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“You want me to tell you Sly’s blackmailing me?”
My gaze narrows. “Is he?”
“I chose to do the right thing for a change. Apologies if that doesn’t fit your vision of me.”
“You’re lying.”
“Doesn’t matter, Silas. Not for me. But my daughter does matter. So if you think you owe me one, then it’d be stupid of me to let that favor go, considering.”
“Spoken like the man I know.”
His lip curls. “You want to help me?” He steps toward me. “Fine. Help me. Don’t let my daughter marry that son of a bitch.”
10
OPHELIA
Afew days after my dinner with the Foxes, I decide I’m going to see my father whether he wants me there or not. I can’t put off telling him about the engagement any longer. Invitations will begin going out within the week, and beyond that, I need him to explain his letter telling me to stay away.
I walk into the prison, hearing the sounds of guards calling out, of heavy metal doors clanging open or closed. The smell of the place is stale, like body odor and old food, and the thought that my father will spend the next ten years in here is too much.
I wait at the small table the guard had pointed to, jittery, anxiously bouncing my leg. At least he’s in a federal prison so the offenders aren’t violent. Or at least not as violent as they could be? I don’t know. It looks pretty bad from my perspective.
A door opens, and a guard walks into the visiting room. Following him is my father.
He stops short because he was expecting his lawyer, not me.
I stand up.
“Phee?” My father takes me in, exhales, something warring in his tired eyes. He crosses to my table.
“Dad.”
“What are you doing here? I told you not to come.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not how family works.”
The guard who brought Dad in clears his throat, and Dad glances at him. “Sit down, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart?” I repeat as we both sit.
“You lost weight, honey,” he says.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a rough few years.”
“I’m sorry about that,” he says after a deep sigh. “Hurting you is the one thing I never wanted.”
Tears well in my eyes at the sight of him like this. I reach over, put my hand on his. “That letter?” I shake my head. “I’m not abandoning you, Dad.”
Dad grits his jaw, eyes narrowing as he studies me. Anxiety builds in my belly. I can already see how he will look at me when I tell him about the engagement.
“I brought this for you,” I say, getting the photo I took from the house out of my bag.
Dad looks down at it, surprised. His head tilts to the side, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips. He traces Mom’s face.
“I thought the movers had packed it up and taken it. Best case scenario.”
I shake my head. “I’d put it away.”
