The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

“He thinks Grady is responsible for his cousin’s death.”

“So do I.”

“Let me talk to him,” she said.

“How about we both talk to him? How about we both tell him to leave us alone?”

“Look at him. He’s pitiful,” she said.

I didn’t argue. She was probably right. But I was learning that people who are pitiful and have nothing to lose are the ones who can leave you in shreds.

As it turned out, Grady didn’t want to see “both” of us. “Hi, Valerie,” he said. “What’s happening, Aaron? Take a walk with me.”

“How’d you know where we were?” she said.

“One of your neighbors told me. Can I have a word with Aaron?”

“Talk to both of us or neither of us,” I said.

He was wearing jeans and sandals and a golf shirt with an alligator on the pocket. A thick strand of hair hung across one eye. Somehow Grady always struck a pose that seemed to capture our times—petulant, self-indulgent, glamorous in a casual way, and dangerous, with no self-knowledge. “I’ve got a duck camp south of Beaumont. Why don’t y’all get out of town for a while? Let all this stuff blow over.”

“What stuff?” I said.

He turned around and gazed at the sky. “It looks like the clouds are burning, doesn’t it?”

“What’s bothering you, Grady?” I said.

“Things got out of control. It happens. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t want y’all hurt.”

“Then stop acting like an idiot,” Valerie said. “Are you here about those Sicilian murderers?”

The blood drained from his cheeks. “You’ve seen them? They’re here?”

“Did Vick send them or did his old man?” I said.

He stepped backward and didn’t answer.

“Did Vick send them?” I repeated.

“Vick doesn’t confide in me. Talking to y’all is a waste of time. I wish I’d never seen you, Broussard.”

“I never wronged you, Grady,” I said. “I always felt sorry for you.”

“You feel sorry for me?” he said. “Where do you get off with that?”

“Thanks for coming by,” I said.

His face was like a wounded child’s. His gaze shifted to the front of the green building. “I didn’t know you were with him.”

I turned around. Loren was walking toward us.

“Go home, Grady,” Valerie said. “Now.”

“Tell Broussard to go home,” he said. “You were my girl till he messed us up.”

Loren’s stride was eating up the distance between him and us. Grady stepped backward again. Loren pointed his finger at him and said, “You!”

“Go on,” Valerie said to Grady, almost whispering. “I’ll talk to him.”