The Sinner (Notorious 1)

“Hi,” I said, cautiously.

“Hi.” She scratched at her knee, then her elbow. “I’m supposed to apologize for being mean to you.”

Ah.

“Understandable,” I said, “considering who you thought I was.”

“I’m sorry about the water balloons.”

“Forgiven,” I said with a quick nod. “You okay?”

Katie pursed her lips as if she were weighing her answer. “Sure.” But she sighed and plunked her hands on her hips. “My dad is a jerk. He has a bunch of other kids in Chicago.”

“Wow.”

“He never told Mom and she never told me because she didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” I said.

I sat on the step and pulled off my gloves. Katie jumped from the landing with both feet and sat beside me. “It’s his loss, you know,” I said and Katie looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “I mean, I’m sure those other kids are fine, but they’re not you.”

Katie blinked down at her fingers, twisting them into knots as if playing some kind of game. Sadness dripped off her like bitter honey.

“I bet,” I said, “they don’t know card tricks. Or how to play poker. They probably can’t climb trees like you can. I’m sure they can’t hide as well as you can.”

She smiled, sadly, but didn’t look up.

“They don’t make your mom happy like you do,” I said.

“You make my mom happy,” she said. “Now, I mean—not before. Before you made her cry, but now you make her happy. I can tell.”

Only an idiot would misread the hope in that little girl’s face. And I was no idiot.

“I’m leaving on Sunday, when I’m done with the courtyard,” I said, softly, carefully, not wanting to cause this little girl any more pain. “I can’t stay here.”

“Where do you have to go?” Katie asked.

“Back to St. Louis,” I said, wondering why the words stuck and filled my mouth. Wondering why the future looked so damn bleak. “I have a lot of things I need to fix up there.”

Katie twisted her lips. “Well, when you’re done with that you should come back,” she said and jumped to her feet. As if it was that simple.

Man, you gotta love kids. They rebounded so fast. All that sadness was gone, at least for the time being.

On the other hand, I knew I would never rebound from my time spent here. Not in a million years. I didn’t even want to try.

“Remember what you said the other day about teaching me how you beat me at poker?” she asked.

“I do.”

“How about tonight?”

“You’re on.”

Midnight found me back in the good graces of Margot and Katie. I sat, a scotch at my elbow, one of Margot’s fine cigars between my lips.

Like a stranger brought in out of the cold and propped in front of a fire, I stretched out my legs and luxuriated in the moment.

I totally understood, right now, why my father had loved the tables so much. Why he’d sat again and again with the last of his money, with his kid waiting outside in the car—because it was warm.

Friendly, when the world was upside down.

“Katie,” I said, getting on with my lesson. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a tell.”

Katie gasped as if I’d offended her honor. “I do not!”

“You do.” I caught Margot’s smile out of the corner of my eye. “When you’ve got a good hand you sit really, really still.” Katie’s eyes went wide as understanding dawned. “The rest of the time you’re like a jumping bean.”

“Oh, my gosh!” she breathed, then looked to Margot for confirmation.

“The man is right,” Margot said. “The more still and quiet you get, the better your hand.”

“So,” she asked wide-eyed, “what do I do?”

“Sit still!” Margot cried. “All the time. It’s what your mother and I have been telling you for years.”

The door behind me slid open, letting in a draft and the distinctive fragrance of lemon and vanilla. Katie’s eyes went wide, the cards fluttered out of her hands onto the table.

Margot swore.

Busted. Very, very busted.

“So,” Savannah said. “Here’s where you all are.”

“Hello, Savannah,” I turned to see her, arms crossed over the robe that was quickly becoming my favorite piece of clothing on the planet.

“What’s happening here?” she asked. It was fairly obvious—Margot practically looked like a Vegas dealer with the deck of cards in her hand.

But when my companions stayed silent, I took the bull by the horns.

“Just a friendly game of poker,” I said.

“Matt!” Katie snapped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re all busted.”

“Let me guess,” Savannah said, addressing her daughter. “Matt’s teaching you poker? Like he taught you those card tricks?”

“No,” Katie admitted, pushing the cards away.

“Don’t be angry, Savannah,” Margot said.

“Angry?” I winced at the tone of her voice, scooting my chair to the side in case fire shot out of her eyes. “Why would I be angry? I’ve only asked that this sort of behavior stop and that Katie, my eight-year-old, not learn how to gamble!”