The Accomplice(26)

“Have you been spelunking?” Owen said.

“Went for a hike. I couldn’t wait any longer. You were supposed to be here hours ago,” Griff said.

The two men—or boys, or whatever age their prefrontal cortex suggested—gave each other bear hugs, as if it was a competition. The older brother won, thought Luna.

“Ouch,” Owen said.

“College has made you soft,” Griff said.

He probably thought everyone was soft. He looked like the kind of person who couldn’t survive a day without vigorous physical activity. He wasn’t built with the symmetrical muscles of a gym rat. But he was solid, tan, his face a bit too drawn for someone still in the glow of youth. One of his other notable features was a rather impressive scar along the side of his left eye, which made the lid droop just a bit.

He turned to Luna and smiled. It was an odd half smile, as if part of his face were fighting it.

“Hey, I’m Griff.”

Griff didn’t claim any knowledge of Luna or lack thereof. He simply extended his hand.

“Luna,” she said, shaking his hand.

“We’re drinking,” Tom said.

“Of course you are,” Griff said.

“What are you having?” Tom said.

“Water first,” said Griff, heading into the kitchen and pulling a pitcher from the counter.

“That water again,” said Tom.

“Must be a new thing,” Vera said. “We should probably look into it.”

“Maybe buy stock,” Tom added.

“Luna drinks anything,” Owen said, just to end his parents’ embarrassing bit.

“I like you already,” Vera said. “But, please, be more specific. We have wine, beer, bourbon, and I do make a mean martini.”

“I’m having red,” Owen said to Luna, as he uncorked a bottle.

“Okay. I’m good with that,” Luna said.

“Hey, Dad,” Griff said. “You got something on the grill?”



* * *



—

“I hope you like your steak well done,” Tom said, once the overdone food was served.

As it turned out, Luna was the only one at the table who genuinely did.

“I told you I’d take care of the grilling,” Griff said.

After guzzling two tall glasses of water, Owen’s brother had finally cracked a beer.

“I didn’t know when you were coming back,” Tom said.

“I think it was safe to assume that I’d be back before nightfall, which even with a four p.m. cocktail hour gives us plenty of leeway.”

“No point arguing over burnt steak,” said Vera. “I got an excellent tart from that bakery in Pittsfield, so none of us will starve tonight.”

Owen drained the open bottle of wine into Luna’s empty glass without asking whether she wanted more. He retreated to the pantry and returned with two more bottles of red. By the time the meal was over, Luna felt more saturated than satiated.

Vera served their dessert out on the deck. They had heat lamps. One was aimed at the back of Luna’s neck. Owen noticed the way she was looking over her shoulder, annoyed. He knew the lamp was pissing her off before she did. Owen demanded they switch sides. Luna preferred her new seat, even though it was cold. She excused herself to retrieve her coat. Owen’s mobile phone, which sat charging on the kitchen counter, started to ring. Luna flipped the phone open to see who was calling. Maybe it was important. Or maybe she was too buzzed to make a thoughtful decision. She didn’t recognize the number on the screen. She was about to close the phone when Owen appeared beside her.

“What are you doing?” he said, taking the phone from her hands.

“I don’t know,” Luna said.

Then, a tinny voice saying hello emanated from the phone. Luna and Owen both recognized it and froze in panic. If he hung up, Scarlet would just call back. Owen shook his head at Luna, silently asking her why the hell she’d answered. Luna wasn’t sure how to mime her status as a mobile-phone Luddite. Owen reluctantly put the phone to his ear. Luna knew she’d fucked up. And yet she was still surprised by Owen’s expression. She hadn’t seen that level of anger before. She watched nervously as he handled the call.

“Hi, Scarlet,” Owen said. “Sorry about that. Yeah, that was Luna. I’m in the Berkshires. Yes, Luna came with me…. It was last minute, that’s why I never mentioned it….”

Owen disappeared into the den. Luna returned to the guest room and grabbed her coat. When she returned to the kitchen, Griff was gulping water again. He removed a glass from the cupboard and poured one for her.

“Drink up or you’ll regret it tomorrow. Most mortals can’t keep up with my folks.”

Luna downed the tall glass in a series of thirsty gulps. Griff smiled, impressed.

“Well done.”

“Thanks,” said Luna.

She could hear snippets of Owen’s conversation in the den. He was on the defensive. His tone bounced around among placating, unnerved, sweet, and righteous.

“Who’s Owen talking to?” Griff asked.

“His girlfriend,” said Luna.

Griff’s eyes focused on the ceiling, then back at Luna. “I’m confused. Who are you?” Griff asked.