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He smiled. “I mean it. It’s like you’re not the same person you used to be.”
God, if he only knew. “I’m not. I mean, I am . . . it’s, well, um, I’m trying to figure out who I am.” I winced. Holy shit, that sounded kooky. “Uh, you know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said with a slow nod. “I think we all have to go through that at some point.”
“Yeah,” I said. And some of us needed a kick in the ass first.
“Look, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about, but I wanted to ask you . . . .” He trailed off, looking strangely uneasy.
“Ask me . . . ?” Ask me to dinner? Ask me out for drinks? Ask me if I wanted to see what he looked like under that uniform? Yow, where’d that last one come from? But no, he’d said it was the last thing I’d want to talk about.
He took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you to please not bail your dad out of jail.”
Somehow I managed to keep my face immobile while my thoughts went crashing into a tangled heap. “Hunh?”
“Don’t bail your dad out,” he repeated, eyes on me. “I know this is tough on you, but you shouldn’t be the one to get him out.”
“ ’Cause I’m the victim,” I managed to force out. Wow, my voice almost sounded normal.
“That’s right.” He scrubbed a hand over the short brush of hair on his head. “Give yourself a few days peace.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but I didn’t need to hear it. I knew what he wanted to say. He didn’t want me to be that victim. He gave a shit. Maybe he was like this for everyone, but it didn’t matter. I still couldn’t help but relish the tiny spark of warm glow that it gave me.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
The smile he gave me in return was tinged with relief and worry.
“Hey,” I said before he could say anything else that would make the mood even weirder or break it entirely. “You wanna grab some coffee or something someday? I mean, some time when I’m not crawling with maggots,” I added with a laugh that sounded nervous to my own ears and probably sounded desperate and pathetic to his. I totally braced myself for him to hem and haw and say that he couldn’t or had a girlfriend or something. I was shocked instead when he gave me a nod.
“That sounds nice. And I’m cool with the no maggots thing too.”
We were saved from any more possible awkwardness by Derrel’s piercing whistle to get my attention. I looked over to see that the homicide detective was exiting the house.
“I’m up,” I said, as I pushed off the front of the Durango. “It was nice talking to you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that coffee,” he said, surprising me by giving me a wink.
I turned away with a silly grin on my face to collect a maggot-covered body.
Chapter 19
Dad called the next morning. I was expecting it, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“Angel, it’s your dad,” he said after I answered. Not “Dad” but “your dad.” In case I wasn’t sure, y’know? “Baby, I’m real sorry about what happened.”
I sat on the couch and pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “I know. You were drunk.”
“I was wrong, honey. I . . . I dunno why I get so worked up.”
Because you feel like a failure, I thought. I’m a fuckup, which means you failed as a dad. But I wasn’t a fuckup anymore. Or at least not as much of one. He couldn’t see that. Or maybe he didn’t want to see it. Then he’d be the only loser in the house.
“Can you come bail me out, please? I been here a day and a half now. They keep it so goddamned cold in here, and I’m hurting bad.”
Shit shit shit. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Dad. Maybe if you tell them you’re in pain they can take you to the clinic?”
“Why can’t you come bail me out?” He sounded tired. Old. I felt older. Yeah, he’d been a complete piece of shit, but he wasn’t always like that. Not always. Sometimes he came through for me—like the day he took me to the ER with broken ribs and arm when I was twelve. I could still remember the dull pain in his voice as he told the police to go and arrest his wife, because he knew that if they didn’t she’d end up killing me. She’d been mentally ill—I could see that now. But all I’d known then was that Dad was saving me and at the same time betraying my mother. I’d loved him and hated him.
Still did.
The knot in my throat made it tough to talk. “I can’t,” I said, my voice little more than a hoarse whisper. “Dad. I . . . don’t think they’ll let me bail you out,” I lied. “And I don’t have any money left, remember?”
