By Kevin Carey
Read by Rich Sigfrit
“Promise me,” she says.
“I mean it, Eddie. Blow this and it’s over.”
“Come here,” I say and put my arm around her. “It’s all going to be cool. Trust me.” I slide a finger over the two small welts on her neck. “Still hurt?”
“See, I told you, a couple of days.”
For a moment her face softness, then she snaps, “Eleven o’clock. He’s coming right from the airport.”
“Eleven sharp,” I say with a salute. Then I kiss her. A long, lip-locked, eyes closed, reassuring, don’t-sweat-it-kid-kiss. I feel the tiny tips of her teeth against my lips.
She flashes a quick smile. “Where are you going?”
“I may go down for the double, stay a few races.”
“The dogs, Eddie?”
“Just to kill some time, before I have to deal with the Gestapo.”
“He’s not that bad. He just thinks he is.”
I kiss her on the cheek and head for the door.
“Please don’t screw this up Eddie.”
“You have my word,” I say.
(Happy Father’s Day.)