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She nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’m looking forward to… all the praying… there.”
Birdie wanted to face-plant into her palms on her daughter’s behalf.
“Good. My mom was afraid you wouldn’t want to go. You know, because of your grandparents and all.”
Birdie’s insides felt like they were melting as the blood drained from her body.
Mia merely moved her head in some sort of pseudo-nodding circular motion. “Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I’m totally going.”
“Good,” he said, unaware of the bomb he had just dropped between Birdie and her lit fuse of a daughter. “See you there.”
Mia’s head turned toward Birdie in a rapid, unearthly way. “What was he talking about? Was that about their accident?”
Angus spoke up, grabbing his jacket. “This might be best discussed in private.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Mia said, staring at Birdie with the heat of a thousand flares. “What is Oliver talking about, Mom?”
Birdie grabbed her purse. “Angus is right. This should be a private discussion.”
That half the town wouldn’t overhear.
“Fine,” Mia conceded, probably more curious than angry, if that were possible.
They drove back to the station. Once inside, Angus sat on a stool in the corner, as the blow-up bed and linens were still on the floor in disarray.
Mia touched the top sheet and comforter and looked at Birdie with pinched eyebrows. “Why is dad’s blow-up mattress and his sheets and comforter here?”
Birdie’s head was spinning. Who would’ve thought Mia would recognize her dad’s bedding? Jesus, the hits just kept on coming.
“We can address that later.”
Mia shook her head, as realization seemed to have struck. “Omigod, are you and Dad having sex?”
“Okay, let’s discuss one thing at a time.”
“Tell me the truth, Mom. Are you screwing my dad?”
“Mia,” Angus belted. “‘Haud yer wheest and let yer ma talk.”
Birdie twisted her fingers in front of her.
“Your father and I have become… reacquainted.”
Mia’s hands flew up in the air. “You just couldn’t let me have this, could you? Couldn’t let me have Dad without making it all about you.”
Birdie’s heart caved inside her chest. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I can’t believe it,” Mia said, as if talking to herself, shaking her head back and forth.
“Can’t believe what? That I would have feelings for your dad? Really? You find that hard to believe?”
But Mia was in a rage, her arms twisted and tied to her front. “I don’t want to talk about Dad anymore. Tell me about my grandparents.”
Birdie nodded, not sure where to begin. “Your grandparents weren’t altogether… normal.”
Mia eyebrows went up. “What do you mean?”
“They were very religious. No, that’s not right. They were fanatically religious,” Birdie explained. “My mother convinced my father to drink cyanide in some spiritual kind of sacrifice, and basically they killed themselves.”
