“I was worried about you, Dad.” I say this partly so he’ll quit firing questions at Trent.
He scratches at his oily gray hair. “Nah, you shouldn’t worry about me, Gretch. I was having some stomach trouble but that’s been sorted out now. I get the gluten free meals and they’re actually damn good.”
My face grows hot. “I meant I was worried about how you were dealing with Jules’s death.”
His shoulders drop. “That was a shock. Got called down to my case worker’s office right after breakfast. Man, you don’t expect to outlive any of your kids, that’s for damn sure. But I was told it was quick so that’s good. She didn’t suffer. And everyone’s been really great around here, even let me out of kitchen work for a couple of weeks. Hey, where’s Dan-O at today? I thought he was staying in Lake Stuart. Why didn’t he come visit? He never comes to visit.”
A man three tables over calls my father’s name. There’s a woman sitting at the table too and her pinched face reminds me of my mother. My father waves at them with enthusiasm.
“Hey, Wayne! So that’s the wife, huh? Nicely done.”
He gives the couple a thumbs up and then feels the need to explain to us that Wayne was married only recently. This is the first visit by Wayne’s new wife, whose name is Leslie. Leslie is from Vermont but she has moved to Syracuse to be near Wayne. Wayne is eligible for parole in eighteen months. Leslie will be waiting for him.
I shouldn’t have come here. I want to scream.
Trent finds my hand under the table and winds his fingers through mine.
“So you’re living in your old place,” my father says to Trent, returning to talk of Lake Stuart. “Seems like it was just last week your dad built it and moved to town. Thought he was going to turn out to be like the summer shitheads but he shaped up to be all right and so did you.”
Trent is unsure how to respond but he regards my father with obvious distaste.
“I took a drive up to Rosebriar recently,” Trent finally says.
I’m surprised. Trent has never mentioned this. I haven’t been up that hill at all since I was a child. I’ve never much cared about what I might find.
“God, I miss that place,” my father says with more feeling than when he was discussing his dead daughter. “Those years were a real golden age.”
“Looks like shit now,” Trent says. “It just rots away, year after year. Nothing but animals and shit and the stench of mold.”
I can see the observation disturbs my father. I think this is why Trent said it.
And I’m glad.
I’m glad because that lost wonderland always meant more to my father than we did.
“Your granddaughters drew these for you.” I push the folded papers across the table. “They’ve been shattered by their mother’s death. Their names are Mara and Caitlin.”
He picks up the papers and appears hurt. “I know their names. You think I’d forget that? Jules said maybe when they were a little bit older she’d bring them for a visit.”
“Well, Jules can’t do that now because Jules is dead.” The chair scrapes against the tile when I stand. “We have to go, Dad. It’s a long drive back to Lake Stuart and the girls need to be picked up.”
He unfolds the sheets of construction paper and frowns. “What the hell are these pictures supposed to be anyway?”
“Jules. They both wanted you to have pictures of their mother. They assumed you’d be heartbroken. Like they are.”
I almost walk out without a proper goodbye but then I swoop in and give him a quick hug, only because I know Jules would have wanted me to.
Once we’re in the parking lot, Trent slips an arm around my shoulder. I need more than that. I need some human contact from someone who isn’t a complete waste of oxygen. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze.
“That sucked.” I press my face to his chest and inhale the spiced musk of his soap. “I have no idea how two disastrously selfish people like my parents made someone as wonderful as my sister.”
He hugs me back and drops a kiss on the top of my head. “They made you too. So they did more than one thing right.”
I want to kiss him so badly I can taste it. But the grim shape of the prison looms in the background and it’s a romance killer.
I step out of his arms. “It’s time for me to buy you lunch now.”
“Fine, but I’m paying.”
“You seem to misunderstand what buying you lunch means.”
He opens the passenger door. “We’ll arm wrestle for the check.”
I smack his muscled ass. “You’ll lose.”
We drive for ten miles before spotting signs for a restaurant that doesn’t specialize in supersizing fries. He wins the battle over the check when he excuses himself from the table and takes care of it in secret while I’m still digging into my Cesar salad.
I pop a mint into my mouth. “I’ll get you back.”
He passes me a slow, wicked grin. “I can think of a few other things you can do for me instead.”
“You stared at my tits when you said that.”
“I stare at your tits all the time. Haven’t you noticed?”
We’re back on the road when I remember something I’ve been wanting to ask him.
“What are your plans now that you’re back in Lake Stuart?”
His face changes, becomes closed and wary. “Playing it by ear. Maybe I’ll buy a boat.”
“Miami probably would have offered more boating opportunities.”
He nods absently.
I chew my lip, and then force myself to stop. “There are rumors that the brewery is on the verge of bankruptcy.”
“That’s interesting.”
He doesn’t sound interested. He sounds irritated.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He frowns. “What for?”
“Discussing the family business is probably painful.”
“You mean because I was disinherited and thrown to the wolves.”
I wince at the fury in his voice. Yet his tone also reveals something. Trent carries a lot of anger around with him. His motives for returning to Lake Stuart are not simple.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he says.
“You didn’t.” I touch his leg. “You’re good to me.”
“That’s comical. I’m not widely known as a good guy.”
“I don’t care. I’ve already classified you as one.”
He glances down at where my hand sits just above his right knee and smirks. He also changes position slightly, which gives me ideas about what’s on his mind.
“You’re beautiful, Gretch.”
My hand crawls up his leg, traces the seam of his jeans. Trent responds with a low noise in the back of his throat and he tightens his hands on the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” he swears even as he moves to give my hand better access. “Quit torturing me.”
“No.” I can feel the thick, hard shape of him now. I stroke him through the fabric. “This is a rural area. Plenty of woods to get lost in.”
“You serious?”
“Very.”
“It’s broad freaking daylight.”