“You haven’t grounded me and gotten away with it since junior high.”
“You’re just like your mother.” Shannon could take that about six different ways, but unlike me, she wasn’t into endless nuances.
She looked from Maurey to me. “Okay, here are your choices.”
“Is breaking Eugene’s nose a choice?”
“No. You can fly off the handle, scream and yell and throw me out of the house, and estrange your daughter for life.”
“Eugene taught you that, didn’t he? To say estrange when you mean piss off.”
“Choice two: I live with Eugene in his apartment with the three male roommates.”
“I don’t like that one.”
“Choice three is Eugene moves in here and you treat him like the son you never had.”
It didn’t take much thought. “I choose number three.”
Shannon’s face sparkled, making the crap of living around Eugene the child molester worth the trouble. She crossed the gap between us and hugged me. “I knew you’d come through.”
“I don’t want him downstairs in his underwear.”
“Neither do I.”
I looked up into her brown eyes. “Shannon, you’ve been the only consistent, unqualified love in my life. I know you have to leave someday—that’s the curse of being a parent—but I’m just not ready to lose you yet.”
She smiled and said, “Daddy, you’re sweet.”
“Promise you won’t leave until I’m ready.”
“Forget it. You’ll never be ready.”
Shannon left to find her lover and light pumpkins and I sat in my room with the lights off, looking out at the rain. The steady drizzle matched my mood perfectly. Nothing was absolute anymore. Right, wrong, desirable, and undesirable had all turned on their heads. Amid the uncertainties, the one thing I knew for sure was I had to talk to Maurey.
Her lifesaving voice floated in from Wyoming. “Hello?”
I said, “The deal is falling apart out here.”
There was a short pause. “The deal isn’t so hot here either.”
“What’s the matter?”
She sounded flat. Maurey is normally upbeat, or at least interested. I worry when she’s down. “I can’t talk about it yet,” she said. “I’d rather hear your problems.”
“Actually, it affects both of us.”
“Shannon broke the news.”
“She told you first?”
“She asked if I thought you’d boot her out of the house. I said not in a hundred years.”
“I raised her but she confides in you.”
“Kids never confide in the parent they live with. Are you going to let the boy move in?”
“He’s no boy,” I said, “and of course he’s moving in.”
“You did something right for a change.”
“If I did, it’s the first right move I’ve made all week.”
“Shannon tells me you’re on a strange roll.”
“Bizarre is more the word.” I told Maurey about finding the fathers and what I’d done to Atalanta Williams and Clark Gaines and how I felt about Gilia. That part took a while. Maurey listened and gave the appropriate comments, but her mind seemed to wander.
“What’s the girl’s father blackmailing you for doing?” she asked.
“Nothing. Well, something. A detective researched my past.”
“And?”
“He found stuff.”
“Why do I feel like I’m only hearing part of the story?”
In listing the elements making me crazy, I’d left out Katrina and I’d left out Wanda. Ten days ago Wanda had been this thunderhead cloud smothering every thought and action, and now she didn’t matter. Eugene might be a pedophilic psych major, but his plan had worked. My mind was off Wanda.
“What’s the problem you can’t talk about?” I asked.
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Okay.”
“Pete has leukemia.”
The rain made falling-star streaks on the window. Beyond the glass, the Georgia hackberries dripped circles of water onto the lawn and the swimming pool speckled like a pond during a mayfly hatch. I tried to remember if leukemia is always fatal or nearly always fatal.
“He’s had it two years without telling me,” Maurey said. “It’s in remission now, but for some reason, he doesn’t expect it to stay that way. He and Chet argue positive attitude versus acceptance.”
Chet would be the boyfriend Lydia liked. “Is there anything I can do?”
Maurey was silent a few moments. “If he gets worse, I may need you to come home.”
I almost cried. Being needed is what I live for. “I’ll be there.”
“He has no insurance and he’s run up thirty-five thousand in tests and treatments—so far.”
“Don’t worry about the bills.”
“Thank you.” Maurey’s voice broke. “I’m sick of family dying. If I lose Pete, everyone I grew up with will be gone and I’ll be the last, which is a first-degree screw job. I don’t like it, Sam.”
“You still have me and Shannon.”
Now, she was fierce. “You better not abandon me too.”
24
Bonaparte’s Retreat was a fish and French place way the heck out Randleman Road, nice enough to qualify as special, but not so trendy as to make running into Skip’s golf buddies likely. Sea nets hung from the corners of the room with starfish and dried cod or something hanging from the nets. Lighting came from candles that must have been cheap because mine strobed. The place reeked of hand-holding and eye contact by candlelight.
Cool fingers touched the back of my neck. “I can’t get enough of your amativeness nodes,” Katrina said.
I tipped my head way back to look up at her. “Do you like Blue Nun?”
“Your hair is nice too.”
“Many people say my hair is my best trait.”
Katrina moved around the table to her chair. “Anyone who says that hasn’t felt your amativeness nodes.” She was wearing a dark green jacket over a white knit dress. I guess you’d call it a dress; when she sat down it covered her crotch and maybe an inch and a half of thigh. If Shannon wore that dress I would send her to her room.
“What’s this?” Katrina asked.
“Blue Nun. I thought you might like some wine.”
“I’d like some martinis.” She pulled off her jacket, revealing her shoulders and a quarter-moon slice of upper chest. Katrina was actually quite pretty, in a miniature sort of way. Her legs would have looked good on an aging movie star.
“Eat fast,” she said. “The orgy starts at eight.”
“We have to talk about this orgy,” I said.
Katrina smiled. “Later. Right now, I’m starved.” She ordered mussels and I had the Surf ‘N’ Swamp—lobster claws and frog legs. The waiter called me “sir” four times.
Katrina was in a good mood. She made fun of my jacket and told me about a fat girl in her aerobics class who’d blown a knee during the stretch-out.
She said, “I love it when women younger than me fall apart.”
I took a deep breath and prepared to take the plunge. When it’s time for the kiss-off, I’m much more comfortable with women dumping me than me dumping women. I’m real good at the former—never resorting to angry words or accusations, never making the woman feel guilty. Dumping me is easy. But when it comes to the other way around, I’m a coward.
“It’s all over, Katrina.”
She glanced up from her salad. “I know.”
“This is the last time we can see each other.”
“I said I know.” Her voice was a bit wistful, but far from heartbreak. “Cameron paid me a visit.”
I’d been braced for tears in a public place. I wasn’t prepared for Katrina being a good sport.