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“I…was curious,” I admit. “But that doesn’t excuse it.”
“You’re right,” she says. “It doesn’t. But there’s no harm done. Penny is back, and she’s fine. Let’s get back to the main house. And I’ll have a talk with Dale about leaving his door unlocked. That’s not like him. He’s usually very careful. Something must be on his mind.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“He went into the city with his father this morning.”
“When will they be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“I have to tell him.”
“Tell you what,” Jade says. “If you promise never to do this again, we can make it our little secret.”
“Really?”
“Really. I of all people know what you’re feeling. Like I said earlier, I look at you and I see myself.”
“Did you ever…?”
“Talon was living in the main house when I stayed that summer, so no, I didn’t enter his house without permission. But I made many mistakes. In the name of curiosity. And in the name of love.”
“I’m not in love with Dale.”
Even as I say the words, I know how untrue they are.
Dale is all I’ve thought about since I laid eyes on him two days ago. I don’t believe in insta-love or love at first sight.
But I believe in what I’m feeling for Dale. I’ve never felt so strongly about anyone.
“It’s overwhelming,” Jade says.
I nod.
“Things worked out for Talon and me in the end,” she continues. “But Dale is not Talon.”
“I know that.”
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. It may happen, and it may not.”
I gulp back a sulking weep that threatens to rip from my throat. “I understand.”
“Talon threw me out of the main house.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Like I said, we had a rocky start.”
“He threw you out?”
“He did. The memories are so vivid, things I haven’t thought about in decades.”
“Why did he throw you out?”
“I pushed him too hard.” She sighs. “Be careful, Ashley. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Dale
I knock loudly on the door of the cracker box house in the city. Dad and I stand on a concrete stoop that’s spalling and cracked in three places. The screen door hangs on one hinge.
Whoever Floyd Jolly really is, he sucks at home maintenance.
If this is even his home. Maybe he rents, though who’d rent this shack, I have no idea.
I knock again. “Hello? Anybody home?”
This time Dad knocks with me. We’re both pounding, and still no response.
“Must not be home,” I say.
“We’ll see.” He moves the screen door and turns the knob on the main door.
It opens.
“Dad…”
He cracks the door. “Hello? Mr. Jolly?”
An orange cat whisks by, hissing at us.
Dad opens the door farther. “Hey, kitty. Anyone home?”
“Dad, are you sure we should be doing this?”
“No, but we’re going to do it anyway. If the man who lives here really is your natural father, we need to know if he’s here.”
“He’s obviously not.”
“Actually he probably is. People who aren’t home don’t usually leave their doors unlocked.” He moves into the small living area. “Mr. Jolly?”
I inhale. Stale cigarette smoke. A glass ashtray overflows with butts, and a few more litter the worn brown carpeting that covers the floor.
The cat jumps onto a vinyl recliner. She doesn’t hiss this time but regards us with a wary look.
I walk into the small kitchen—
“Shit. Dad, come quick!”
A man lies passed out on the linoleum. A goose egg has erupted on his forehead. Beer cans clutter the floor.
Is this dear old dad?
He’s silver-haired. Maybe that means he was blond once. His eyes are closed. If they’re green… Does that mean…?
“He’s loaded,” Dad says. “But we need to wake him up. Make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”
The cat walks in softly, sits down next to the man, and hisses again.
“We’re not going to hurt him, kitty,” Dad says.
My father using the word “kitty” twice in one day makes me want to chuckle.
“I need to see his eyes, Dad,” I say.
Dad kneels down and pushes the eyes open.
Green.
Fucking green. Clear green and bloodshot as hell.
“Do you remember what color eyes your mother had?” Dad asks.
“Light brown. I remember people mentioning Donny’s and my eyes a lot because they were so different from hers.”
“Still doesn’t mean anything,” Dad says.
“True. I’ll need a DNA test before I believe it.”
“Absolutely. Come on. Help me get him up.”
The man is big and tall, another bad sign. Donny and I are also tall and muscular. His face is lined with age, and his lips thin. Donny and I have full lips. A glimmer of hope spears into me.
But it’s false hope.
Already I know this.
I’m looking at the man who sired me.
And he’s a goddamned drunk.
My gut churns with nausea.
Dad and I get him into the living room and onto the couch.
“He’s bashed his forehead pretty bad. He’ll have a scar for sure. At least the bleeding has stopped. He’s clotted. Get a wet rag from the kitchen.”
