Pike's Folly by Mike Heppner Page B

shook hands. Glancing away, Pike spotted Allison in the kitchen window, her face partially blocked by a low swooping drape. Fleetingly, he wished he’d been more polite when he’d had the chance. Ah, well, dinner, some drinks, some talk, the comforting delight of good service in a five-star restaurant. “I’ll give you a call,” he said, then, forcing himself: “Tell Allison I’m sorry if I upset her.”
    Gregg didn’t know what to say, so he just watched Pike climb into the car and speed away. The wind returned, this time with an infusion of cold rain. Looking back at his house, he saw a black stream of smoke lose its shape and disperse over the chimney. Chilled and wet, he hurried inside and shut the door.
    Heath and Allison were still in the kitchen, rooting through the refrigerator and setting out half-eaten wedges of cheese. Allison skipped across the room and threw her arms around her father. For the first time, he could smell her perfume, a subtle hint of something tasteful and expensive.
    â€œWe found these mulling spices in the cupboard,” she said. “We’re going to make glogg after dinner.”
    He kissed her again. “You’ll have to drink it by yourself. I can’t handle that stuff anymore.”
    Going to the oven, he looked inside and saw the turkey basking in darkness, its juices catching in the drip pan with a sizzle. Dinner wouldn’t be ready for another hour, but this only added to his lazy feelings of contentment, of being loved by his daughter. Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday; as much as he liked the food, what he most enjoyed was spending time with Allison, lingering over wine—even when she was a little girl, he’d always let her have a glass, maybe two—and leaving the dirty dishes until morning, instead trooping upstairs to watch videos on the large-screen TV. Thanksgiving was a slow-paced, low-key holiday. There was no point, beyond savoring the daily occurrences of family life, having dinner together, then quietly sending one another off to bed.
    As Heath and Allison busied themselves in the kitchen, Gregg made a tour of the dining room, the table set for three, two candles flickering beside a glass decanter for the wine. Allison had put on some music—a Natalie Merchant CD, the volume set just a touch too loud. He went to the stereo and edged the music down, not so much that she’d notice and push it back up again.
    Returning to the kitchen, he said to Heath, “I’m glad you could spend Thanksgiving with us.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Reese.” Heath had tied his hair back in a ponytail, and Gregg could now see more of his face. Regrettably, the boy hadn’t shaved, and the black speckle on his cheeks called attention to the fact that he’d dyed his hair blond. Next to him, Allison looked overdressed; her red evening gown, with its low back and frilly sleeves, was something her mother would have worn to a New Year’s party.
    Remembering his ex-wife, he asked, “How’s Renee? I feel like I haven’t spoken to her in ages.”
    â€œShe’s good,” Allison said, busy arranging a half-dozen varieties of cheese on a cutting board. Although more than enough food had already been set out in the parlor, she’d taken it upon herself to assemble a tray of appetizers, complete with cheese and crackers, red caviar and smoked salmon. “I guess she’s going to Ibiza next month.”
    â€œWhat’s in Ibiza?” he asked, not even certain
where
it was.
    Caught up in her work, she sucked a cheesy film of Brie from her fingers. “You should check it out sometime. Lots of gay bars.”
    Gregg winced but said nothing. Tonight he wanted only to eat and drink, to watch his lovely daughter at the dinner table. He wanted the conversation to be general and spirited, followed by the traditional movie upstairs. Lastly, he wanted to go to bed, content and just a little