I cleared my throat. “I do talk to my dad very frequently.”
Lydia set her coffee cup back on its saucer. She tucked a lock of shiny hair behind an ear, then folded her hands in her lap—every move of hers perfectly composed, but with a tension beneath the surface, like a smooth white sky just before a storm. “I’m sorry you don’t have a good relationship with your mother.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I suppose not,” I said.
“Dylan doesn’t have a good relationship with his father,” she said. “They’re very different personalities. They speak rarely. I don’t even think they necessarily trust each other.”
I nodded.
She looked at me as though she expected me to contribute to the conversation—to tell her that my mother and I shared a similar dynamic. But I didn’t take the bait. My shrink appointment wasn’t until five p.m., and I could handle that discussion only once in a day.
“Every child needs at least one parent on their side,” she said.
I nodded again.
“Dylan and I have a special connection, Sunny,” she said. “I know all about what you generously called his ‘active lifestyle,’ when what you really meant was the clubbing, the benders, the rehab stays, the escapes from rehab…”
“So you understand,” I said.
“I understand he isn’t perfect,” she said. “But that doesn’t change our connection. It doesn’t stop me from knowing when he needs my help. Like with those Russian gangsters. He didn’t have to tell me…”
An emotion passed through Lydia’s clear blue eyes—a type of ache, as though a part of her had been removed and she needed it back in order to survive. It felt genuine enough to move me. I hated her for that.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Tell me about the last time you spoke to him.”
“It was at his place of business.”
“DylWel Inc.?”
She smiled. “DylWel is just a website, Sunny,” she said. “The dating app was his only other venture.”
“So…Gonzo.”
“Yes,” she said. “The corporate offices. We had lunch plans.”
“You met him there.”
“Yes.”
“You went out to lunch.”
“No,” she said. “He said he wouldn’t be able to join me.”
“Did he give a reason?”
“No.” She drank more coffee, then cradled the cup in her hands. “He didn’t look very good.”
“How so?”
“He probably looked like he did the last time you saw him.”
“Strung out?”
“Yes,” she said. “A little.”
