chapter 9

Rex

I rake my hand through my hair one more time, the gift bag knocking me in the head as I do so. Don't have enough hands for the flowers, the present, and a last-minute touch-up to the hair. Can't help it though. Force of habit.

I'm standing at the front door of Isabella's house which is a short drive from the motel I'm staying at for the next week. Maybe longer if things go well and, damn, I hope they do.

Though all the houses in the subdivision look about the same, Isabella's sticks out because the door has been painted green and a big crucifix hangs on it. I can almost hear the squabble that must have gone down between Isabella and Marisol over it.

I lift my finger to the doorbell but don't press it.

There's no way to prepare for a moment like this. I mean, I've tried. I made sure to get some nicer clothes than the bag of Walmart bullshit Mickey picked up for me when I was leaving the hospital, spent a profound amount on the flowers for Marisol, and the gift for Leo. I know nothi