All Good People Here(47)

Margot stood and opened the drawer where her uncle had kept a bottle opener for the past thirty years. A great well of emotion surged inside her chest. She felt pity that her uncle, who’d always had a big vocabulary and sharp wit, couldn’t remember the word infantilize, and she felt ashamed for doing that very thing to him in the very moment he was asking her not to. She felt a deep sadness that this unmerciful disease was robbing her uncle of his autonomy, when that was the most important thing he’d ever taught her. And on top of everything, she felt an anger, raw and raging, at the injustice of it all.

“Please just quit infanti—” he tried again as he looked in yet another wrong drawer, but his mouth caught on the word. “Goddammit! Why can’t I find this fucking—”

“Here,” Margot said, holding out the bottle opener.

Luke froze. He stood like that, staring down at the opener in her hand, then he hurled his bottle of beer across the kitchen, where it exploded against the wall.

Margot flinched. Then she stood very still, her eyes downcast, her heart hammering in her chest. For the first time in her life, Luke had reminded her of her father.

The two of them stood across from each other like that for a long, wordless moment. Beer frothed and foamed on the floor, shards of glass glittered among it. Luke’s breath was coming in ragged gulps.

“Shit,” he said finally, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, kid. I don’t know why I did that.”

Margot shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

From his back pocket, Luke pulled the red bandanna she’d given him for Christmas all those years ago and rubbed it over his face, suddenly looking twenty years older. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s this”—he pounded the heel of his hand against his forehead—“this fucking thing.”

“I know,” she said, because she did. The disease was like a tapeworm in his brain, eating away at everything that made him who he was. “It’s okay.”

Luke dropped his hand to his side and his face fell. “I really am sorry, kid.”

“I know.”

He heaved a tired sigh, then put his hand on her head, squeezed twice in quick succession. “You deserve much better than the likes of me.”

“Don’t I know it,” she said with a small, wry grin. Luke let out an exhalation of laughter, and that was when Margot knew her uncle—the real one—was back.

The two of them cleaned up the beer and glass, then grabbed two fresh bottles from the fridge, which they drank as they ate their sandwiches. Alcohol probably wasn’t a good idea, but Margot felt they both deserved it. After they finished eating, she cleaned up, then retreated to her room, where, sitting on the edge of her futon, she tracked down the number for Pete.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Pete, hi. This is Margot Davies.”

“Oh, Margot, hey.” He sounded pleasantly surprised. “How’d you get my number?”

“I called the station and Deb at reception gave it to me. Didn’t take much convincing, actually.”

Pete laughed. “Ah, yeah, Deb’s not exactly a steel trap. What’s up?”

“I’m calling for a favor.” Margot squished up her face. Asking for help did not come easily to her.

“Okay…What is it?”

“I’m leaving town for a few days and I was wondering…Do you think you could swing by my uncle’s house a couple of times? Just, like, once a day to check on him? I’m sorry to ask, but I suggested a part-time caregiver and it didn’t exactly go over well and I don’t know what else to do.”

“Oh. Sure,” he said. “No problem.”

Margot let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course. Like I said, I went through this with my grandpa and it’s tough. I get it.” The kindness in his voice made Margot’s throat tighten. “Anyway,” he said. “I’m on patrol for the next few days, so it’ll be easy to stop by. Just give me the address.”

“Thank you,” she said after she’d told him the street name and number. “That’s…thank you. And if it’s possible…could you sort of try to be, like, subtle about what you’re doing there? Maybe say you’re looking for me or something? I don’t want him to…”

“Hey,” he said before she could think of how to finish. “I get it. No problem.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank you, Pete. I owe you.”

“You’re good. Anyway, where’re you headed?”

“Chicago. I’m pretty sure that’s where Jace went. I’m gonna try to track him down for an interview.”

There was a brief silence, then, “Wow. Okay…Are you sure you wanna do that?”

She let out a small breath of laughter. “I’ll be fine, Pete. This isn’t the first time I’ve interviewed someone about a crime.”

“No, I know. But it’s more than that. I remember Jace from school. He was…not a good guy.”

Margot thought back to her conversation with Eli. He’d painted a picture of Jace as a regularly angsty teenager, one who stayed out late, smoked weed, and probably did a bunch of other stupid stuff teenagers did. It was no more than she’d done herself. “We can’t all be perfect, Pete.”