Chapter 7
Carlton: Four stars. Yellow shirt. Balding, glasses, older. Looks like someone’s butler from a British drama, only without the debonair accent. GFILF-Grandfather I’d like to f**k? Yeah, I’d do him.
AC stretched heartily before getting back behind the wheel. He and Spud would be happy for another two hours.
Happy…Now there was a word AC never would have imagined using at the start of his journey with the drummers. It wasn’t an emotion he could have even perceived, back when he callously and stupidly scored them one to five.
“Uncle Bart says hi,” AC whispered, as Spud kneaded his lap. Bartholomew, the oldest Maughan sibling, had asked about his “feline nephew” right away, when he and AC had texted.
Bartholomew: Atticus! How’s Spud?
Atticus: Fine. You and Marilyn still flying
