Page 22 of Hannah and the Hitman
“Don’t scare him away, Marcia,” her dad scolded. “You know this may be the only time she lands a man after Kevin.”
What the hell kind of bullshit was that? I hadn’t had a father growing up, but even I knew it was a dick thing to say. I assumed Kevin was her ex, a cheating one, too. So why was he bringing him up?
“Dad!” Hannah looked mortified.
“What?” he countered, as if her upset was the problem. Man, her mom and dad were a pair of gaslighters. “You always have your head in a book.”
I didn’t know why that was a turnoff, especially since I knew exactly what was within those pages.
Her mother cleared her throat. “I’m Marcia and this is Bob. You can call us Mr. and Mrs. Highcliff.”
“Mom!” Hannah shouted. “Oh my God. He will not. He’s at least thirty years old, not seven.”
She stormed past them, yanking my hand and tugging me into the house. My gaze bounced around taking in the place Hannah grew up but caught on a bunch more dead animals on the walls. A raccoon. A squirrel. And… was that a groundhog or a woodchuck?
We made it down a hallway lined with photos–the area too narrow for dead animal heads to stick out–into thekitchen before she stopped suddenly. I almost bumped into her and knocked her over. I set my hands on her hips–which I didn’t mind at all–and looked over her shoulder.
“Living in sin, Hannah?”
Who the hell was this holier-than-thou guy?
Probably a brother, maybe a few years older, although they looked nothing alike. He had blond hair, cut and styled like a politician’s. On his slim frame was a tan button-up and tan khakis. Tan leather shoes. I didn’t see a pocket protector, but perhaps he left it in another tan shirt. I had to wonder if he was color blind and if going monochromatic kept him from worse fashion disasters than what he was sporting now.
The only way I’d wear a tan-on-tan ensemble was if I was in prison. And that wasn’t happening.
“I ran into Sandy McClure at the grocery store the other day,” Hannah countered. “She says hi.”
I didn’t know who Sandy McClure was, but the way the guy’s lips pursed so thinly that they pretty much disappeared, he’d committed some kind of sin with her.
“Jack,” I said, sticking my hand out around Hannah. If I was going to punch a guy in the face, I wanted to at least know his name first.
“My brother Perry,” Hannah said without much affection in her tone. “He runs a mega church in the Springs. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Paragons of the Divine?”
Perry shook my hand. Limply.
“Can’t say I have,” I replied because it sounded like a cult. If he was going to be so righteous, then I’d play along. “You know what John 1:8 says, ‘If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves.’ I’d rather lean into the concept.”
Hannah stared over her shoulder at me owl eyed. Yeah, no one expected me to spout Bible verses, but Dax’s dad had made us copy them hundreds of times as one form of punishment, and we got in trouble a lot. The guy used to kill and maim people for a living; he was far from a pew warmer. To him, there was nothing more painful to write over and over. I had to agree.
“We all die someday,” I added.
Perry and Sandra McClure had to have done more sinning than me and Hannah since we hadn’t even sinned. Was stalking a sin? Sure, a crime, but I didn’t remember a Bible verse against it.
“Yes, but some go to heaven,” Perry countered. Probably he told his flock this after drinking some Kool-Aid.
I shrugged, knowing full well where I was headed, and it wasn’t heaven. At least I wouldn’t be stuck for eternity with Perry the Prude. “I think some rock musicians had a debate on this. If there’s a stairway to heaven and a highway to hell, I guess we know which place more people would rather go.”
The back door flew open before Perry could respond. In stormed the woman I saw flying through the air. She was carrying a full platter of meat. In leggings and a skin-tight tank top, she was dressed for a yoga class, although they were a neon pink so bright it hurt my eyes. It was probably so birds and small airplanes didn’t hit her when she was up in the air over the backyard like a drone. “Dad, you forgot the burgers on the grill. Hope everyone likes them well done.” She paused, eyed me up and down like she was going to skip the meat on the platter and take a bite out of me. “Hey, Hannah, who’s the hottie? When he’s done withyou, can I have him?” She laughed, then winked at me. “Just kidding. Not.”
“My sister, Briana,” Hannah muttered.
“Oh good. Dinner’s ready!” Bob called, the ice in his glass tinkling as merrily as he sounded.
“If it can be called dinner without potato salad,” Marcia added, for fun or spite, I wasn’t sure.
Hannah was definitely adopted.
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