Chapter 50
“What the fuck?” she shouted as he opened the passenger door and tossed his suitcase into the backseat.
“Glad you like the new look.”
“I’m saying it right now: I am not sewing you another wardrobe. GORDITA doesn’t do extra small.”
He reached for the seat belt. “Have you considered starting a line of clothes for thin people? I hear you can make a killing.”
He searched the center console for a pair of sunglasses as they drove off. “I need you to take me to the museum.”
“Didn’t they fire you?”
Lizette wouldn’t understand: He wasn’t going there to work. He was going to look at Portrait of a Man-eater, a print of which hung in the house he’d just left. He had a sneaking suspicion that the original held a clue to Hank’s involvement in Obexity.
Emmett’s phone rang. He saw his mom’s name with a feeling of relief. As little as he wanted to admit it, she was exactly what he needed right now.
“Hi, Mom,” he answered.
“Jesus, honey, where the fuck have you been? I’ve been—”
“I know, I know. I got caught up.”
Lizette acknowledged the gross understatement with a purse-lipped look.
“The drug, honey,” Joanna cooed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Oh, honey… Where are you now?”
“In the car with Lizette.”
“Okay. Let’s talk when I get to your place. I’m just leaving baggage claim—”
“Wait, baggage claim? You’re at the airport?”
“I told you I’d come if I didn’t hear from you! A mother knows when her son needs protecting.”
“Better late than never.”
She responded with a tiny, wincing gasp. To his surprise, her next words held not a hint of defensiveness.
“I know, honey. I’ve made so many mistakes. When you were younger I didn’t know what I was doing; my therapist says I was in survival mode. She’s been helping me figure all that stuff out. That’s part of why I wanted to come out. There’s so much I want to—”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You were right. You’re always right,” she said. “There’s somethin’ special about that boy.”
Emmett’s throat closed around a sob.
“That’s fine,” he said, covertly wiping his eyes. “But I’m not home. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
“I’ll meet you at work. We can have lunch and talk.”
“No—”
“That’s the shuttle for the rental place. Gotta go. Love you!”
“Mom—”
Beep-beep.
He shoved the phone into his pocket.
Lizette was looking at him, prodding for a reaction. “That was nice.”
He couldn’t talk about it, not now. “She’s going to meet us at the museum.”
“I’m not driving you to—”
“Yes you are. Please. I need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“You’ll see. Please—just get me there.”