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“No.” Kate’s voice was firm. “I’m afraid of what I might say. ‘Hey, so did you sleep with my father when he had a wife with a child on the way?’ Not exactly friendly girl talk.”
Jack moved a bite of his steak around on his plate. “It could have been the other way around.”
“Great! If she didn’t instigate it, my father did. He went after a teenager while my mother was home with her endless morning sickness. You should hear her tell of what she went through to bring me into the world.”
Jack was definitely wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Should he change the subject or try to fix this? But then, he always had been a fixer. He told her what he’d asked her mother about her father’s whereabouts at that time, and was glad when he saw Kate’s pretty face relax somewhat. “I know your father died when you were what? Three? What do you remember about him?”
He was glad to see her give a slight smile.
“I was four and I remember whiskers and numbers.” She smiled deeper. “Sometimes his face was baby soft and sometimes it had prickly whiskers. I thought it was a magic trick.”
“Razors aren’t magic. They’re lethal.”
“Which is why you so seldom use one?”
“Don’t have a pretty girl watching me shave.” He was referring to the one time she did watch him. “So what about you and your dad and numbers?”
“Years ago, I asked Mom about what I remembered. She said I was a precocious child and my father was teaching me arithmetic.”
“I can believe you were smart enough to learn your multiplication tables at four.”
“And words.” She began to quote. “‘Fuzzy Chain—quick to the break. Quinella wheel 5 with 1-7. $4.’” She’d started strongly but trailed off. “I haven’t thought of that since I was a kid. Confusing, right? Seems like gibberish, not the preschool arithmetic Mom said it was.”
Jack looked down at his plate. Unfortunately, he had inherited his mother’s ability to blush deeply. Combine that with his father’s darkness and he knew his face was looking like a sunburned walnut. He hoped Kate wouldn’t see it.
But of course she did. “You can’t hide from me. What is it that I remember?”
“It’s uh... The, uh...”
She loudly put down her fork, then clasped her hands as she waited for him to complete a sentence.
“The dogs.”
“Dogs?” Kate’s eyes widened as she realized what he meant. “Dog racing?”
“Yes. Greyhounds.” He lifted his head to look at her.
“My father used to read dog racing forms to me? And my mother lied about what they were?”
“Looks like it.”
She picked up her fork and went back to her scallops. “That’s a Florida sport, isn’t it?”
He knew where she was going with her question. Maybe her father did return to Florida. Maybe he’d had an affair that lasted past what could be called “brief.” Maybe—
“Your father and mine were friends. Sheriff Flynn was friends with them both. Your dad could have placed bets through them. He didn’t have to be here.”
When Kate’s eyes cleared of some of the worry, he was pleased. All in all, he’d had enough talk of what may or may not have happened so long ago.
“What are you planning to wear to the memorial service tomorrow?” As he’d hoped, the question about fashion made her smile.
“I have a black silk blouse and a black straight skirt. But maybe all black is overdoing it. What about you? Sure you don’t want to sing?”
“Very sure. How about dessert? Something with chocolate? Or they have vanilla ice cream with those tiny flecks in it.”
“From a vanilla bean. I shouldn’t.”
“We’ll order one and I’ll eat most of it. Besides, tomorrow afternoon we can go to the gym. I’ll work the calories off of you.”
