“The mistress wanted presents, but his wife did all their bills, right?” Dad was saying. “If he spent a dime, the jig was up. So what Maurice did…He swiped a few items for her out of the evidence locker.”
I drank more of my wine and stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“Trust me, it sounds a lot worse than it was. It was never anything really material. I remember there was a fake fur. Some costume jewelry. All cold-case stuff,” he said. “In fact, nobody could even prove it was Maurice who was doing it, but a bunch of us had our suspicions. Then he takes this one item…Damn. It’s so long ago, I can’t remember what it was…”
He raised his glass with a shaking hand, then put it down again without drinking, as though this were a battle and the tremor had won. “Anyway, this thing Maurice took was so obvious, no one could ignore it. Sergeant had to let him go.” He pushed his drink away, his smile fading. “It was such a good story. And now it’s…it’s gone.” An emotion passed through his eyes—a type of melancholy. I’d seen it before. It happened when he lost memories, but it looked as though he was losing dear friends. And these days, it was happening more and more frequently.
I put my hand over his and gave it a squeeze. “It’s okay,” I said. “You can call me when you remember.”
He nodded. I sipped my wine. He ate a few potato chips. I ate some nuts.
“Anyway,” I said. “I feel like Dylan’s out there. And if anybody knows where he is, it’s Sky.”
“So talk to her,” he said.
“In the hospital?”
“Visiting hours are up until eight or nine,” he said. “Go over there and sit at her bedside and act like you’re concerned. Chat her up. You know how it goes. The truth works itself out like a splinter. You just have to wait and be patient. She’ll slip.”
“But, Dad,” I said, “she’s really smart.”
“You’re smarter.” He said it as though it was the absolute truth.
My throat tightened up. I drank more wine and watched my father raise his glass to his lips, successfully this time. He drank his martini and smiled at me, and I thought,What would I ever do without him?The question didn’t feel as rhetorical as it used to, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like this train of thought at all.
“One of the things I like about Richie,” Dad said. “He’s always known how smart you are.”
I sighed. Finished the rest of my glass. “And here I thought we’d go for a whole evening without talking about Richie.”
“He’s a good kid. You’re good together. I can’t help it.”
I finished the potato chips. “We had an argument yesterday. Kind of,” I said. “I don’t think he knew it was an argument, because the arguing part happened in my head.”
“What was it about?”
“He wants me to semi-retire.”
Dad looked at me. “Richie said that?”
“Well…no.”
“What did he say, then?”
“He wants me to stop taking dangerous cases.”
Dad shrugged. “Sounds like he cares about you.”
I looked at him. “I know you retired because of Mom.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I retired because it was time.”
“But Mom was the one who started making noises about it.”
“It’s so long ago,” he said quietly. “I can barely remember.”
“Do you ever resent her for that, Dad?” I said.
He started to say no, but I held up a hand. “Please,” I said. “Be honest with me. I know it’s your passion because it’s my passion, too. You retired for Mom. Because you love her and she wanted you out of harm’s way and so she insisted. I love Richie, and so I need to know…If I do what he wants—and what he wants is for me to live, I understand that—will I ever regret getting back together with him?”
