High Noon

obviously, about the first part of that decision, but the married part probably wasn’t the smartest move on either of their parts. They fought all the time—the time they were together. He was lazy, she was a bitch, he drank too much, she kept a crappy house. Fun and games at the Swifts’.”
    “It’s difficult for a child to grow up with that kind of friction.”
    “Yeah, well, the thing is they were both right. He was lazy and drank too much. She was a bitch and kept a crappy house. I was ten when he took off. He’d taken off a few times before—so had she. But this time he didn’t come back.”
    “Are you saying you never saw him again?”
    “Not for a lot of years. Man, she was pissed. Paid him back by going out a lot, doing what she wanted for a change. More than half the time I wondered if she even knew I was there. So to remind her I was, I got into as much trouble as possible. Fighting mostly. I was the neighborhood badass for five years running.”
    Saying nothing, she lifted her hand, traced a fingertip down the scar through his eyebrow.
    “Yeah, battle scar. No big.”
    “It intrigued me when I first saw you. Scar here, little dimple right here.” She tapped the corner of his mouth. “Opposite ends. You’ve got some opposite ends in you, Duncan. What happened in year six? How did you lose your title as neighborhood badass?”
    “You’re a smart one. I targeted this kid who was a lot tougher than he looked. He didn’t kick my ass, but boy, did we kick each other’s.”
    “And ended up the best of friends,” Phoebe concluded. “Isn’t that the manly cliché?”
    “I hate being predictable, but close enough. While we’re pounding each other bloody, and I’m wondering if my badass title is about to be stripped away, the kid’s father comes along. Big guy, yanked us apart. We’re going to do that shit, we’re going to put the gloves on and do it like men. Kid’s father used to box for a living. No wonder Jake almost kicked my ass.”
    “And who won the title in the ring?”
    “Neither. We never got around to the gloves. Jake’s father dragged me to their place, cleaned us both up at the kitchen sink while his wife fixed me an ice bag and a glass of lemonade. Bored yet? I told you it was long.”
    “Not even close to bored.”
    “Well, you’re going to need another glass of wine for the rest.” He took her glass. Phoebe leaned back against the rail and waited until he came back with refills.
    “Where was I?”
    “At Jake’s kitchen table drinking lemonade.”
    “And getting a whale of a talking-to. First time anybody—not including teachers, who didn’t count in those days for me—ever gave me one. It occurred to me at this time that being the neighborhood badass was getting me punched in the face on a regular basis. And what was the point? She never said a damn thing about it when I came home bloody anyway. So I gave up the belt of my championship reign.”
    “You were what, about fifteen?”
    “Thereabouts.”
    “Young for an epiphany, but I understand youthful epiphanies.”
    He shifted to look into her eyes. “Guess you would.”
    “So we have the common ground of that. I moved into Mac Namara House after mine, which is another story for another day. What did you do after you retired from badassing?”
    “I got a job, thinking that might be the way to please her—my mother—and it would be less painful than bare knuckles.”
    “A wise choice.” But he’d never pleased her, Phoebe thought, she could hear it in his voice. “What kind of job?”
    “I bused tables, gave her half of what I made every week. That was fine. Didn’t change anything between us, but it was fine. I started to think that’s just the way things were for people like us. Single parent, scraping by. She just didn’t have time to pay attention.”
    He was quiet for a few moments while a whip-poor-will began its twilight call. “Of course, being a single parent, you know that’s not the case.”
    “I know it shouldn’t be.”
    “When I was eighteen she told me I had to get my own place, so I did. Time passed, and one day I picked up a fare whose wallet was empty. One thing led to another and I met his family. No father—he died when Phin was a kid—but the result was the same. There was no father there, but the mother, oh, you best believe she paid attention.”
    Phoebe thought of Ma Bee—big hands, steady eyes. “Even when you wished she didn’t.”
    “Even. She had a