Hazard and Somerset, Gregory Ashe [ebook reader with internet browser TXT] 📗

“What?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s way smarter than me. And by this point, I’ve figured out that I’m probably wrong, whatever we’re arguing about. So if she really digs in her heels, I usually just give up. I make a big deal out of it like I finally figured out why she’s right, and I say whatever I’m supposed to say, and then we’re past it.”

Hazard took a minute to digest this. “That is horrible advice.”

“I’m happily married. You are currently locked out of your house.”

“You’re telling me to lie. And to pretend to agree with him. And I don’t even know what I’m supposed to agree with or what I did wrong or fu—”

A toddler rolled by on a tricycle.

“You know what he wants,” Noah said. “He wants pumpkin pie. And, kind of more broadly, it sounds like he wants to go to Thanksgiving dinner with his parents.”

“No, we talked about . . .” Hazard trailed off at the look on Noah’s face. “Oh. But I don’t want to go to Thanksgiving at his parents. Thanksgiving is a scam by corporate—”

“Right, right, right. Anyway, that doesn’t matter, ok? Tell him what you’re supposed to say. The end. Done. Emery Hazard can go back to living happily in his home instead of teaching my children every foul word under the sun.”

“They’ve heard it all in school before.”

“Not as creatively. Or as frequently. Or as loudly.”

“So I just go back. I apologize. I tell him we can go to dinner with his parents. Except he won’t even let me inside long enough to tell him any of that.”

“Problem solved,” Noah said, flashing his phone toward Hazard with a grin. “I just texted him, and he knows you’re coming back.”

IV

NOVEMBER 21

WEDNESDAY

5:26 PM

THE THIRTY YARDS FROM DOOR TO DOOR were the longest of Hazard’s life. The moccasins dragged through the yellow winter grass. The soft rasp was his only company; even Mrs. Kasperick, old biddy, had disappeared when the show looked like it was over.

He knew that this was a turning point. For some people, maybe, for Noah, it wasn’t a big deal to say yes, to go with the flow. But Hazard had never gone with the flow. Not in high school, when it meant blending in and pretending to be straight. Not on the force, when it meant pretending to be straight and turning a blind eye to corruption. Not when all the shit with Mikey Grames had gone down, and going with the flow meant watching his and Somers’s careers get picked apart.

But he’d do it. For Somers, he’d do it.

Before he could knock, Somers opened the door. His eyes were red. His nose was red. One fist was balled up at his side, and Hazard guessed it held tissues.

Neither of them spoke; the tension made Hazard’s ears ring like he had tinnitus.

“I shouldn’t have assumed you agreed with me,” Hazard said. “I should have listened to you.” He took a deep breath, ignored the pain in his gut, and said, “I realized you’re right. Thanksgiving is about family, and your family is important to you. It’s important that you get to spend time with them and enjoy the traditions you’ve built together. I’d really like it if we could accept your parents’ invitation and have Thanksgiving dinner with them tomorrow.”

Somers uncurled fingers that looked stiff, revealing wadded tissues, and wiped his eyes. Then he shook his head.

“You are absolutely, un-fucking-believable.”

And he slammed the door. Again.

V

NOVEMBER 21

WEDNESDAY

5:31 PM

ROBBIE, WHO LOOKED LIKE he might be ten years old, answered the door.

“Where’s your dad?” Hazard asked. “I need to kill him.”

“Mom’s office,” Robbie said. “Can I watch?”

“Sure,” Hazard said. “Bring a mop.”

When he got to the office, Rebeca was typing on the computer. Noah was sprawled on the couch, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as he talked.

“I really think I helped—”

“No,” Hazard said. “You didn’t.

“Emery,” Rebeca said. “How’d it—”

“Hold on, I have to murder your husband.”

For being so tall and goofy-looking, Noah was fast. He sprang off the couch, darted behind the desk, and circled toward the door.

“Get back here,” Hazard said, swinging around. “You’ve got so much good advice, let’s see how you handle this.”

“Just calm down, Emery,” Noah said. “Let’s talk about this. What happened—”

“He slammed the door in my face is what happened. Thanks for your brilliant advice, Noah. Thanks so ever fu—”

“I brought the mop,” Robbie shouted, swinging it by the handle as he walked into the room. “Where’s Dad? Is he dead yet?”

“You told my son you were going to murder me?” Noah said.

“It’s going to be justifiable homicide.”

“Why do you have a mop?”

Robbie grinned, giving another wild swing of the mop that almost took off his dad’s head. “Mr. Hazard said I could only watch if I brought a mop. For the blood, right?”

“Definitely for the blood,” Hazard said.

“Sick,” Robbie said with a grin that split his face from ear to ear. The mop whistled through the air again.

“What is going on?” Noah said. “Robbie, you can’t—you shouldn’t—Becs, he said it would be sick to see my blood. Did you hear him? Emery turned him against me.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Hazard said.

“Ok,” Rebeca said, closing her laptop. “Maybe everyone should take a time out. Noah, take Robbie downstairs, please. And explain to him why he should be less excited about the prospect of mopping up blood.”

“My blood,” Noah said in injured tones.

But Rebeca was already turning toward Hazard. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the couch. “Depending on what Noah said, I might need to murder him myself. And I’m his wife, so I get dibs.”

Hazard considered this and then dropped onto a cushion. “Fine.”

“Sick,” Robbie said, punctuating the word with another wicked slash of the mop.

“It’s not fine,” Noah said, running his hands through his hair. “Why am I the only one who realizes it’s not fine?”

“And the kids need dinner, Noah.”

The question of dinner seemed to distract Noah from his other problems;