19 Headed for Trouble by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

says,
Thank you, honey, you’re so sweet, but … we’ll be just fine
. And Dad’s gotthe bracelet in one hand, and me in the other and he drags me out the door.
    “It wasn’t until we were in the car, when he goes,
Mark. Those are men in women’s clothes
. I think I actually argued with him. You know,
Why would men wear women’s clothes?
I remember him saying,
Because they want to
. And I just didn’t get it, but I was a kid, so it didn’t freak me out the way it did my dad. I mean, I thought it was crazy, but if they wanted to wear high heels, it was fine with me. And I said,
But they’re nice. Mom would love them
. And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t pull out of the parking lot either. We just sat there, in the car, watching them through the store windows. They were probably trying to decide which brand of beef jerky was the most edible. And I said,
It’s Christmas. And they saved your butt
. And he’s all pissed, but he hands me the bracelet for my mother, huffing and puffing as he’s getting out of the car, muttering to himself about stupid kids and stupid ideas. But he goes back into the store, and when he comes out, Sherilee, Rhonda, and Marcia are with him. We all pile into the Honda, and with the extra weight we don’t skid once on our way home.
    “It was a great Christmas,” Jenk told them as Chick came out of the bathroom and rejoined them at the table. “Mom loved the bracelet, and we had our own personal cabaret show. And maybe I was wrong—I was only eleven—but it sure seemed like Rhonda and Marcia had a thing for each other. Thus, my most interesting lesbian encounter.”
    “Can we please finish this hand?” Young Vlachic had definitely just had a
Dear John
phone call. He looked at Jenk. “Will you fucking do something besides talk?”
    Ouch. Jenk let the harsh words roll off his back, considering the circumstances, as, across the table, Gillman picked up his cards and …
    He scratched his chin with the back of his hand.
    Yes! He was bluffing. Or … was he? Gillman also sent Jenk what could only be described as a furtive look. It was over almost before it started, but Jenk saw it.
    Except it was clearly intended for Jenk to see, which meant …
    “I’m in,” Jenk decided, tossing his money into the pile in the center of the table. Gillman was back to not looking anywhere but at his cards.
    “How much to call?” Chickie grimly asked.
    “Twenty-six dollars,” Lopez said in a voice that recommended Chick fold.
    “No, it’s only sixteen to him,” Izzy said. “Vlachic was the genius who raised the bet ten fricking bucks in the first place.”
    Chickie put in the cash. And sure enough, Gillman revealed that he was holding a whole lotta nothing. Total train wreck. The highest card was, appropriately, a jack.
    “Nice attempt to bluff,” Jenk told him, revealing his three aces. “But you know, you tried just a little too hard. You were too obvious with your eyes and—” He was already reaching for the pot when Izzy stopped him.
    “Dude.” Izzy pointed at the cards Chickie was lovingly placing on the table. Holy crap.
    It wasn’t just a winning hand. It was a kickass, once-in-a-lifetime, mother-of-God
miracle
of a winning hand. A straight flush; spades, Queen high. Even Lopez sat forward and stared.
    “No fucking way.” Gillman was the first to overcome the shock and put voice to their disbelief. “Dude. You took three cards.”
    “I guess I’m just lucky,” Chick said in that same grimvoice. But then he looked up and smiled, and Jenk knew they’d all been conned. By the twelve-year-old new guy. Who’d gone through BUD/S and was probably closer to twenty-three—and completely capable of conning the unconnable. Yeah, Chick was lucky as hell, but he’d totally fooled them into thinking he still held a crappy hand.
    “Who was on the phone?” Jenk asked, suddenly suspicious.
    “No one,” Chick admitted, starting to put the huge pile of bills and coins into