“Perry, give me a break. We are not entertaining that ... that thing for dinner.” They were whispering in the kitchen. The armadillo was in the living room, waiting.
“It’s an armadillo.” Pause. “And don’t speak so loud. We don’t know how good its hearing is.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know what it is. But ... no. No, we’re not having dinner with it.”
“It said it was hungry.”
“You only like it,” she told him, “Cause it speaks with a British accent. Cause you’re an Anglophile.”
“Hey, half my blood is British.”
“Yeah, since when? From like ... two hundred years ago or so. You’ve barely even left the state borders.”
“I don’t even care. That’s not the point.”
“You always seem to know what the points are,” Annika whispered.
He shrugged.
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “This was supposed to be,” she said slowly, “A romantic evening. We cannot have,” she stressed, “A romantic evening ... with an armadillo in the house. In my house.”
“Annika, he talks! He’s a talking armadillo. I mean ... seriously,” he stressed. “Lighten up. We have to know what he knows.”
“And why’s that?”
“Cause I’m sure it’s important.” He reeled. “I mean ... I mean, a talking armadillo shows up at your door, and you want to turn him away?”
She took in a breath. Sighed. “No,” she said.
He nodded. “Alright,” he said, relaxing. Nodding some more.
“But, Perry, I’m telling you ... this thing is trouble. It’s going to bring trouble. Those men, you know, on the golf cart? They might come for him. Someone might come for him. I’m dead certain,” she said, “That this is shady business. And now we’re involved. We can’t cut loose.”
“You’re afraid?” he whispered softly.
She met his eyes. Said nothing.
He shrugged. “I am, too. But ... ”
She smiled weakly, squeezed his hand. “Alright.” Pause. “Ask it what it wants to eat.”
It wanted spaghetti.
“So,” said Annika, pouring some water for Peregrine. Some milk for her and the armadillo. “What’s your name?”
“Clive.”
“Clive,” Peregrine said, nodding. Somehow, that seemed very appropriate.
“And where are you from?” Annika questioned.
“Texas.”
“With that accent?”
“Yes, it is ... peculiar, and rather difficult to explain, but ... it is,” he said, “What it is.” Pause. He nibbled on some of the spaghetti. He was sitting on the table, rather than in a chair. “Human accents, dialects ... are absolutely fascinating. You can compare them,” he said, “To bird songs.”
“Bird songs?” Peregrine asked.
“Yes. The same basic form of communication, but ... different variations. Different versions. There are hundreds of different bird songs. There are hundreds of different human dialects.”
“Wow,” Peregrine whispered, nodding. “You know, I never thought of it like that.”
The armadillo made a sort of head bob. He smiled. He sniffed at the spaghetti. And then looked to Peregrine. “You have the name of a bird, do you not?”
“Well,” he said. “I guess.”
“Peregrine. Like the falcon,” Annika said, nodding. “That’s why he’s such a bird-brain.”
Peregrine rolled his eyes.
“A noble name.”
“Thank you,” Peregrine said, nodding. Flashing a look at Annika.
“Well, he likes to think he’s a falcon, sometimes. I have to hide him when the people from the institution start snooping around.”
“She’s joking,” Peregrine explained. “She thinks she’s funny.”
“You two,” said the armadillo, amused, “Are ... flirting?”
“What?” they asked, in unison.
“Constantly,” said the armadillo. “That ... that rapid back-and-forth, that teasing. You tease each other, but you’re not offended by it. You enjoy it.”
“What?” Annika asked. “We’re just ... we just talk. This is how we talk. We ... we talk,” she said, shrugging.
“But your words ... ”
“What about them?”
“They compliment each so well. Like I’ve not seen before.”
Peregrine sipped at his water.
Annika looked from Peregrine to the armadillo. “Well, I don’t know about that ... ”
“How close are you, the both of you? Have you ... ”
“Alright. Alright, that’s enough,” Annika said, stopping him. Her tone seeping with annoyance. “This line of questioning ... is terminated.” She stood, her plate empty, and brought it to the sink.
Peregrine, blushing a bit, tried to change the subject. Asking the armadillo, “Why are you here? Have you ... did you leave me those notes?”
“In a manner of speaking. But, in a manner of speaking ... no.”
“Then who did?” he whispered.
Annika, at the sink, stopped what she was doing. Listening. Waiting for the answer.
“I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you ... is that your answers lie in Eden, Indiana.”
“Eden, Indiana?” asked Annika skeptically. “I’ve never even heard of such a place.”
“It exists. It has always,” said the armadillo, as if he knew something of grand, sweeping importance. “Always existed. There is a Wal-Mart there.”
“A Wal-Mart?” Annika asked.
“You sound like a parrot,” Peregrine told her.
“Will you stop?” she shot back. “I’m reacting. This is how I ... react.”
“Well, let him finish.”
“I would have, if you didn’t ... ”
“You must go,” said the armadillo, louder, and they both stopped talking, looking back to him, “Go to Eden, Indiana.”
“What’s there?”
“The Wal-Mart, Perry. He just said that.”
Peregrine rolled his eyes.
“There is a Cracker Barrel,” continued the armadillo, “With a waitress named Jessica Fletcher.”
“You mean, like the television character?” Peregrine asked. “Murder, She Wrote?”
“He is the only one,” Annika explained, “The only male, anyway, of his age ... that watches and likes Murder, She Wrote.”
“What, is that like ... was that supposed to be a slam or something?”
“I’m just saying, Perry ... Murder, She Wrote?”
“It’s very comforting. It’s very reliable.”
“Did you ever wonder,” she said, provoking him, “How come everywhere Jessica goes, there’s a murder? And always in that little town by the sea, yeah? I’m surprised, by the end of the show’s run, the whole town wasn’t dead. And you know what? It was probably her. She did it. Jessica did it.”
“She did not,” Peregrine shot back. “You don’t even know.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
“Well ... you don’t even know. You’re just jealous because Jessica’s a world-famous author and lives a life of intrigue.”
Annika sighed and stopped, catching her breath.
The armadillo piped up again. “She is not the television character. But that is her name. She is dating the man who works the sporting goods section at the Wal-Mart. His name is Charlton. He collects guns.”
“Guns?” Annika asked.
“Rifles.”
“He collects rifles?”
“Parrot,” went Peregrine. “Parrot.”
“Stop it,” she hissed at him.
“You must go there,” said the armadillo.
“And do what?” Annika asked.
“You will not know ... until you get there.”
“What about you?” Peregrine asked.
“I must hit the road, as it were. The Dixie Highway,” said the armadillo, with a far-away look in his eyes. “It calls.”
There was a pause.
“So, we’ll never see you again?”
“You will see once if you succeed in your task. You will see me twice ... if you fail,” he said, with a hint of menace in his voice.
“Is that a threat?” Annika asked.
“It is reality.” Pause. “But we will meet again.” With that, the armadillo got off the table. He scurried and waddled to the door. Peregrine opened it for him. And the armadillo waddled out ... into the dark. Like a living, armored tank.
“Well,” said Annika. Standing behind Peregrine.
“I don’t know,” said Peregrine, after a pause. “Where Eden, Indiana is.”
“Neither do I.” Pause. “We’ll have to look at a map.”
“Are we leaving now?”
“No,” she said, rather forcefully. “It’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“Well, he made it seem so urgent,” Peregrine whispered.
“It was probably the British accent. Everything seems more urgent when you say it in a British accent.”
“Yeah,” Peregrine whispered, looking out the door.”
“Close it.”
“What?”
“Close the door. You’re letting the cold air in. I’m not paying the heating bills,” she said, “So I can heat the outside.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He shut the door.
“So ... ”
“So,” echoed Peregrine. He sighed. “I guess I ... I guess I should go home.”
She said nothing.
“I guess.”
“Oh. Yeah,” she said. “Well, not that I want you to leave, but ... well, you know,” she said.
“Yeah,” he went, his heart quickening. He took a breath to calm his nerves. He stepped toward her. “Thank you,” he told her.
“For what,” she whispered, her lips against his cheek.
He blushed. “For whatever.”
She smiled, and then laughed. “You’re so eloquent, sometimes, Perry. Honestly, it slays me.”
“I guess I’m just that kind of person.”
“I guess so,” she said, kissing his cheek, and then whispering into his ear, “Goodnight.”
He blushed. “Goodnight,” he whispered back.
They stood there, together, for several seconds. Until they blinked and slowly parted.
“Oh, and promise me, Perry?” she called as his hand touched the doorknob.
“Yes?” He turned around, looking to her.
“Next time you find an armadillo ... leave it alone.”
“I’ll try,” he whispered with a smile.
“Do that,” she whispered back. Pause. “You gonna be okay, driving back? In all this snow?” She knew what a horrible driver he was. Or, rather, what a timid driver he was.
“I’ll manage.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He lingered some more. “See you in the morning?”
“Make it eight o’clock. Here. We’ll have breakfast. And then we’ll ... go.”
“Alright.”
He opened the door, stepped out.
She sighed, staying there, standing in the middle of her living room. And then she went to the radio. And turned on some light jazz.
“I’m supposed to merge onto I-65, right?”
“I guess.”
“Well, look at those directions. I printed out those directions.”
Peregrine glanced at them. “Yes. I-65.”
“Alright. That’s what I’m doing, then.”
“Fine.”
“I’m just saying ... ”
“Look, that’s what the paper says. I-65.”
“You couldn’t find I-65 if it bit your nose, Perry.”
“Well, that’s why you’re driving, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and since I’m driving, I should get the radio.”
“No. No, we’re listening to my CD’s. You said we could.”
“That was before I knew you were gonna trap me in a Lawrence Welk rerun.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this music, Annika.”
“Did I say there was?” she asked innocently.
“That Lawrence Welk comment ... that was a nasty comment. Anyway, it’s not that bad a show.”
“Yeah, if you have a high tolerance for cheese.”
“Meaning what?” he demanded.
“It’s cheese-ball.”
“You just don’t appreciate it. The ... atmosphere of it.”
“Guess not,” she said, sighing. Letting it go. “So,” she asked, staring at the interstate ahead, as she turned onto it. “What are we listening to now?”
“This is Thomas Newman. He’s a film composer.” Peregrine took a breath. “I like his music,” he said softly. “It’s very refreshing, you know? Like a modern impressionistic ... classical kind of thing.” Pause. “Oops, I forgot. You don’t like music without words.”
“I do, too,” she said. “We were dancing to light jazz only last night, weren’t we? That didn’t have words.”
He nodded, a smile spreading onto his face. “Yeah,” he whispered.
The music filtered into the car. Piano. A three-note descending theme, a motif. Turning into a mix of staccato rhythms. Giving off a spectacular atmosphere.
“This is interesting,” she admitted.
He nodded.
They continued forward. Annika driving. They passed one gas station. And then another.
“That’s two gas stations,” said Peregrine, looking out the window. Looking at the snow.
“Hmm?” She looked to him, and then back to the road.
“We’ve passed two gas stations.”
“Oh.” She nodded.
Pause.
“Look at that snow,” Peregrine whispered. Leaning to the side, stretching his seatbelt, he put his nose to the window, looking out.
Annika smiled warmly, biting her lip. Honestly, he was like a child sometimes. She couldn’t tell if it was innocence he harbored ... or naivete. Or something else entirely. Something she couldn’t grasp, and something that, despite all his struggles, he never lost.
“Snow’s so clean. I mean, when it first falls. For a moment, for a day ... it makes everything look pure and clean and nice.”
The music continued, back to the three-note motif. Back to the piano. Adding some strings.
“Snowball fights are fun,” he commented, looking to her. Smiling.
She laughed, biting he rlip. Taking a breath. “Why are you so contagious?” she demanded of him.
He shrugged.
More driving. Another pause.
Peregrine stopped, took out the CD. Exchanged it with another.
“Which one’s this?”
“The Innocence Mission.”
She nodded.
The music played.
“Where would you,” he asked her. “Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?”
She thought a moment. “You mean, like, travel anywhere?”
He nodded.
“I guess Australia. Adelaide. Don’t know why. Only that I’ve ... never been.”
“I wanted to go there. Australia. I was gonna study abroad until I realized ... I mean, I had neither the grades or the money, or even the courage,” he said, “To really go anywhere.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered to him, sincerely. “You can go places.”
He blushed and shook his head. “In my mind, maybe. But the farthest I’ll ever really go,” he said, looking out the window. Sighing. Peering at the snow. “Is Eden, Indiana.”
“And what’s so wrong with that?” she challenged. “Success, worth,” she said, trying to word her thoughts, trying to reach him. “Distance isn’t a factor. Length ... no, it’s depth,” she said, “That matters.”
He smiled at her. A vulnerable smile. Warm. “I guess,” was all he could say. Adding, “But today, you know ... they look at you ... and there are so many people.” He looked out the window. At all the snowflakes. So many snowflakes. “So many people. Too many people,” he whispered. “In this world ... and to not drown,” he said, “In the crowd, you need to do something extraordinary, or go places. Be the best.”
“That’s not true.”
“Everyone wants success. They won’t accept anything less.”
“Not everyone can have it, Perry. And who’s to say what success is, huh?”
He shrugged.
“The small things,” she remarked, “Concern me ... a lot more than the big ones. They’re more attainable. They’re more real. And they last longer.”
He listened, saying nothing. He blinked, taking a breath.
The music was playing. It sang of red hats and blue coats. And snow. And flowers outside your door. And birds of your neighborhood.
The music sang, “There’s nothing to keep you ... ” There was a strumming guitar.
Pause.
“Where would you go, then?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“Where would you go,” she asked him, “If you could go anywhere?”
“Alaska,” he whispered.
She waited. “Why?” she pressed.
“Just ... Alaska. Even how it sounds on your tongue. It’s a frontier. It’s the last frontier.” He paused. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just need to go there. I don’t have a reason that’s not ... that isn’t a cliche, that isn’t ... but that’s the only place I really want to go. I mean, in a way that makes me salivate for it, you know? Want it. Yearn for it.”
“Aside from Eden, Indiana, you mean?”
He laughed, smiling. He nodded. “Aside from Eden, Indiana,” he said softly.
They passed a third gas station.
“Want anything to drink?” she asked, still driving. “I put some of those blue sports drinks you like ... in the cooler.” The cooler was in the back seat.
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine. It’ll only make me have to go to the bathroom, anyway.”
“You should eat more, you know?”
“Hmm?”
“I said you should eat more,” she repeated. “You’re too thin.”
“I am not.”
“I’m just saying ... ”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. She had struck a nerve.
She sighed. “I just wish you would eat better, or eat more, or ... you’re so picky.” There was worry in her tone.
“I’m fine,” he whispered seriously, meeting her eyes for a brief second before she turned them back to the road ahead.
There was silence. For a few minutes.
“Perry, when this is over ... ”
“Yes?”
“When this is over, this ... quest, or whatever it is we’re doing ... when it’s over, what are we gonna do?”
“About what?”
“About ... life. About us,” she whispered.
He bit his lip.
“I mean, we love each other, right?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. He nodded. And nodded again.
“Do you think we should ... ” She shrugged. “Make it permanent?”
“You mean ... get married?”
She nodded.
He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t expected the issue to come up. Not right now. Not in their car on 1-65. Driving through snow.
“Perry?"
“Yes?”
“What are we waiting for? I mean ... why should we hold back?”
He couldn’t think of any reasons.
“What do you think?”
“You know what I think,” he whispered, blushing. Looking to her. And then looking back out the window.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Well, I ... you know I,” he said, stammering a bit, “Love you. You know ... ”
“I know.”
“And you ... you love me, right?”
“I do,” she whispered.
“So ... ”
“So, when this is over, maybe we should ... set a date.”
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. He smiled, nodded again. Took a deep breath.
They both went quiet for a moment.
“Turn the heat down,” Peregrine went. He fiddled with the knobs.
“It’s, like twenty-odd degrees outside,” she told him.
“Well, it’s like eighty degrees in here.” He turned the knob down, making the air a bit cooler. He sank back in his seat, sighing.
Annika smiled.
“What?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her.
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“Nothing. Seriously, Perry, can’t I smile just for the sake of it?”
He figured that she could. And said so.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling more. Laughing. “Now that I have your permission ... ”
They passed another gas station.
“That’s four.”
“What?”
“Four gas stations. We’ve passed four gas stations.” Pause. “What are we gonna do first when we get there? To Eden, I mean?”
She looked to him. Raising her eyebrows with a smile. “We’re gonna hit the Barrel,” she said. “Obviously.”
He nodded. Laughed. And considered. “Obviously,” he echoed.
At the Barrel, waiting to be seated, they browsed the general store.
“Look at these.”
Annika stopped, squinted. “Yeah?”
“Aren’t they cute?”
“Animal beanies?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you a little too old for those?” she teased, smiling.
“No,” he defended. “As a matter of fact, I’m not.”
“Well, you’re not buying one.”
“How come?” he asked, frowning.
“You have a hundred of ‘em already.”
“Not these ones,” he said. “I don’t have many beanies. I have stuffed animals,” he said, tilting his head. “Not beanies. There’s a difference, you know?”
“Yeah, but ... ” She sighed. “You couldn’t save your money ... if you’re life depended on it.”
He wasn’t going to argue the point. Only saying, “You can’t take it with you.”
“The money?”
He nodded, turning over a mouse. “I can add this to my rodent collection.”
“You’re the only one I know who has a rodent collection,” she remarked. Pause. “And you can’t take possessions with you, either.”
He shrugged. “So, let’s both sell our houses, our cars ... and move to the Alaskan bush.”
She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you can’t take it with you, we might as well get rid of it now. Stay a step ahead. Right?” he asked, standing inches from her.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I’m gonna get this mouse,” he whispered. “Isn’t it cute?” He showed it to her. Still standing right next to her.
“It’s darling,” she whispered.
“And, anyway, you can’t come to the Barrel,” he said, nose now against hers, “Without getting ... something.” He tilted his head and kissed her.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
He withdrew, swallowing. Blushing a bit. “Anyway ... ”
“It is cute,” she said, of the mouse.
He smiled. Looking around. “I’m gonna get some peppermint sticks, too. Peppermint is ... ”
“Nature’s perfect food.” She nodded. “You’ve told me.”
“It’s the truth.” Pause. “Oh, and they have those peanut butter pillows.”
“I thought you didn’t like those?”
“I don’t, but ... they look pretty.”
She was about to say something when their names were called. And they were led to their seats.
While they waited for their food, they played a peg game.
“This could occupy us,” Peregrine said brightly, “For hours on end. And it’s a great way to test your IQ.”
“Fun, fun,” Annika remarked, a bit dryly. And then looked to him, laughing. “You sound like you’re reading those words off a cue card.”
“No, off the this ... wooden triangle base. That’s what it says.” Pause. He squinted. “It also says you can buy them in the store.”
“You’re not buying one. Not one of these.”
“Well, I wasn’t anyway, but maybe I should ... ”
“Perry ... ”
“Your turn.”
She moved a peg.
“Okay, my turn.”
“Hold on,” she said. “I haven’t finished yet.”
“Yes-huh. It’s my turn.”
“Yes-huh? That’s not a word.”
“Yes-huh, it is.”
She laughed. “Fine. Go,” she said, nodding at him. So he could make his move.
A few minutes later, the waitress brought their food. Putting the plate of chicken, fried chicken ... in front of Annika. With mashed potatoes and corn. Peregrine got biscuits, pancakes. And an orange soda. And the waitress walked away, and as she did ...
“Did you read her name tag?”
“No,” said Annika.
“Jessica Fletcher,” he whispered. “That was her. Jessica Fletcher.”
Annika’s eyes widened. “Really?” She bit into the chicken leg.
“Yeah,” said Peregrine, nodding. He let out a breath. “So, what do we do about it? I mean ... do we confront her?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“No, not me. You.”
“Me?” She shook her head, laughing. “Oh, no. No, this armadillo ... he’s your armadillo. And that means ... Jessica Fletcher,” she said, swallowing. “She’s your problem.”
“What?”
“You can talk to her. You’re a big boy.”
Peregrine suddenly looked wounded. Trapped.
Annika sighed. She sipped from her soda drink. “Perry,” she whispered. “What’s with this ... anxiety, huh? You’re not anxious around me,” she said. “Yet you start bumbling when you have to talk to anyone else. I just don’t ... ”
“You’re different,” he whispered back, cutting her off.
“How?”
“You are,” he whispered, looking to her. “You know why.”
She met his eyes. Could see ... so much grey. She sighed. “Alright,” she said, nodding, chewing on the chicken. “I’ll talk to her.” Pause. “But wait. Wait. What am I supposed to say? Hi, you don’t know me, but a talking armadillo ... seriously?”
“I don’t know,” Peregrine admitted. He nibbled on a biscuit. Like a mouse. Using both hands. Annika smiled. He was cute. “Maybe,” Peregrine continued. “We should just ... follow her, you know?”
“You mean stalk her?”
“Look, I mean ... ”
“I suppose we could follow her. But from a distance. It wouldn’t be stalking. It would be ... observation.”
“We’re not stalkers,” Peregrine said.
“We’re not,” she agreed, nodding.
Pause.
“I don’t know how you can eat that,” Peregrine said, of the chicken.
Annika sighed. “Don’t start. Alright? This is ... just don’t start. I know meat makes you queasy. I’m not asking you to eat it. But I,” she said, “Am going to. Every time we eat out, we go through the same motions.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Let’s just ... how are your pancakes?”
“I wish they had French toast.”
“Did they?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t check. I just say pancakes ... and went from there.”
“Well, are they good?”
“Yeah. They’re nice,” he said, cutting with his fork. Taking a bite. He nodded. “They’re nice.”
“Well, this is nice, too,” she said, of her own meal.
“Yeah, but those potatoes ... ”
“Yeah?”
“They have little bits in ‘em.”
“Those are the skins.”
“I wouldn’t want skins in my mashed potatoes.”
“Well, you’re not having mashed potatoes. So, you won’t have to worry about it.” Pause. “You’re gonna be worrying about that now, aren’t you?”
“Look, I just don’t like to see them in there.”
“They’re not causing a problem. You know what that is?” she said. “You know what that is?”
He nodded, expressionless.
“That’s obsessive-compulsive. You have these tendencies, like ... like that!”
“What?”
“You’re sniffing your food! You don’t have to smell everything before you eat it. Just like ... like a mouse. You eat like a mouse.”
He frowned.
“Not that ... ” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not calling you a mouse. I’m just ... just relax. Why can’t you relax?”
“I can’t,” was all he said, barely audible. He nibbled on a biscuit.
They were quiet for a moment.
When Jessica returned with their check, she asked if their meal had been satisfactory.
“Yes,” Annika replied. “Thank you.” As Jessica turned to walk away, Annika stopped her, asking, “I suppose you get this a lot, but ... do you watch Murder, She Wrote?”
“Murder?” Jessica asked, her eyes darting. A very shady darting motion. Her voice at a whisper. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve never seen it?”
“No, I’ve never seen murder,” said Jessica, backing away. “I don’t know what Charlton told you, but nothing ... nothing happened.” And with that, she turned and walked quickly away.
Annika sat down, letting out a deep breath. Breathing in. And looking to Peregrine.
“Wow,” he whispered. “What was that about?”
“She’s obviously,” said Annika, shrugging, “Got something to hide. Something involving murder.”
“She acted like ... she’s never heard of Murder, She Wrote,” Peregrine said, as if he couldn’t comprehend such a notion. “How can she not have heard of it? It was on for twelve years.”
Annika sighed. “I think she heard the word murder and went into damage control. No, she’s ... she’s involved in something. And Charlton, whoever that is ... ”
“The guy who works at Wal-Mart. With the rifles.”
“Rifles,” Annika whispered. “Rifles can murder people.”
“Well, actually ... people kill people. Not guns. I mean, a gun doesn’t walk away and shoot someone on its own volition.”
Annika sighed again. “Perry, don’t turn everything ... every conversation,” she told him, “Into some kind of quirky sideshow, huh? Stick to the focus. The topic.”
“I was just saying,” he offered lamely.
“Just try,” she told him, rubbing her forehead. And she picked up the bill.
“I’ll get it.”
“You know you don’t have any money. I make a lot more than you do.”
He frowned. “Well, thanks.”
“It’s the truth,” she said, fumbling about in her purse. “Not that it makes any difference to me,” she quickly added.
“It’s cause I don’t have talents. It’s cause ... ”
“Perry, I said I didn’t care.” She locked eyes with him. “You do have talents. I’m not gonna get into this. Just ... let me pay.”
He nodded.
After paying, they went to the car. And waited for Jessica to get off work.
