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“Don’t look at me for advice on that.” Mr. Dixon carried on eating, oblivious he’d sucked all the air out of the room.
“Any word from Mrs. Quinn?” Andrew asked, successfully avoiding the topic of their mother.
Mr. Dixon set down his fork. “No. And I still don’t want to talk about it.”
“I went by the shelter today.” One corner of Trish’s mouth turned up in sympathy. “She looks miserable.”
He slumped in his chair. “I did what was best for both of us, so no one gets hurt.”
Marlow reached across the table, her palm up. Mr. Dixon placed his hand in hers. “You’re already hurt. Tell her you’re sorry and an idiot.”
He frowned. “How do you know I was an idiot?”
She shifted uncomfortably before lifting her chin. “You’re a man. Translation: you do stupid things.”
“I hate it when she’s right,” Andrew grumbled.
“I miss her.” Mr. Dixon looked down.
“Dad, if we’d messed up, you’d tell us to apologize.” Andrew reached for Trish’s hand. “You’d also tell us to forgive.”
“She’s the kindest person I’ve ever known,” I said quietly.
“Me too.” Mr. Dixon clutched his wine glass.
“Go talk to her, Dad. A phone call isn’t good enough.” Marlow patted his arm. She had a hard exterior, so this softness caught me unaware.
“Baker, would you be tremendously offended if I cut this evening short? I’m afraid if I wait, I’ll lose my courage.”
“Go. Go.” I shooed at him. “We’ll do this again sometime.”
“I’ll bring dinner,” he promised as he stood.
We all got up with him.
“Good luck, Dad.” Andrew shook his hand.
“Let us know how it goes.” Holt rounded the table and embraced his father.
“If it gets desperate, use that lady killer wink.” Marlow demonstrated for effect, and he laughed.
“I love you all.” He blew a kiss as he left.
“I hope they work it out,” I said as I grabbed my glass off the table.
“Ten bucks says he calls when he’s outside for a pep talk.”
Holt high-fived his brother. “Make it twenty.”
I refilled everyone’s wine and grabbed Holt another beer.
“Why’d you change your mind?” Marlow pinned him with a stare.
“Because I couldn’t let him down.” Holt picked at the label on his old beer.
“How long have you been talking toher?”
I shivered at the menace in his tone.
