol are the treatment, not the disease. "Bad night?"

"Nothing an Egg Mc Muffin won't cure."

As the daughter of an alcoholic, her first instinct is to care take. Get some food in him, hope the two-hour drive to L.A. allows for a restorative nap, and check his water bottle for other liquids.

Not this time. "On me." She puts a ten on the small table and turns for the door. "I'll check in later."

With a speed belying his condition, Matthew leaps off the bed and catches her arm before she gets there. "No way. You're not doing this without me."

Veronica shakes her head. "This" is nothing more than going from coffee-shop to fast-food joint, flashing Jennifer Weston's picture and hoping someone recognizes her. If they can find out where she spent her time each day between school and work, they might find out if she met up with anyone during that time. The plan was for her and Matthew to divide territory, but his current condition will engender fright and mistrust, not information.

"Yes, I am. I'm just doing it slower. If I find out anything, I'll wait until you can get there."

"Bullshit." Picking the ten off the table and shoving it in his wallet, Matthew throws on a pair of sunglasses, all the while keeping hold of her arm. "Leave me in the car if you want, but I'm coming."

It's not worth arguing about, so she lets him come but wordlessly drives past every McDonalds without offering to stop. Matthew steals her coffee in silent response. He falls asleep by the halfway point, and Veronica kindly resists the impulse to slam on the brakes to fuck with him.

First stop, The Gap. She was going to call, but since her plan is to canvas the miles between The Gap and Weston's school, a drop-by is just as easy.

Veronica works her way over two lanes in anticipation of making her exit. Matthew's light snorting does enough to break up the silence of the car, and she talks under her breath while she deliberates.

Where would most normal teenage girls go after school? It's been so long since Veronica was anything close to 'normal', the answer doesn't come easy to her. The Peach Pit? The Chok'lit Shoppe?

But Weston isn't normal, either. All information shows her as a deliberate person. It makes more sense she'd spend her free time closer to work than school, to ensure she was never late.

The day is already warm, and there's no shade available for parking. Trying to be quiet, lest she wake Matthew, Veronica rolls down both windows and pushes the door barely closed, hip-checking it to latch rather than slam it. Matthew moans in his sleep, grabs for something at his waist, then rests.

Air-conditioning greets her full-force when Veronica opens the Gap's door, and she's grateful for the jacket she's still wearing. Luck isn't with her. Anthony Washington not only isn't on shift, the shift supervisor she talks to refuses to say when he will be. She'll just have to swing back around after she's done canvassing the neighborhood.

Veronica's reaches the car and opens the door. She's popped into the seat and is about to pull her leg in and close the door when she hears Tony behind her. "Ma'am? Ma'am!"

Veronica turns around and puts up a hand to shield her from the sun, when a fist grabs her from behind.

Everything happens in a blur. Matthew, still buckled in, drags her over to his side of the car and grabs onto her jacket with both hands, slamming her back against the windshield, her butt on the dash, and her head bent at a painful angle against the roof.

In front of her is a Matthew she's never seen, who's eyes tell the tale of terror playing out in his mind. Veronica claws at his hands with both of her own, unable to loosen his grip. A vestige of her training comes back; she pulls up her leg to get it between them, knee on his chest, and pushes him back.

Reality enters Matthew's eyes and his hands loosen a second before the passenger door is ripped open. Tony pulls her out and sets her ass-down on the ground before turning back to the car.

Veronica puts her head between her knees, sure she's going to faint. It takes a long minute for the rush of blood in her ears to subside enough to hear Tony yelling. "Stay down, motherfucker, or I will bash your head in.. Ma'am, Ma'am! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yes—," Veronica tries, but her voice only comes out in a gasp. She stumbles to her knees, finds her balance there, and crawls over to the men. Matthew's face down on the hood with his arms twisted behind his back. Tony's got hold of Matthew's wrists with one hand, the other gripping Matthew's head, ready to follow through on his threat. "Let," she waves her hands toward Matthew, still out of breath. "Go."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Matthew's choking out. Even when, after eyeing Veronica for a minute to make sure she's serious, Tony relents, Matthew stays there, apologizing repeatedly, his hands shaking.

"Matthew?" Veronica gets to her feet, brushes his hair over his ear, and whispers. "Matthew. I'm okay. Shhh, shhh, I'm okay."

He shakes his head and pushes off the car, away from her. Silence hangs heavy over the three of them. Finally, Matthew backhands his nose with his sleeve and nods at Tony. "Thanks."

Crossing his arms, Tony stares Matthew down with more disgust than you'd give a sewer rat at a church picnic. "PTSI?"

"Yeah."

"Get some fucking help."

Matthew nods, his head low. "Yeah." The anguished expression he throws Veronica is worse than when she told him Sam was dead. "I'm sorry," he mouths, his mouth twisted and eyes filled with sorry. Without waiting for her response, he takes off down the street, ten bucks to his name and only the clothes on his back.

Tony eyes her, his chest heaving as the tensions relax. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm," her voice is surprisingly steady. She wipes the tears away with the backs of her hands and wipes them on her jeans. "I will be. Thanks."

Frowning, Tony pushes her hair behind her ear. "Do you have a first aid kit?"

"In the back, but I'm fine. I should—,"

"Just wait here," he interrupts.

While he roots around in the back, Veronica reaches up and feels her scalp, behind her ear, wincing at both the sting and the slick blood on her fingertips. A cut from the sun visor clip, most likely. The day is heating up, added to the adrenaline still running through her, so she takes off her jacket and throws it in the back seat.

Tony's back with a first aid kit just as she's located a napkin in the glove box. He grabs it and douses it with water from her bottle. "Let's clean this up before we disinfect it. That's a nasty cut."

A glance in the side mirror shows a rough tear behind her ear. Not deep enough for stitches, but it will take days to heal. Tony directs her to sit in the passenger seat and Veronica perches there, one butt cheek on the seat and her foot on the running board to support her weight, facing the back of the car.

For the next few minutes, Tony stands very close as he works on her cut. The man is large but his touch gentle. She can feel his breath on her cheek and the heat of his chest against her arm.

At six-five, he dwarfs her. His muscular biceps are so large and toned she'd have a hard time getting a grip with her small hands, should she try. The smooth skin of his neck, plus his shaved head and face, emanate a clean smell, the vestiges of Irish Spring soap. And, she realizes, he's pretty easy on the eyes.

Neither of them talk, making the interaction disconcertingly intimate. It's been a long time since she's been this close, this long, to a man besides Sam. Or Logan. Logan whom she can't seem to get within two feet of without working her fingers into his hair.

It's then when she realizes she wants to be attracted to Tony. To prove her sexual response to Logan is mere widow's lust, born of loneliness and too many nights in an empty bed. The thought has her studying Tony, waiting for that charge. When his eyes meet hers, she watches the shift. Sees him go from a soldier giving first aid in the field, to a man recognizing a woman. The way he stills, the glance to her mouth, and back to her eyes, a primal, instinctual invitation.

Her sexual energy remains fettered, locked behind an invisible wall of ambiguity. Veronica tries to write it off as timing, that she was just attacked, but knows that's not it. While Matthew surprised her, really, he didn't scare her.

She's the first to look away, and neither acknowledge what just passed.

When Tony fishes a styptic stick out of her kit, she takes it from his hand and applies it herself, shifting to look in the mirror in such a way that he has to step back. Tony cracks a cooling pack and hands it to her before he shoves his hands in his pockets and nods toward the street where Matthew went. "How do you know that guy?"

"He's my brother-in-law."

"Has he done that before?"

"No." Veronica shakes her head and gets out of the car, throwing the ice pack on the seat and crossing her arms.

"He will, I've seen it. Some soldiers never really leave the war."

"Have you?"

"No." Tony shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I always carry it with me. But I've found ways to keep it from taking over my life. Not everyone can."

The statement hits a little too close. "Tony, thanks for everything."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I think we're a little past ma'am."

The smile that breaks his face open is wide, friendly, and very, very pretty, before it disappears again. "I guess we are."

"Veronica."

"Veronica. I was told you were here, looking for me."

It takes a second for her to remember. Veronica grabs her bag and shows Tony the picture from the other detective's file. "Can you tell me anything about this?"

He studies the image, nodding. "My birthday last year. Strawberry rhubarb with these little pastry followers, instead of a whole top crust. Prettiest pie I've ever seen. Good, too."

"Do you remember who brought the pie?"

"Jennifer." He nods. "I only know because someone said she was supposed to get cake. I guess she noticed I never eat cake, so got me pie."

Brushing aside mention of the girl's thoughtfulness, Veronica taps the picture. "You said she got it for you, not made it. Do you know where she would have bought it?"

"There's only one place I know that makes a pie like that, about a mile from here. I've been a couple times since."

He tells her the name and address, and Veronica puts it in her phone's mapping app. "Thanks, Tony."

"Yes, ma'am—Veronica. Maybe I'll call you sometime? See if it turned into anything?"

Veronica hesitates only a second before deciding. "Sure, call me sometime"

During the drive, she watches for Matthew, knowing she won't see him.


8:30am

Logan

The kid can eat, Veronica's right about that. But she also worked hard so Logan doesn't begrudge her ordering a second stack of banana pancakes.

"So, what do you think," Logan asks. "Up for another round tomorrow?"

Logan gets the feeling Fish is stalling for time to think when she gulps down half a glass of milk before answering. Her eyes focus on the table in front of them. "Gai won't come. You should stop trying."

Right there. It'd be easy to miss with Fish's fuck-it attitude and determination to make people bend to her will, but underneath he sees a kid who doesn't think she's enough on her own.

"Is that why you came today? To tell me that?"

She nods, but won't meet his eyes, giving Logan the feeling it's the truth, but not the whole truth. "Okay, you told me. But I asked if you're up for another round tomorrow."

She nods and glances away, feigning interest in the other diners as she drinks her glass of water. But a faint pink stains her cheeks. He recognizes it as excitement that someone's giving attention to her, and her alone. A sick roll of worry works through Logan's gut, admitting the responsibility he's about to take on. He can't be another adult in her life who lets her down.

"Will your parents be home when I drop you off?"

"Why?"

Logan sops up the last of his egg with his toast and shakes his head. "I should meet them."

"Don't worry about it."

"Most people wouldn't be okay with a strange, grown man taking off with their twelve-year-old daughter for hours."

"Look." Fish waves her phone in his face. "No messages. It's fine. My mom's sleeping anyway—she works nights."

"What about your dad?"

Fish snorts into her water as she takes another drink. "What about him?"

He doesn't know the protocol. Veronica didn't seem worried when Fish got in his truck this morning, and Logan remembers that by twelve he rarely checked in with his parents before taking off for the day.

"Give me your Mom's number, then. I'll call her."

"Chill, it's fine."

Logan nods. "I check in with your mom or we don't go again."

With a sigh Fish grabs the phone Logan holds out to her and punches in her mom's number. "You're kind of uptight."

Logan laughs, enjoying the novelty of the insult. "What time does she get up?"

"Two, but she has to be at her other job at four."

He sets his teeth at the grim picture he's getting of Fish's life and again feels the weight of responsibility he's taking on. "If your mom says okay, I'll pick you up a wetsuit, too. What's your favorite color?"

"What's wrong with the one I wore today?"

"I bought it for Gai."

"And you're still deluding yourself he's going to come."

"Hoping."

Rolling her eyes, Fish pushes away her plate. "Then you're as big an idiot as he is."

Logan chuckles and stands up, throws a fifty on the table, and waits while Fish slides out the other side.

Fish stares up at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not. You just remind me of a girl I used to know."

"Veronica." Logan shakes his head. "Angel?"

"Lilly." Logan holds the diner door open and waits until Fish goes through.

"Huh. Lilly. She was the girl your dad—,"

"Yeah."

"What was she like?"

"A bitch." He opens the door to let Fish climb in the truck. "But she wore it well."

Fish breaks into a smile and, after several hours in her company, Logan recognizes how rare an event it is. The second he starts the engine she cranks the music and throws her feet on the dash. Her arms flail as she faux-drums an imaginary set, and Logan wonders if he'll be deaf by the end of summer.

There's a beaten old Mazda in her driveway when he pulls up to the house she points out. He notes the weeds in the front yard and three broken slats on the side gate. The place isn't in as sorry a state as his own sad home, but far from Veronica's trimmed bushes and mowed yard.

"See you tomorrow," she asks.

"If your mom says yes."

"She will. How much is a wetsuit?"

"Don't worry about it."

Fish's brows draw together. "I have money."

"Consider it a graduation present."

Fish shakes her head. Her chin comes up and a harness settles in her eyes. "We don't take charity. How much is it?"

Logan glances at the house again. If he had to guess the probability of Fish or her mom having the two bills to spare for the wetsuit, he'd say are zero to zilch. But he knows loss of pride also comes at a price.

"Sixty bucks."

"I've only got forty."

"You're good for it, right? Pay me the rest when you can."

Fish considers this and nods. "Nothing girly—no pink or purple." A round, blond woman opens the front door and waves to them with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old. "My aunt," Fish says in explanation, waving back before she grabs her stuff and hops out of the truck without a goodbye or thank you.

Logan waits until she's safely in the house before pulling away. The day's agenda fills ahead of him: Call Fish's mom. Shower at the hotel and hit the surf shop before his afternoon appointment at the title company. Then move into his own, very humble abode, and dinner with Veronica.


9:30am

Gai

It's only by luck Gai's by his front window when the Logan dude's SUV goes by. He should ignore it, wants to, but is curious when the vehicle slows to a stop in front of Fish's house. Unbelievably, Fish gets out of the car and waves before running up her walk.

A sick roll starts in his gut and goes down his legs, making it harder to cross the street and get to Fish's house. When he's finally there, she answers his knock within seconds. Gai can see her swallow, and notices the hesitation before she gives him a reluctant, "Hey."

"What the fuck, Fish?" He waves a hand in the direction the Logan dude drove off.

"I asked him to take me surfing."

The words make no sense. "Why? When?"

"This morning. I thought it would help if I went first, find out if he's as bad as you thought.."

"You didn't need to—he is a loser and I don't need you to tell me that."

"Gai, I know the whole thing is weird but Logan's okay. He—"

"Dude, don't be stupid. He's just using you to get to me."

Fuck. From the way she crosses her arms and how her mouth turns down, Gai can tell he's hurt her feelings.

"No, he's not. I told him you probably won't go, like ever, and he said he'd buy me my own wetsuit so I can keep coming."

"Keep," Gai's voice trails off as this hits. He clamps his hand on top of his head, his voice going higher. "Fish, what the hell?"

She shrugs, her look going somewhere over Gai's shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to like him. I just thought I'd go, see what a jerk he was, and tell him off. But," her eyes meet his and he sees excitement there, the kind Fish gets only when she's playing drums. Her words come in a rush. "He's cool, Gai. And I liked it, the surfing. I mean, it's hard but I don't even care. Logan said I'm good, too."

There's too much for his head to sort out. The Logan dude took Fish, like Dad always did. Bought her a wetsuit like Dad always bought extra bikes and camping gear and whatever. He said Fish can keep coming even if Gai doesn't. And Fish. Fish gets to surf, to get out in the ocean on a board and find out what it's like to ride a wave, like Gai always wanted to.

The worst, though, the worst is she fucking likes him.

"Gai? Come with us, please? Tomorrow?"

Us. Come with us. Like they're their own thing and he's some charity case they're inviting. "You know what Fish?" Gai holds up his hands and backs down the walk. "You want a dad so bad? Take him. He's all yours."

"Hey," she starts.

"No, I get it. Your dad sucks, so you were always glomming onto mine." He lifts his chin, dismissing her. "It's kinda pathetic but, you know, whatever. This one's all yours. Have fun."

Gai turns and ambles his way back home, hands shoved deep in his pockets and in no hurry, and ignores Fish calling him a jerk, then slamming the door.


11:30am

Veronica

Joe's. The place is as small and unpretentious as its name. A block off the main drag, small, unadorned parking lot, a simple spinning sign on a post with a cup of coffee and the diner name, both outlined in a plain black line.

Inside it's the same. Dated wallpaper and carpeting, formica tables with a wood print, six counter seats and four booths Patched up here and there with duct tape. But it's clean, the food smells great, and pictures of staff and what she can only assume are regulars fill the wall behind the register.

A pie case shows at least fifteen different flavors, including those topped with small, golden pastry flowers. Most have a slice or five taken out of them. A little sign in the corner boasts "Whole pies for sale, just ask!".

Luckily there are only a few customers at the counter. All the tables and booths are empty, and a lone waitress with a name tag reading Tina busies herself marrying ketchups. Veronica recognizes her from several photos on the wall, making her think Tina's been there a decade or more. "Sit anywhere you want, hon. Coffee?"

"Iced tea, please." Veronica takes a seat at the counter. "And a slice of apple, if you have it."

Tina drops the tea and a paper-wrapped straw at Veronica's spot and heads to the pie case. "That's our most popular. We always have it. Cheese or à la mode?"

"Cheese, please."

Until she worked at Java, Veronica had never heard of putting a slice of cheddar on top of apple pie, but it was weirdly delicious. She waits as Tina dishes up the pie and sticks it in a toaster oven for a good minute before putting it in front of her. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I was hoping you could help me. My niece ran away and I'm trying to find her. I think she used to come in here?" Veronica lays the picture on the counter, next to her pie. Tina picks it up and studies the girl.

"Can't say as I've seen her, but I only work until two every day. If she came in later, I wouldn't know her."

"This would have been during the last school year. Anyone else on staff that would have worked the afternoon shift then?"

"No, hon. I'm all that's left of the old guard. Mary, Joe's wife, used to work the afternoon shift. She passed about six months ago and Joe went not long after. The cook and bus staff have just been here a minute, hired by Joe's kid when he took over."

Veronica sighs, facing an afternoon going business to business, flashing Weston's picture. "Thanks anyway. Any chance I could get a couple of these pies to go?"

"Both apple?"

"Yeah. Oh, do you have strawberry-rhubarb?" When Tina nods, Veronica says "One of those, too." She'll swing by and drop it off for Tony, to thank him.

Thinking of Tony, and her non-reaction to him compared to Logan—that drunk night on the ship, in his bathroom last week, and just two days ago, in front of her house—Veronica pulls out her phone and texts him.

Something came up, can't make it tonight. Raincheck?

A few diners come in as Veronica waits for her boxed pies, and a few more while she lingers and finishes her slice. All signs point to a lunch rush in the making.

An elderly man shuffles in to sit two stools down from Veronica. Tina calls to him over her shoulder. "Your pickup will be ready in just a minute, Abe." She moves toward a table, then changes her mind and grabs Weston's picture from the counter. "Hold on a sec, I have an idea."

"Abe," Tina holds out the picture to the old man. "This woman is looking for her niece, maybe came in here last year. She familiar to you?"

Nothing has reminded Veronica of a cracked desert floor more than this man's face. He looks ancient, with so many lines in his skin they overlay each other. One of his eyes has a cloudy cast to it and Veronica wonders how much he can actually see.

He studies the photo a moment and hands it holds it out to Veronica, his gnarled hand shaking. "Nope."

Disappointed, Veronica tucks the picture in her purse. She takes a napkin out of the counter dispenser and wipes her mouth with it, noticing the heavy texture similar to the ones from her favorite Italian takeout.

An image of Eva goes through her mind, leaning over a napkin very much like this one, drawing her and Logan's house in Chile.

"Are you sure," she asks, scooting one seat closer. "Tall, athletic, blonde hair? She would have spent her time here either studying or drawing?"

At the word drawing, Abe fixes his cloudy eye on Veronica.

"Don't know if this is the same girl." Abe reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He takes an interminable fifteen seconds to overcome his palsy enough to open the thing and pick a white napkin out of the wallet, folded many times over. The edges are gray and soft. He waves at the corner both. "She sat there most days, quiet-like, always with her doodles."

Once he's unfolded it, Abe hands the napkin to Veronica. It's a painstaking rendering of Abe, drawn with a fine ink pen. Every detail is there, from the crags of his face to the frown he's giving Veronica now. Even without a signature, Weston undeniably made the drawing.

Tina, pops out of the back and glances at the napkin. "Abe, you still have that?"

"'Course," Abe snaps. "She was in here pretty near every day. Nice kid." Veronica refrains from editorializing his assessment of Weston. "Can't say much for that punk friend of hers, though."

Before she even knows she's going to stand, Veronica's on her feet and white-knuckling the back of the stool. "What punk friend?"

Abe swats a hand in the air, impatient with having to give her information that's (to him) obvious. "You know, the one with the big EFF YOU on his jacket. Always mooching for change in front of the grocery."

"What grocery?"

"That Ralph's, a block up."

"Did you get a name?"

"Ralph's, like I said."

"The kid's name."

"No." Abe lays a ten on the counter and Tina puts a plastic bag in front of him, the bottom weighted down with a takeout container. "I gotta get home before my stories start."

Veronica's debating the merits of blocking his exit or chasing him down in the parking lot when he stops and turns around. "Danny. I remember she called him Danny once. It made sense, you know, him being a Mic, with that red hair."

"Th—," she swallows. "Thank you."

Abe swats a hand toward her again and heads out the door. Veronica pays for her pies and gives Tina an extra fifty to put on Abe's tab.


A/N: And since we're celebrating the end of 2020, why not two Chapters? Happy New Year, ya'll!