Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(36)

“I wasn’t cheating on a test,” I say, clenching my left fist. “If you really want to know, this is . . . advice my friends gave to me on how to deal with a very personal situation. Okay?”

The silence stretches on for eternity, my eyes darting around for an escape route. I am seriously debating bolting from the table and taking my chances out on the streets. Surely one of their neighbors would call the cops and report the sounds of a scrawny tenth-grader being beaten to death by a jacked Navy SEAL?

Nick suddenly bursts out in a loud cackle. “Buddy. Guy. Relax. I’m just yankin’ your chain. No need to get all bent out of shape. I don’t care what you’ve got scribbled on your hand.”

Now Evelyn’s cracking up too. “Sorry, sweetie. It’s Nick’s sense of humor. He likes to make people uncomfortable. Sometimes I don’t even know when he’s kidding.”

“Oh,” I say, my hunched-up shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah. Okay. Funny.”

Nick points his knife at me. “Seriously, though. I meant what I said about liars and cheats. We don’t tolerate that in this family.”

“Jeez, Nick,” Evelyn says. “Leave him alone already.”

“What?” Nick shrugs. “This is important. You don’t want to date a guy and then find out he’s just like Dad.”

“Nicky, please,” Mrs. Moss says. “Can we have one meal where we don’t bring up your deadbeat father?”

Oh, thank Gandalf, the spotlight’s off me. I grab my cup of water with my left hand, hoping the beads of sweat on the glass will smear the ink on my palm.

“I didn’t bring him up,” Nick barks. “I was just making an analogy.” He eviscerates one of the gigantic raviolis with his knife, spilling the spinach and cheese filling like entrails. “But since we’re already talking about him, I might as well tell you, I think I’ve found a lead.”

A lead? What the heck is he talking about?

Evelyn must be picking up on my confusion, because she reaches out and touches my forearm. “It’s like I told you. Our dad walked out on us three years ago.”

“He didn’t walk out,” Nick spits. “He left us for another family. A Post-it note on the fridge and that was that. Never heard from him again. No cards at Christmas, not a penny of child support.” He leans over his plate, gesturing wildly with his fork. “How the hell is my mother supposed to support a family on a cashier’s salary? You want to tell me that?”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer this question or not, so I just gulp.

“She can’t. That’s how,” Nick continues. “So she gets a second job. And she goes with less so that Evelyn and me can have more.” He turns to Mrs. Moss and motions toward her plate. “Eat, Ma. Eat. You’re wasting away.”

“Okay, Nick.” Mrs. Moss twists her lips into a partial smile. “I’ll eat. But can we just drop it now?”

“No! We can’t drop it. I’ll never drop it. Not until I find him.”

Evelyn looks at me. “Nick’s been trying to track down our dad for the last five months.”

“Asshole’s hiding out somewhere.” Nick shakes his head. “Every time I think I’ve got him, the trail goes cold. But I’ll smoke him out eventually.”

“Smo — Smoke him out?” I blink. “Wha — What for?”

“Pfff.” Nick lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe jog his memory a little.” He makes a gun with his finger and shoots me with it. “Remind him of his responsibilities.”

Mrs. Moss sighs. “Now, Nicky. Let’s not get crazy.”

Nick slams his hand down on the table, sending all of our plates and utensils jumping. “Don’t you stand up for him! He broke your heart and tossed it out like a used Kleenex. And I’m supposed to stand by and let him get away with it? No. He owes us. Family sticks up for family!”

“Okay, okay.” A weary Mrs. Moss holds up her hands. “It’s just that I don’t think Sean needs to hear about all of our dirty laundry.”

“Yeah, well.” Nick wafts his utensils in the air. “He’s going to hear about it eventually. I mean”— he stares at me across the table —“if he’s planning on sticking around. You are planning on sticking around, aren’t you? You’re not the love-’em-and-leave type, are you, Sean?”

I grip the edge of the table, feeling a little woozy. “I . . . uh . . . I . . . uh —”

“Of course he’s going to stick around.” Evelyn beams at me. “Right, Sean?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Absolutely.”

Nick winks at me. “Good answer. Anything else and I might have had to kill you.”

I think I might hurl.

Nick laughs. “Look at that face! This guy’s too easy. I’m just tuggin’ your tamale.”

“Yeah. No. I knew that,” I say, trying to force air into my constricted lungs.

Nick laughs again as he shoves a big forkful of ravioli into his mouth. “I like this guy,” he says, chewing. “He’s a good sport. Hey, how about after dinner you come up to my room and I’ll show you some of my SEAL stuff? If you’re good, I’ll even let you hold my heater. You ever handle a real gun before? Nothing in the world like it, I’m telling you.”