15

Allison

Gregory is relentless on the flight back to Portland.

He drills me, over and over, from every conceivable angle, until my head's aching and I'm exhausted.

"Tell me again the suppliers your father prefers," he says, flipping through a notebook filled with his tight, neat handwriting. "Start from the top."

"I can't do it anymore," I complain, spreading my legs out and leaning back. "We've been talking for three hours straight. Please, I need a break."

"You'll have a break when Paul's dead and I own the marijuana business on the West Coast."

"Maybe I'd be better off dead then. I think I married the wrong guy."

"We're very high up in the sky, you know." His face is utterly deadpan as he speaks. "If you'd rather get off the plane, we can arrange that."

I wave him away. "Don't tempt me."

"Tell me the suppliers."

"Doctor Seuss. Donald Duck. Magic Johnson."

"Wife." He says the word like a growl in his throat.

I laugh sharply at him. "Oh, now you're going to play the marriage card? I t