Moondogs - Alexander Yates [41]
“A week? Seven times you have gone to bed with me and failed to mention this? You have let me plan weekends with our friends. You have let me invite my sister down. I ask again: What is the matter with you?”
He’d never pushed back so hard on anything before, and it took Monique by surprise. But it didn’t come out of his strength. It came out of his weakness. His total ineptness when caught anywhere other than Georgetown, or maybe Adams Morgan. He felt like a loser here, and for good reason.
When she didn’t answer he just glared at her. “We are still going.”
“Don’t you tell me what I’m doing,” she said.
“I’m not. We are going. Shawn and Leila and I.”
“I told you I—” she caught herself. “What did you say?”
“It is just five weeks. We will be back before you know it.”
She stared at him. She breathed out and it felt like her ribs were bending.
“The kids need a break.”
She tried to contrive a laugh but instead just said “Ha” like it was a word. “Don’t hide behind them. You need a break.”
“I do. They do, too. And what would you know about it? You are at work when they come home from school. Shawn’s friends drive him here. They follow him upstairs and he makes them sandwiches they don’t eat. His voice changes around them. They call him … I don’t like the nicknames they call him.” For someone so precise, Joseph’s vagueness was conspicuous. Again he was talking and not talking about the race thing. “Anyway, it is not good for him. It is not healthy. Not for Leila either. These rich kids treat them like pets.”
“I can’t be away from them that long.” Monique almost blushed hearing how unconvincing she sounded.
“Then don’t be. And don’t pretend like it is not your choice.”
Lantern light refracted in the corners of her eyes. She excused herself, went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. She was exhilarated, overwhelmed and terrified of the joy creeping over her. Five weeks without feeling like shit in front of Shawn’s locked room? Five weeks without tearing up at the thought of how lonely Leila was? Five weeks without making excuses to and for her insomniac husband? Five weeks alone, with him. Knowing it was a selfish, lousy thing to feel didn’t make her feel it any less. This couldn’t have gone better if she’d planned it.
She bumped into Joseph on her way out of the bathroom, catching him walking out on her. They faced off, awkwardly. She put a hand on his chest. “You can go if you want to. You should.”
“I am not asking for permission. I don’t need it.”
“You have it.”
“Well, I don’t need it.” He seemed ready to storm off, but lingered a moment longer. “Tell me there is nothing else going on here. Nothing funny.”
She stared at him, and he repeated himself. That was it. It was out there. “There is nothing funny going on here,” she said, almost believing her own shocked voice. “I resent the implication.” And the funny thing was, she did resent it. She sensed that, on a visceral level, being wrongly accused would feel very much the same as this.
“Fine,” Joseph said, glancing down at his feet. “Good. Sorry.”
And with that he left the restaurant. Monique returned to the table and watched him exit through the courtyard below. Two hookers followed but gave up after a few paces. The lead singer got up on stage and said, “Hi, my name is Erwin,” and the early diners said, “Hi, Erwin.” Erwin tapped his microphone twice, making a static sound like distant explosions. The band burst into song.
Chapter 8
TASK FORCE KA-POW
Efrem Khalid Bakkar knows his life just changed forever. He’s in a fast-moving jeep with the brigadier general of Southern Command, the biggest movie star in the republic, and the real-life supercop those movies are based on. Reynato, grinning wide, hasn’t said anything since they left the marching green. No one has—they speed quietly through a tunnel of palm and bamboo. Efrem stares out back. He watches the Boxer Boys break formation, lean against one another, share hand-rolled cigarettes. He sees each of their faces through the impossibly woven jungle. It wasn’t hard to leave