“Scott,” she said. Falsely applied affection, he thought. “Sit down. Staring out the window won’t help Marty’s business.” He spoke without turning. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?” “Isn’t it? Isn’t it what we’re both—” “It isn’t,” he cut her off coldly. Coldness in a little boy’s voice sounded bizarre—as if he were acting out a part in a grade-school play, unconvincing and laughable.
