“Okay ...” Mostly puzzlement in the just-elongated word, the unclosed ending, as that initial territorial surge seeped out of crevices both congenital and temporary, bored by the gently caustic collusion of wine and whisky. If the kid were a robber, he was a piss-poor one. Unprepared, unthreatening. Didn’t pull a gun in the face of a gun. Other theories gathered, hazy. He’d met Courtland. "Once or twice." Distant friend of the family? Neighbor? Not that either possibility helped explain this appearance in the yard. Unless it was planned. Nocturnal lawnboy What did he know?
He shook his head, provoking a tickle: his free hand moved toward his face to redirect a rivulet that had formed above his forehead and was now running between the edge of his nose and the inside corner of his eye. His other hand still gripped the useless (but heavy) gun, index finger tracing the seam where the stock met the barrel. The rain was starting to soak through his shirt.
Fine, maybe it was cold. He glanced back over his shoulder to note that the sitting room, washed amber with lamplight, looked inviting.
“... Okay.” Added finality in the echo, a moment later. Familiarity with the late Courtland Farr, Jr. accepted, for lack of an inclination to disbelieve. “So why are you here now?” One chance. He had already decided: a good, reasonable answer ended with them both inside, for better or for worse. A bad answer, a non-answer, left one of them locked out in the rain.
He shook his head, provoking a tickle: his free hand moved toward his face to redirect a rivulet that had formed above his forehead and was now running between the edge of his nose and the inside corner of his eye. His other hand still gripped the useless (but heavy) gun, index finger tracing the seam where the stock met the barrel. The rain was starting to soak through his shirt.
Fine, maybe it was cold. He glanced back over his shoulder to note that the sitting room, washed amber with lamplight, looked inviting.
“... Okay.” Added finality in the echo, a moment later. Familiarity with the late Courtland Farr, Jr. accepted, for lack of an inclination to disbelieve. “So why are you here now?” One chance. He had already decided: a good, reasonable answer ended with them both inside, for better or for worse. A bad answer, a non-answer, left one of them locked out in the rain.