Savannah Reid 12 - Fat Free and Fatal (26 page)

B
ack at home, Savannah found only Dirk sitting on her sofa, drinking a Bud and eating another piece of apple pie with ice cream melting on top. On the television, his favorite heavyweight had just won back the championship belt for the third time. So, he was in a better than average mood.

“I’m surprised Jessie went to bed so early,” she said as she sat down beside him, reached over, and nabbed a bite of his pie.

“She said you’re going to take her to see the Mouse tomorrow morning bright and early. She’s as excited as a kid on Christmas eve. Said if she can get to sleep earlier, it’ll come faster.”

“She’s a funny kid. Always has been.”

They sat, quietly sharing the apple pie, staring at the post-match chatting on TV.

When the pie was gone, Dirk turned sideways on the sofa, facing her. “You and me haven’t had a chance to talk since the shooting,” he said. “Not really talk. I want to know if you’re okay.”

She swallowed and looked away. “Yeah, sure.”

He reached out, cupped her chin in his hand, and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. “I mean it, Van. Don’t bs me. I want to know. How are you doing?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had some nightmares. But I guess I’m all right.”

“You know that was a good shoot, right down the line. Everybody says so. You’re in the clear. In fact, if you’d saved anybody other than a gal who’s being charged with three first-degree murders, they’d probably be giving you some sort of medal.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s the breaks. Next time I’ll try to save an upstanding citizen.”

Then she got very quiet and stared down at her hands that were folded in her lap. “It’s not that easy, you know, dealing with it. Even when it’s justified, it’s hard knowing that you killed somebody.”

He reached down and covered her hands with his. She took comfort from the touch, his big, warm hands squeezing her fingers, imparting his concern and affection.

“I’m glad you killed him, Van. I really am,” he said with a choke in his voice. “And I’ll tell you why.”

She looked up and was surprised to see the depth of emotion in his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered, not sure of what he would say.

“You know how you make me come over here on Christmas Eve?”

“What?”

“You know…every Christmas eve, you have these little parties and you invite Tammy and Ryan and John and me over. And you set out all that fruit and you make us dip it in that chocolate goop you make.”

“Fondue.”

“What?”

“It’s called chocolate fondue.”

“Whatever. And you force us to sing Christmas carols and dorky stuff like that?”

“Yeah. So?”

“And you make us sit around the table and decorate those stupid cookies and you get mad if I put boobs on the girl elves or a dick on Santa?”

She stared at him, getting more irritated by the moment. “If you have a point here, boy, you should probably make it before you get slapped upside the head.”

He grinned. “My point is…as much as I gripe about coming over here and doing those things…if I wasn’t here with you on Christmas eve, I’d be sitting all by myself in my trailer getting drunk…and wishing I was here with you, doing all those things.”

She gulped and gave him a sweet smile. “Okay.”

He reached up and laced his fingers through her dark curls. “And if, god forbid,” he said, letting the curls slip through his fingers over and over again, “if that bastard had shot you, instead of the other way around, and next Christmas…you weren’t here…Van, I couldn’t have stood it. I’m telling you, I couldn’t have stood it. So I’m glad you killed him. And I’m always going to be glad you killed him. And I’m not going to spend one single minute feeling guilty about it.” He paused and took a breath. “And I really, really hope that the day will come when you don’t feel guilty about it either.”

“Oh, Dirk.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That is so, so sweet. I love you, buddy.”

“I love you, too, Van.”

She smiled and kissed his other cheek. “Good,” she said, “because next Christmas we’re going to go caroling around the neighborhood here. And Tammy and I have already decided—you get to be a maid a-milkin’. We’ve got this mop for a wig, and a milk pail, and an old lady’s dress and two balloons for your chest, and…”

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Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2006939878

ISBN: 0-7582-2469-9