The Witness

victory every time he made those lips curve. “All right, all right, if you’re going to nag about it, I’ll tell you. I took your advice. Rescued a pup from the pound for my mother.”
    “Is she pleased?”
    “She cried, in a good way. My sister texted me today that I was a suck-up, and Ma still likes her better. That’s the middle of us. She was kidding,” he added, when Abigail frowned. “We like to rag on each other. After an intense debate, during which I ate my burger and kept my mouth shut, the happy parents named their new child, because, believe me, he’ll be treated like one, Plato. My dad wanted Bob or Sid, but my mother claims the puppy looked philosophic and very bright, and deserves an important name.”
    “It’s a good name. Names with strong consonant sounds are easier to use in training. It’s good news. Happy news.”
    “I think so.” He pulled his phone off his belt. “Got a picture of him.” He scrolled through, offered it.
    “He’s very handsome, and has bright, alert eyes.” And it softenedher to look into them, imagine him in a good, loving home. “You’re a good son.”
    “They make it easy to be. How about your parents?”
    “There’s only my mother. We’re estranged.”
    “I’m sorry. Where is she?”
    “We haven’t communicated in several years.”
    Off limits, Brooks deduced. Way off limits. “I end up communicating with my parents damn near every day. One of the ups, or downs, depending on your viewpoint, of living in a small town.”
    “I think in your case it must be an advantage, and a comfort.”
    “Yeah. I took it for granted when I was growing up, but that’s what kids do. Take for granted. When I lived in Little Rock, I talked or e-mailed a lot. And I came up every month or so, to see them, my sisters, my friends who still live here. But I never thought about moving back.”
    “You were happy in Little Rock, and with your work there.”
    “Yeah, I was. But when my father got sick, I not only felt I had to come back, I realized I wanted to.”
    He pointed a finger at her. “Fated.”
    She gave that little head shake and smile he was growing very fond of. “You have a close nuclear family.”
    “You could say that. How’s the pizza?”
    “It’s very good. When I make my own, I make a whole wheat crust, but I like this better.”
    “Make your own? Like from a box?”
    “If it’s in a box, it’s not making your own.”
    “Most everything I make’s out of a box. You make pizza from scratch?”
    “Yes, when I want it.”
    “Even my mother doesn’t do that.” He put another slice on her plate, one on his, then topped off their wine. “Maybe you’ll show me the greenhouse later.”
    “I’m not growing marijuana.”
    He laughed, so quick, so delighted, it made her jump a little. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? But it’s not what I was thinking. I grew up with gardeners, so I’m interested. Not to say we don’t have a few around these parts growing some weed, for personal use or as a second income. My own mother did until she started having kids. And she’d still argue at the blink of an eye for legalizing it.”
    “Legalizing, inspecting and taxing marijuana would eliminate the funds spent on the attempt to enforce the current laws, and generate considerable revenue.”
    “There’s that viewpoint thing again.”
    The dog shifted, sat up, stared at Abigail.
“Allez,”
she said, and he climbed off the porch, headed for a tree.
    “Back to French. Did that dog just ask permission to pee?”
    “He wouldn’t leave the porch without my permission.” She shifted herself, took a sip of wine. “I’ve reconsidered.”
    “Too late, you’re already into your second slice.”
    “Not the pizza. I’ve reconsidered having sex with you.”
    He was grateful he’d just swallowed or he’d have choked. “Is that a fact?”
    “Yes. After weighing the pros and cons, I’ve decided sex with you would be mutually satisfying. You’re attractive and pleasant. And clean. You kiss very well, and while I’ve found that’s not always a reliable gauge for skill in bed, it often follows. If you’re agreeable, we can finish dinner, I’ll show you the greenhouse, then we can go in and have sex. I’m on birth control, but I would require you wear a condom.”
    He was damn near speechless. “That’s an offer, all right.”
    “You don’t accept?” She hadn’t factored in a refusal. “I thought you wanted me, physically. You