Part 13 (2/2)

”Jeremy?”

”Yes?” I said, stopping, turning around.

Tell me something good.

”My key?” he said patiently, holding out his hand. His kind eyes smiled at me, but the twinkle was muted, out of respect for the freshly dead.

I fished the keys out of my pocket. I had to suffer the indignity of winding his key off my ring, something I fumbled with in the best of circ.u.mstances. Finally, I dropped it in his palm, and he closed his hand.

He walked me to the door. He patted me on the back and said, ”Best of luck to you, Jeremy. You'll be a fine lawyer.”

Coffin shut, nailed, dropped.

I started down the hallway.

Coming in the opposite direction was none other than Humpty Dumpty himself, Arthur Peabody: short, waddling, charging head forward, bow tie askew, long jowls jostling with each step. He looked me over, snorted, glanced past me down the hall.

”Another one of your victories, Ernesto?” he called down the hall to Bernini.

”Good morning, Arthur,” Bernini said flatly from behind me.

As Arthur Peabody pa.s.sed, I smelled the cloud of liquor.

”Was this one too good or not good enough?”

”That's enough, Arthur.”

There was a warning in his voice. I had no idea what Humpty meant. I didn't care anymore. I just wanted out of that hallway.

”Why don't you tell him the joke?” Humpty Dumpty said. ”Maybe he'll thank you.”

”Enough,” Bernini snapped. I'd never heard him so angry. ”Remember your deal,” he said to Peabody.

Two doors slammed behind me, moments apart.

The f.u.c.king elevator couldn't come fast enough.

I called my parents for the first time in a month. My dad answered the phone.

”We thought you were dead,” he said dryly.

”No, Dad. Just crazy. Too much work.” I tried to sound light-hearted. ”I won the mock trial.”

”Hey, that's great. Way to go. You're not letting the big shots push you around, are you?” This was a common theme for my dad, ever since he decided that he was a speck in the universe, meaningless, powerless.

”No way, Dad. I'm pus.h.i.+ng them around.”

”That's my boy.”

”Hey, let me talk to Mom, okay?”

”Sure.”

My mom picked up the phone.

”Hi sweetie.”

”Hi Mom.”

”Honey, what's wrong?”

”Nothing, Ma. How's Dad doing?”

”He's fine. How are you?”

”Is he taking his medicine?”

”Yes, honey. We're taking care of everything. You don't need to worry.”

”He hates the beta blocker. Make sure he's really taking it.”

”Honey, what's wrong? Is everything okay at school?”

”Yeah. Everything's great. I've got lots of friends. I'm learning a lot.” I closed my eyes. ”I need to run to cla.s.s. I just wanted to say hi.”

”Honey?”

”I really need to run, Mom.”

”You call me if you need to talk. Okay, sweetie? Anytime.”

”Okay, Mom. I love you.”

”I love you too.”

I hung up.

Daphne left her house at seven o'clock. I'd been waiting in the park across the street. She was reading something small, then put it back in her purse. I stopped her in the middle of the road.

”Jeremy, what are you doing here?”

”Where are you going?”

”What do you mean, where am I going?”

”Answer my question.”

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