Page 59 of The Right Sign

“Your sister. How much did she have to pay?”

“Not much.”

“Not much? Yeah right.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “She must hate me. Your entire family must hate me. This is my fault. To make it worse, I left you there and ran like a coward.”

Since he’s not looking at me, I have to wait until he opens his eyes.

“I told you to run,” I sign.

“And I shouldn’t have listened.”

“You did the right thing. Your grandmother.” I point to the hallway. “What would she have done without you?”

“I’m sorry.” Henry looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

I smile gently. “The best way to repay me is to keep that anger in check. I can’t be there all the time when you fly off the handle.”

“I know.” He takes out his wallet.

If I could laser-eye that thing to death I would. “What are you doing?”

“I made the mistake. I need to pay you back somehow. There’s no way that rich-looking guppy let you go without taking something from you.”

“Maybe I’m more persuasive than you think I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

I’m about to be offended, but Henry power-walks to the door and distracts me.

I scramble to get in front of him. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to your sister. If you won’t give me a number, she will.”

“Henry, slow down. Take a breath.” I inhale and exhale in demonstration.

“Don’t. Don’t be nice to me. I’d rather you just hit me.”

“Why would I hit you?”

“Because I want to hit myself!” His hand motions get bigger and bigger. Thick eyebrows hunker over guilt-ridden eyes.

“No one is hitting anyone. And relax. My sister didn’t have to pay for anything. The guy has comprehensive insurance. You think he’d drive something so expensive without a killer insurance package?”

“Even if he has insurance, he could still have you arrested. At any minute, he could call the cops.”

“Sullivan? He won’t.” A part of me thinks it would be better if he had. At least then, I could pay my dues in prison rather than prancing around pretending to date him.

Right now, I’m in Sullivan’s prison.

He’s the warden and the judge.

Henry’s eyes double in size. He finger-spells, “Sullivan? Is that his name?”

“Richard Sullivan II.” I return my glass to the kitchen and run it under the faucet. When I’m done, I dry my hands and sign, “He’s the owner of the car we destroyed.”