Flock (The Ravenhood)

“You don’t know me.”

“Government housing and a corner conversation, and you drew the worst conclusions.” He takes off and drives wordlessly while I search the previous conversation and come up blank. The guy was obviously trying to give him something. Money or drugs, I’m sure of it. But, who in the hell is the Friar?

It’s pointless to ask, even though I know I haven’t offended Dominic, I doubt anything does. He seems impenetrable.

“Why am I with you?”

“You got better things to do? A Kardashian episode to watch?”

“I don’t watch that.”

“One more errand and I’ll get you to your boyfriend.”

“Can you, just for once, be decent to me?”

He ignores me as we pull into a parking lot. I look up to see we’re at a medical center. Dominic circles the valet, leaves the car running and rounds the front, opening my door. “Get in the back.”

I don’t bother asking questions and climb into the back seat, wishing I could shoot off a hostile text to Sean. But I have no phone because I’m following his damned rules while being forced to entertain his maniac ‘brother.’

Ten minutes later, Dominic reappears through the sliding glass doors, and he isn’t alone. A woman whose age is indiscernible due to her weakened physical state is being ushered in a wheelchair by a nurse. When they get close enough, I can hear the back and forth.

“Pourquoi tu n’es pas venu me chercher avec ma voiture?” Why didn’t you pick me up in my car?

I can’t understand what she’s saying, but her displeasure at the sight of his car and his reply—in an endearing tone I’ve never heard—makes it clear.

“I’ve got it at the shop, Tatie. I told you this.”

Tatie. Aunt.

Her eyes find mine as she stands with Dominic’s help. Upon closer inspection

, she looks aged well beyond her years. I’m guessing somewhere in her early forties. However, it’s apparent in her eyes and the pallor of her skin that she’s been through it. Possibly by her own hand or the unforgiving hand of sickness, maybe both.

“Who are you?” Her accent is thick, and I make it a point to brush up on my French.

“Hi, I’m Cecelia.”

She turns to Dominic. “Ta copine?” Your girlfriend?

This, I understand and I answer for myself. “Non.” No.

She harrumphs as Dominic helps her into the front seat.

“Comment ça va?”

“English, Tatie, and we aren’t talking about that tonight.” Dominic never speaks French, which is odd because of his ‘Frenchman’ nickname. Maybe it’s for lack of competent company.

He eyes me and shuts the door, rounding the car. Those few seconds alone with her intimidate the hell out of me. Though sickly, she commands an air of respect. I keep my mouth shut and am surprisingly relieved when Dominic is back behind the wheel. A few minutes of silence ensue as I study her and the resemblance between the two of them. It’s there, especially if I picture her a few years younger with more life in her eyes, her frame. When she speaks up, her question is directed to me.

“Why did you come?”

“She’s Sean’s girlfriend, I’m giving her a ride,” Dominic offers as we pull up to a pharmacy drive-thru. The cashier greets Dominic, her face lighting up like Christmas. Beneath her white jacket she sports a risqué dress, her face painted up like she’s going out for a night on the town, rather than working a respectable shift as a professional. He’s mildly pleasant with her which only pisses me off. He pays for the medications and asks for a water which the girl supplies, her ample breasts on display as she graces us all with a view.

“Salope,” Dominic’s aunt says with clear disdain. I know it’s an insult to the girl trying to give us something resembling a window pole dance. I try to hide my grin, but Dominic eyes me in the rearview and doesn’t miss it. I swear I see his lips twitch. He’s so impossible to read, this man. We pull up just a car length past the window and he opens the bag, palming some of the medication, handing her a dose with the water.

“I’m not a child.”

“Take it.” His voice is full of command.