Page 65 of Tito

“I buy a plane ticket,” Tito replied.

My father raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. The ticket is for my father. He’d be coming here to do whatever needs to be done to repair the damage to her brain.”

“Let’s say he failed. Then what?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I’d unplug her, the answer’s no.”

My farther glanced at his watch. “Better get the meat out of the oven, or it won’t be worth eating.”

He removed the skillet and plated the steaks. He then poured three glasses of wine and handed each of us one. “Let those things sit for five minutes, and we’ll be ready to eat. I’ve got salads in the fridge, and I made a potato salad that’s out of this world.”

I gazed through the kitchen window, toward the outside patio. The area of hand-laid brick was built by my father, a project he worked on one day a week while I a toddler. The saplings he planted around the perimeter were now mature shade trees.

Before my mother left, we ate on the patio often, allowing the cool evening air and the warmth of the California sun to become part of our meal. Since my mother left, we hadn’t eaten out there once.

My father said he built the area as a place for the family to gather and enjoy. He never officially addressed the issue, but I guessed without my mother present he felt we were no longer a family.

We were simply the survivors of one.

Saddened, I faced Tito and my father and sipped my wine.

Tito lowered his wine glass. “How long have you worked in law enforcement?”

“Thirty-two years,” my father replied proudly.

“You’ve probably reached your pension cap by now, haven’t you?”

“I have.”

“Do you have any retirement plans?”

“I planned on retiring at the thirty-year mark. I’ve got one more case to solve before I go. As soon as I’m done with it, it’ll be nothing but off-shore fishing and extended vacations.”

Tito raised his glass. “Here’s hoping you solve that case sooner rather than later.”

We raised our glasses in toast. As my father sipped his wine, we made eye contact. I’d remained silent during the question-answer session, allowing him to get a feel for who he felt Tito was.

I raised my brows in wonder of his thoughts.

He winked.

I lowered my glass and flashed Tito a smile. He didn’t know it, but he’d formally been accepted by the most critical man I’d ever come to know. The thought of it was exciting. To date, my father had never been wrong.

I hoped this time was no exception.