recalled; I’d mentioned her now and then.
I nodded. “She pretty much raised me, and over the years my father and I…drifted apart.” Fabulous. That sounded like a dodge, even to me.
Susan squinted, waiting. Caring.
Be specific, I told myself. Give her something concrete. Go ahead and blurt it out. “Look. My father’s a gambler. Big-time. On the surface, he’s charming. Witty, charismatic. But under his smooth façade he’s a sociopath, a liar, a compulsive, addicted gambler.”
Susan nodded, waiting, as if there had to be more.
“His gambling is pathological. He can’t help himself. And sometimes he loses. When I was a baby, he apparently lost everything. He kept our family broke and my mother miserable until she finally died. Thank God, he inherited the house from his grandmother—otherwise, we’d probably have been homeless. It’s a long, ugly story. I left it—and him—behind a long time ago.”
Susan’s eyes had softened. Maybe I’d been forgiven? “Well, you may have tried. But it didn’t work. He’s back.”
Oh, Lord. Yes, he was.
She lifted her mug with a smirk. “Well. Here’s to family reunions.” She chugged iced tea. I wished I could have something stronger. But I was thirsty and took a swig of iced tea despite the toast.
“And so, those betting slips. You think your father’s gambling had something to do with the murder?” She kept knitting, didn’t miss a stitch.
Of course I did. “I don’t know. He’s probably not gambling anymore. He’s over eighty, for God’s sake.”
She nodded, quiet for a while. I stared at running children. “So, what about Nick? You said he was mad.”
Oh, Lord. What about Nick? Exhaustion or pregnancy was getting to me. I felt woozy, leaned back on my aluminum chair.
“He’ll get over it,” she decided. “The man is nuts about you. And besides, he hasn’t always been exactly open—Nick’s in no position to be mad because you didn’t tell him something.”
She was right. Nick’s past was full of question marks. But last night, openness hadn’t been the issue.
“He’s not mad that I kept a secret. He’s mad that my father and I got physical. Because of the baby. I could have harmed it.” I swallowed, choking on the words.
Susan pushed a lock of shiny hair behind an ear. “You can’t blame him, Zoe. He’s about to commit to you for life, and, understandably, he’s scared. Add to that the fact that you’re carrying his baby. His first kid. And you went six rounds in a bare-knuckle fight. You scared the crap out of him. Men like Nick don’t do well with scared. They get mad. They’re more comfortable with mad— they understand it.”
Maybe. I appreciated the theory. Maybe Nick was just scared. After all, his life was changing, too. Marriage might scare him— his last marriage had ended badly when he’d tried to leave. His wife had died after shooting him in the face. Years had passed, but still, the prospect of having another wife—especially a pregnant one—might be scary to Nick. Oh, God. Maybe Nick was looking for a way out. Maybe my recklessness would give him an excuse to escape. I leaned back in my folding chair, looked up into a tangle of tree branches and dying leaves.
No, I told myself. I was simply off balance, overly vulnerable. In a single day my entire life had turned upside down. My father was back in it, involved possibly in illegal gambling and definitely in murder. Nick was upset. Susan was annoyed. And who knew how Molly was affected? I held the cold mug of iced tea against the lump on my head and closed my eyes.
“Give him some time.” Susan touched my arm. “Tonight, I bet he’ll be all contrite and lovey-dovey protective. Tim’s like that, can’t stay mad for long. Nick’s a marshmallow. You’ll see. He’ll feel guilty and protective and melt all over you.”
I wasn’t convinced, but the image of melted marshmallows drowned the other thoughts in my mind. Suddenly, the problems with
I nodded. “She pretty much raised me, and over the years my father and I…drifted apart.” Fabulous. That sounded like a dodge, even to me.
Susan squinted, waiting. Caring.
Be specific, I told myself. Give her something concrete. Go ahead and blurt it out. “Look. My father’s a gambler. Big-time. On the surface, he’s charming. Witty, charismatic. But under his smooth façade he’s a sociopath, a liar, a compulsive, addicted gambler.”
Susan nodded, waiting, as if there had to be more.
“His gambling is pathological. He can’t help himself. And sometimes he loses. When I was a baby, he apparently lost everything. He kept our family broke and my mother miserable until she finally died. Thank God, he inherited the house from his grandmother—otherwise, we’d probably have been homeless. It’s a long, ugly story. I left it—and him—behind a long time ago.”
Susan’s eyes had softened. Maybe I’d been forgiven? “Well, you may have tried. But it didn’t work. He’s back.”
Oh, Lord. Yes, he was.
She lifted her mug with a smirk. “Well. Here’s to family reunions.” She chugged iced tea. I wished I could have something stronger. But I was thirsty and took a swig of iced tea despite the toast.
“And so, those betting slips. You think your father’s gambling had something to do with the murder?” She kept knitting, didn’t miss a stitch.
Of course I did. “I don’t know. He’s probably not gambling anymore. He’s over eighty, for God’s sake.”
She nodded, quiet for a while. I stared at running children. “So, what about Nick? You said he was mad.”
Oh, Lord. What about Nick? Exhaustion or pregnancy was getting to me. I felt woozy, leaned back on my aluminum chair.
“He’ll get over it,” she decided. “The man is nuts about you. And besides, he hasn’t always been exactly open—Nick’s in no position to be mad because you didn’t tell him something.”
She was right. Nick’s past was full of question marks. But last night, openness hadn’t been the issue.
“He’s not mad that I kept a secret. He’s mad that my father and I got physical. Because of the baby. I could have harmed it.” I swallowed, choking on the words.
Susan pushed a lock of shiny hair behind an ear. “You can’t blame him, Zoe. He’s about to commit to you for life, and, understandably, he’s scared. Add to that the fact that you’re carrying his baby. His first kid. And you went six rounds in a bare-knuckle fight. You scared the crap out of him. Men like Nick don’t do well with scared. They get mad. They’re more comfortable with mad— they understand it.”
Maybe. I appreciated the theory. Maybe Nick was just scared. After all, his life was changing, too. Marriage might scare him— his last marriage had ended badly when he’d tried to leave. His wife had died after shooting him in the face. Years had passed, but still, the prospect of having another wife—especially a pregnant one—might be scary to Nick. Oh, God. Maybe Nick was looking for a way out. Maybe my recklessness would give him an excuse to escape. I leaned back in my folding chair, looked up into a tangle of tree branches and dying leaves.
No, I told myself. I was simply off balance, overly vulnerable. In a single day my entire life had turned upside down. My father was back in it, involved possibly in illegal gambling and definitely in murder. Nick was upset. Susan was annoyed. And who knew how Molly was affected? I held the cold mug of iced tea against the lump on my head and closed my eyes.
“Give him some time.” Susan touched my arm. “Tonight, I bet he’ll be all contrite and lovey-dovey protective. Tim’s like that, can’t stay mad for long. Nick’s a marshmallow. You’ll see. He’ll feel guilty and protective and melt all over you.”
I wasn’t convinced, but the image of melted marshmallows drowned the other thoughts in my mind. Suddenly, the problems with
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