Flynn
Nadia is quiet on the drive to the Kremlin, but I can’t seem to ferret out why.
We waited forty minutes with my mom until the cop finished writing her the ticket, and her car got towed, and then we dropped her at home.
“Everything okay?” I ask for the third time.
Nadia sends me a weak smile. “Yes. Your mom is sweet, and you’re a good son. I can see why you and Story are such kind people.”
Huh. That doesn’t explain her reticence.
“But?” I prompt.
“There’s no but!” she protests, except I’m sure there is. I keep replaying the scene trying to figure out what I f****d up, but I can’t think of anything.
I park underneath the building, and we take the elevator up to the floor where we rehearse, and that’s when I acknowledge that this day truly has become a clusterfuck.
Cadence is s
