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This situation differed in that Dad had been the one to sever ties, and at the time, no kids were involved. My father’s side hadn’t been a part of my life. Ever. They had been a distant thought as I’d made the long drive. Coal Haven was where my dad’s family was from, but I’d lived in a town with more than a million people for over ten years. Long enough to forget what it was like to run into someone I knew at the gas station or while grabbing milk.
The chances of running into someone I didn’t want to in Dallas were almost zero, and I preferred it that way. Coal Haven had what? Less than three thousand people? Better odds.
What would Dad think about me running into Cameron? And if I met everyone else? Dad had nieces and nephews here. Did he know about them? Uncle Cameron knew about me and Ansen. Did that make him more or less approachable? “I don’t know, honestly. Do you want them to meet me?”
The muscles on each side of Cameron’s jaw flexed. Was he upset? “I think the younger generation should decide for themselves.”
He had a point. I took out my phone. “What’s your number? I can let you know when I’m free.”
If I decided to rattle my life any more than my wife already had.
He recited his phone number, tipped his head, and left.
I avoided eye contact with anyone else in the place and sat in a booth. An older server gave me a kind smile as she slid a plastic menu in front of me. “What can I get you to drink?”
For the curves life had thrown at me today, I’d need the good stuff. Anything but beer. “A Ballantine’s on the rocks, please.”
Her mouth puckered. “A what?”
“Ballantine’s. Scotch?”
“Oh, scotch on the rocks?”
“Do you have Ballantine’s?”
She scratched her cheek with the tip of her pen. “Uh, I can ask.”
I was going to ask for whatever top-shelf scotch they had, but that was too close to being as undiscerning as Dad when it came to alcohol. “Just water is fine.”
Her face crinkled with her smile. “Water on the rocks?”
I chuckled despite my sour mood. “Sounds perfect.”
“Know what you want to eat?”
My room service from the morning had burned off hours ago. The eggs Benedict had been made to perfection, but the amount of food that had been delivered didn’t fit the amount on the price tag. As much as I tried to shake the habit of determining whether what I spent my money on was worth it, I often fell back on habits that had served me well as a broke college student.
I’d have to watch that. I had enough money that I didn’t have to worry about a roof over my head or check the prices of what I ate. “Do you have Wagyu beef?”
She attacked her cheek with her pen again. “Is that like Angus?”
Just two hundred dollars more a pound, give or take. I glanced at the menu and tried to find something that wouldn’t remind me of my childhood. No soup, no canned vegetables, and no discount meat. “Prime rib sandwich?”
“We’ve got that.” She scribbled on her notepad. “Anything else?”
She had no idea what a loaded question that was. “Actually, yes. Can you tell me if there’s a hotel in town where I can get a room?”
