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Daisy nodded. “Deal.”
Poppy scowled.
“Poppy,” I warned.
“How will we know if he’s playing her?”
The three of us looked at Grant.
“You’ll tell us, won’t you?” I asked.
“Of course,” he answered, and those two words were enough to make me feel better.
Because I had no idea they were a lie.
22
There’s a Snake in my Boots
GRANT
I might have been stretched out on a lounge chair next to the Vargas’ pool a few days later, but I couldn’t relax.
Jo laid by my side half asleep, her bikini blessedly small and her skin shining from sweat and sunscreen. Country music played from speakers somewhere around the sizable pool, which touted a massive rock feature with a slide and fountain. Presley sat at the edge of the pool with her feet in while her boyfriend, Sebastian, threw Priscilla around like a squealing rag doll that said again, again! every time she floated to the surface.
I watched them for a long time, long enough that I found an unbidden smile on my face, the simplicity of their joy infectious. The little girl was a pistol, as I’d learned firsthand, all smiles and laughter that had her parents laughing too, occasionally cracking jokes to each other or interrupting for a kiss, to which their child would wail ewwww before trying to tickle them apart. It was such an easy thing, it seemed … a family. They loved each other and enjoyed each other openly and honestly, the sight of it as alien as everything else in this town.
They made it look so easy.
Poppy and Daisy floated around on mesh loungers, hanging on to each other’s rafts so they wouldn’t be separated, and our elders had convened around a big table in the shade, including Sebastian’s mom and grandmother, who was the Abuelita in Abuelita’s restaurant.
And my father sat next to Dottie in boating attire and Wayfarers, laughing and smiling and looking like he belonged here.
My skin crawled at the invasion. The feeling should only have been a result of the affront—or maybe for my pride—at his lack of faith in my ability to do my job. I couldn’t seem to draw a parallel between him and me even though we’d technically deployed the same tactic to get them to sign.
My arching hackles were territorial, and it had nothing to do with Flexion or oil or my job. It was strictly a reaction to a predator threatening the place and people I’d come to respect and appreciate so deeply.
“Quit staring your father down,” Jo said with her face still turned up to the sun.
I frowned.
“And unclench your jaw.”
With a sigh, I did, shifting my gaze back to the pool. “I don’t like him here.”
“Really? God, I thought you were organizing a parade,” she deadpanned.
I hooked the hip of her bathing suit and snapped it.
“Ouch,” she said, laughing.
“Did you try to talk to your mom?”
Now it was her turn to sigh, her smile falling. “We did, but she just got mad again. Told us we were being childish. That Daddy died too long ago for us to be jealous of a man she was interested in. Regaled the many wonderful attributes your father possesses like he was a goddamn apostle.”
My jaw clamped shut again.
“They’re going to dinner tonight,” she continued. “He’s taking her to San Antonio so they can walk along the Riverwalk. Which is far too romantic for my liking.”
“Mine too.”
“If she stays the night out there, I might lose my shit.” She turned that over in her mind for a second. “I don’t trust him.”
“Has he been trying to get her to sign?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Yes. And she’s thinking about it.”
My heart stopped. “What do your sisters have to say about that?”
“Well, they’re not happy. But Mama’s not the only one on the fence.”
I didn’t react, outwardly at least. I didn’t even know what the knowledge made me feel. A little bit of everything, as far as I could tell.
“Wouldn’t have figured I’d done any real convincing,” I answered lightly.
“It’s your number one trick. Somehow you convinced me to go home with you, and the Vegas odds on that were terrible.”
I laughed, still stunned. Angry with my father. Hopeful at the prospect of getting him out of Lindenbach. Grateful I’d get my job done and the money that came along with it. Worried that it was the wrong decision for her.
“Anyway, I still think your dad’s trouble, and you haven’t once made me feel better about the feeling.”
“His motives are above my pay grade,” I lied again, because implicating him would implicate me too, if he had anything to do with it. “But he can’t be trusted.”
“What was he like when you were a boy?”
“I don’t really know. He wasn’t around, and when he was, he ignored me.”
“That’s just … that’s just awful. I wonder what Mama would think of that.”
