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I did believe it, and for a moment I felt this resolve waiver. I felt like I was kicking a puppy that didn’t know any better.
“But the kid is good,” my father whispered. “The three of us, we could—”
“Go,” I said. “Just go.”
I watched my father walk off into the night, toward town and the bus station, and wondered if this was how snakes felt when they got rid of that skin.
I felt new. Fresh. Capable of anything.
“I’m sorry, Tyler,” Miguel whispered. “I came to him with the idea.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“He was pretty decent to me,” Miguel said. “He didn’t drink when I was here.”
There was nothing to say to that. I felt regret bite hard into my throat, not that I’d kicked my father out, but that my father couldn’t manage to string those moments of decency together. That he couldn’t rise above the worst of himself.
“He taught me a lot about cards,” Miguel said.
“But cards are nothing to pin a future on, do you get that?”
“But the money—”
“Money runs out, Miguel,” I said. “When I found my dad ten years ago, he had so much money he couldn’t spend it fast enough. But he did. Look at him.”
Miguel looked out into the night. Richard, once the big man, was walking away with borrowed money in his pocket, about to take a bus.
“You’re starting this job after school in a week,” I said. “A real job. And I bet in time, you’ll be a foreman on that job. And you’ll have skills you can take anywhere. And money to get you into college. You’ll have a way to take care of your sister for good, not just for a while.”
Miguel licked his lips and nodded. “I guess,” he said.
“You guess?” I laughed. “I think it’s a whole lot better than I guess, considering you tried to steal Suzy.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Dude! You are so weird.”
“Keep that up and I won’t teach you how to drive her.”
“Did I say weird?” Miguel asked. “I meant awesome.”
“I know you did, kid. I know you did.”
JULIETTE
Sunday morning, I stood on The Manor’s brand-new front porch and took a deep breath. Another one. I smoothed a hand down the front of my blue skirt, wishing I’d taken the time to iron it a little better.
My hands, slippery with sweat, were in danger of dropping the box I carried, so before I could delay and grow any more nervous I reached out and rang the doorbell.
I was here to show Tyler and myself—and Priscilla, if the old lady cared—that I was ready to love all of Tyler. Even the bad stuff. And that meant getting to know his father.
The door swung open, revealing Tyler holding a steaming cup of coffee. A long slow smile that was better than a kiss crossed his face.
“Well, now,” he said, leaning against the door and making me want to giggle with nerves and lust. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Here,” I said, thrusting the small white box at him. Nerves made me awkward, ungracious.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Muffins.”
“You baked?”
I snorted and then tried very hard to pretend I hadn’t. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, stepping aside so I could walk in. “I was being hopeful. Juliette Tremblant at my door in a skirt carrying muffins? Where’s the porno music?”
I laughed, helpless against this man’s humor. His charm. This was why I loved him, because he brought light to my darkest days, turned my gray life into Technicolor.
“I’m here to meet your father,” I said, turning to face him in time to see his expression go hard. Cold. “Is that a problem?”
“I’m guessing by the skirt and muffins you’re not here as police chief?”
I shook my head. “I want to know all of you, Tyler,” I said. “Good, bad and otherwise. And that means your father.”
Tyler put down the mug and box on the table in the foyer and stepped close to me, his warmth embracing me, his smell enveloping me.
“I hate to disappoint you,” he said, his fingers toying with the hem of the gauzy white shirt I wore. Desire seeped into me and I watched his fingers unbutton the bottom button. And the next one up. “Since you’re all dressed up in your Sunday best, bringing gifts, but I kicked him out Friday night.”
“What?” I asked, rallying my brain function. “Why?”
His fingers kept climbing the buttons on my shirt, until he slipped it off my shoulders, revealing a thin camisole.
“Can I tell you later?” he asked, kissing my shoulder, my collarbone. “I get so turned on by a woman bearing baked goods.”
An hour later, wrapped in the old worn wedding-ring-patterned quilt that Tyler had had on his bed since high school, I sat facing him. Sunlight poured in the room and across Tyler’s face, illuminating the day-old beard, the dark circles under his eyes. I hadn’t noticed the other night how thin he’d gotten. He was all planes and angles.
