“Jess?” Davey’s voice was small. “Aren’t you happy to see Dad?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m not.” Her voice was odd, and she ran the stop sign. Shit. She took her foot off the gas and slowed down.
“I love Daddy.”
Jess glanced in the rearview. His eyes were wider than usual. He was scared.
She had scared him.
The lump in her throat was strangling her. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”
“Will Dad come live with us?”
“Later, Davey.”
“I want Dad to come live with us.”
She tried to relax her choke hold on the steering wheel. “He’s not.”
“Well, I want him to!”
“That’s too bad, Davey. He’s probably only in town for a day or two. To go to the casino, not see us.”
“He said he missed me! He said he loves me!”
He doesn’t.
The words practically tore her chest apart trying to get out.
The next day, she’d found a note taped to the front door. Keith—he didn’t deserve the title of Dad—wanted to talk. He’d been sober for a thousand days. He wanted to make amends and try to rebuild his relationship with his children.
The only thing missing from the note were kitten stickers, a drawing of a rainbow and the winning Powerball ticket.
But he was in Manningsport, and Jess couldn’t see a way around talking to him, because if she knew her father, he’d take the path of least resistance. And that was through Davey.
So she called the number he’d left and tersely agreed to meet him at Hugo’s, because O’Rourke’s would be too busy and full of people she knew. Hugo’s catered more to the out-of-towners.
And Connor didn’t work there.
When he offered to get rid of her father for her, she almost cried. Wanted so, so much to find herself in his arms and let him take care of her, and yes, let him beat the shit out of her father, and scare him so bad he’d never come back.
But if she started to let stuff like that come out, who the hell knew when it would stop?
She could deal with Keith Dunn on her own. She had to deal with him on her own. And she would. No one else could do it.
“Hello, Miss Beautiful,” Hugo said as she came in. “I have the corner reserved for you.”
Good old Hugo. He knew about her history with her father.
Keith Dunn had been a pretty high-functioning alcoholic. Better than Mom, who truly was addicted, who once drank hand sanitizer at the hospital when she was desperate, who tried over and over and over to quit, failing each time.
No, Keith was a beer man—Pabst Blue Ribbon, a twelve-pack a day even when they were on food stamps. Though he was skinny, he looked bloated, as if beer would leak out of his pores if you brushed against him.
But he never seemed drunk the way Mom did. It made it worse somehow; like he made the conscious decision to let everything fall to Jessica, and he’d just pop another beer and watch TV.
The corner table was as private as Hugo’s had, often reserved for marriage proposals. Today, the interaction that took place here wouldn’t be so pretty. Jess sat down and straightened the butter knife.
She hadn’t gone home to change first, wanting to look as professional as possible. Gray pencil skirt, white blouse, black pumps with a strap across the ankle, hair in a plain French twist.
“You look hot,” said Felicia, who, like Jess, had been here for years. She handed over a menu. “The whole corporate thing...you look like a porno about to start. Just let down your hair and start flipping it around.”
“Not really the look I was going for.”“I’d take it in a heartbeat. Don’t tell me you have a date.”
“My father.”
Felicia winced. “Shit.”
“Don’t take our order, okay? We won’t be long.”
Felicia put her hand on Jess’s shoulder. “Gotcha.”
“Wait, Felicia. Um...bring me a glass of wine, okay? No, a beer. It doesn’t matter what kind.”
Because a beer was his drink. It would be a challenge, would weaken her father, distract him and remind him.
She twisted her thumb ring. Man, she didn’t want to be here! The urge to bolt back home and lock the door shimmered like a mirage. Davey playing with his Avengers figures, a big bowl of pasta with garlic and olive oil for dinner, HGTV or Robert Downey, Jr. on the TV.
Instead, she was here, waiting for her worst nightmare to arrive.
Felicia returned with her beer, gave her a smile, then went to wait on a large party that had just come in.
Shit on a shoelace. Jess felt suddenly, horribly alone.
And then, like a miracle, there was Pru and Carl, Honor and Tom. Felicia led them to a table a little ways away; out of earshot, but close enough. Honor gave her a reassuring nod, Tom a little salute. Carl waved, but Pru came over.
“I happened to run into your father today,” she said. “Asked him why he was back in town, and he said he wanted to make amends. He mentioned you were coming here. Thought you could use a little backup.”
Sometimes a knight in shining armor was actually a woman dressed in flannel. “Thank you,” Jess whispered.
“We’re here. But you got this, Jess. You do.”
It was very, very hard not to cry. Prudence smiled at her. “Besides, Carl and I have exhausted every superhero sex game we can think of. We’re going old-school tonight. Just two middle-aged married people having dinner with family.”
Jess gave a shaky laugh.
“Good luck, hon.” With that, Pru went over to her husband.
For most of her life, Jess had hated the Holland family, hated them for being everything her family wasn’t. And here they were, backing her up. Being her friends.
This was going to be an emotional night.
Jess took a sip of the beer just to remind herself that she could. She was better than her parents. She’d never been drunk in her life.
Then in he came. Looked around the restaurant, saw her and smiled.
It was the first time Jess could recall seeing him at Hugo’s sober, since he used to visit her here when he needed her tip money for an “emergency.” Happy times, Keith talking too loudly, Jess trying not to have their business broadcast to everyone, inevitably giving him money to make him go away.
Now, Keith walked over to her table, and Jess’s hands curled into fists. She was sweating. Hopefully, she looked like fury encased in ice.
“Hi, Jess. I really appreciate you meeting me,” he said. “Is it all right if I sit down?”
“Sure.”
He looked healthier, Jess had to give him that. His bright blue eyes weren’t bloodshot; his shirt wasn’t stained. And aside from a few lines around his eyes, he was the same.
“You look incredible,” he said, smiling. “You look like you could be the President, you’re so classy.”
“Why are you here?” she asked. No point in bullshitting.
“I want to make amends.”
“The program works if you work the program?” Hey. She knew AA. Or at least, she knew Al-Anon. Some kids in high school played soccer, some were in drama club, some worked twenty hours a week and went to meetings for kids whose parents were drunks.
“Exactly,” Keith said.