“We’ve spent hours in the car in silence, what’s another hour here?” she points out as if it’s an innocent question.
The tension still bristles from Cill’s shoulders but he peers at me, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah,” I answer, “I think that’s best.”
Turmoil stirs in the pit of my stomach as Kat orders us appetizers of bruschetta and burrata that sound far too eloquent for men like us, but the way she reads it and admits she loves the glaze has me nodding my head in agreement.
We all order meals. I go with the same meal I get every time we’re here simply out of habit. Capellini with crabmeat. Cill and Kat do the same; filet and shrimp for Cill, and lasagna for Kat.
It’s quiet while we wait, each of us thinking maybe. Taking small sips and I watch the two of them touch. Occasionally she holds his hand and he squeezes hers. It feels like an ending, like I’m forced to watch it, to sit in it so it’s burned into my memory what real love is and how I almost destroyed it.
The whiskey is gone sooner than I’d like. I pick at the bread, not tasting it until the meals are served.
Kat was right. It’s helping Cill, at least. He’s not as tense. Kat watches him even more than I do.
I didn’t know how things would go when we showed up on her front porch this past weekend. I was scared to death. If she kicked him out, I didn’t think Cill was going to recover. She barely speaks to me anymore. She stopped talking to him too.
Now, staring across the table, I know everything happens for a reason.
It was one thing for him to lose his freedom for four years. It would have been another thing to have the one girl he loved most shut the door in his face.
Cill’s plate is gone in minutes. I’ve barely touched mine and Kat’s made a small dent in hers. But he inhaled his dinner.
A faint smile tugs at my face when I remember the time we were here last and Cill was going off about something. She said he needed to eat and he wouldn’t care about whatever it was he was complaining about. I remember laughing then but not paying attention to whether or not it was true back then. It’s only a joke but I wish it were true. I wish a good meal and a conversation were all it would take to fix this.
Kat pushes the basket of bread in front of him. It’s the best bread in the city. The inside is soft and the outside is crusty. It tastes like home. This restaurant is almost as familiar as the rec room at the garage. I know this bread like I know the recliners in that room. We must’ve spent hours there watching football and poker games.
Cill’s eaten enough food for the three of us but it’s done him some good. He might be different than he was before, but he’s still my best friend. The hurt look in his eyes has faded a bit. Enough that we can talk.
The waitress brings dainty mugs of coffee once the waiter has cleared our plates. It’s all done silently. Kat has tea instead. She stirs in sugar, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. I can feel her discomfort as well, though she’s trying to hide it. For Cill’s sake, I think. She glances over at me.
I take that as a signal to start talking.
“I think …” I start, then trail off and lick my lower lip, knowing what I’m about to say is a bombshell that could destroy Cill. But he has to know. “It wasn’t just Kat’s father who ratted four years ago.”
Cill narrows his eyes, his brow pinching. His tone is level and low when he says, “The hell do you mean? Everybody knows it was him. He’s the one who called Kat to warn her what was happening.”
“And that didn’t seem off to you?”
“No,” answers Cill.
“It seemed off to me. The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make any sense.” I look at Kat. “If your dad knew ahead of time, he wouldn’t have let you go to Cavanaugh Crest that night. He didn’t want you mixed up in all of that. He has his sins to pay for, but he loved you. It just doesn’t fit.”
Kat looks down at her empty plate. Cill’s still looking at me, his eyes questioning.
“I don’t think your dad died of a heart attack either,” I tell him. I’ve held this knowledge for so damn long, and it’s a relief to get it out into the open. “I think your uncle wants it all and he’s working for both sides. The Ruin and the feds.”
My mind races with a million things.