Chapter 7: Wine and Wire

Abe wanted to leave the little black box running.

"Whoever's listening thinks they're winning," he said. "Let them keep thinking it. We find out who's on the other end."

"She sent it to my son."

"I know."

"In a toy. With a note that said sorry."

"I know, Yvette."

It was the first time he'd said my first name since the hotel.

It hit somewhere under my ribs.

"No," I said. "I'm done finding out. I'm going to give it back."

He looked at me for a long moment, and then he nodded once.

He put the box in a plastic sandwich bag for me.

Every other Sunday, my aunt held lunch in her big house in Winnetka.

Brooke was her only daughter.

On Sunday Hank picked Finn up at eleven to show him the big rigs at the yard.

"I'll have him back by bedtime," Hank said. "Unless he steals a rig."

"Technically I can't reach the pedals," Finn said.

"Not yet, boss."

Abe drove me to Winnetka.

He parked across the street from my aunt's house and didn't get out.

"If you need me," he said.

"I won't."

"If you need me," he said again, and put the seat back like he'd wait all day.

My aunt's dining room had a chandelier my father used to call the wedding cake.

A dozen people were at the table, cousins and their husbands and an old uncle who only talked about the Bears.

Brooke was at my aunt's right hand, in pearls, with her wineglass full.

She smiled at me when I sat down.

"I hear you kept your job by one vote," she said. "Congratulations. It must be so nice to have friends."

"It's nice to have invoices," I said.

My aunt asked us both to behave.

The soup came.

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