Page 57 of Confessions

As he eased his bulk into a worn red vinyl booth of his favorite restaurant, the Buckeye, he looked at his daughter. “Heard you been working for Monroe’s attorney.”

Nadine was flabbergasted. “How’d you hear that?”

“This is a small town, missy. Bad news travels fast.”

“Aunt Velma!”

“So it is true. Keerist A’mighty!” He swiped a big hand over his forehead. “What the hell do ya think you’re doin’, Nadine?”

“Dad, relax.”

The waitress brought them plastic-encased menus, but they ordered without even glancing at the special of the day. “I heard Hayden’s already taken over the house on the lake,” her father said, once they were alone again. “Probably couldn’t wait to get his hands on his old man’s money.”

“You hear a lot,” she said, the muscles in her back tightening defensively.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s true—about him being there. Or at least he was. But I don’t think he’s interested in the money.”

“Everyone’s interested in money. You, me, your ma. Everyone. Hayden ain’t any different, so don’t you be puttin’ him up for sainthood.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said dryly.

“So he’s at the house where you’re working?”

“He was.”

“Keerist!”

“It’s a job, Dad,” she said, though the lie tripped on her tongue. “Nothing more.”

His green eyes, so like hers, sparked with disbelief. He looked about to say something more, thought better of it and played with the cellophane wrapper on a pack of crackers. The waitress brought their lunches—a bowl of soup and a chili burger for her father and a patty-melt with coleslaw for her. She was halfway through her sandwich when he asked, “Heard from your ma lately?”

Nadine’s heart squeezed when she noticed the carefully disguised pain on his face. “Not recently.”

His gray brows lifted a fraction, but he didn’t say a word. They talked about everything and nothing, starting with the weather and ending with a rather heated discussion on how she should raise her boys.

By the time her father had paid the check, a ritual

he insisted upon though Nadine paid half the cost of his rent each month, she slipped him the letter from Ben. A smile played upon his features as he read the contents of the letter. “He’ll be back soon.”

“In time for Christmas.”

“Well, that’s something to celebrate.” He tried to hand the letter back to Nadine, but she slid it into the breast pocket of his wool jacket.

“You keep it, Dad,” she insisted.

Outside the restaurant, the weather was cool. A pale sun pierced through the clouds, but the November wind was harsh as it tugged at Nadine’s hair and brought color to her father’s cheeks. Stiffly, her father slid into the front seat of her Chevy. She drove the few blocks to his apartment and stopped. Before he stepped out of the car, he turned to Nadine. “God gave you more than your share of brains, missy. If you use them you’ll know that Hayden Monroe is trouble. Just like his old man.”

“Dad.” She touched him lightly on the arm to restrain him, and her heart was suddenly in her throat. She hated to ask the question preying upon her mind, but had to know the truth. “Hayden told me that his father paid you money. Five thousand dollars. To make sure that I would drop out of his life.” A denial seemed about to form on her father’s lips, so she added, “Hayden saw the check years ago and looked into the company books a few days ago.”

“That son of a bitch!” Her father swore angrily and stared through the windshield to the rambling retirement complex he’d called home for two years.

“Dad?”

George let out an angry sigh. “Garreth paid me back some of the money I invested with him—a small part. I gave him nearly fifty thousand dollars, all our savings and the equity we had in the house at the time, and all I got back was five grand.” He looked down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. “Your mother called me a fool and she was right. When I finally got the check from Garreth, I handed over the money to her. I figured it was hers. Some of that money went to your education in that boarding school.” He blinked suddenly, and his face seemed to age twenty years. “It broke Donna’s heart, y’know, and broke us up. That investment with the Monroes was the beginning of the end.” He shoved open the car door and eased himself out. “I can’t really blame her, I suppose. Stan Farley has a huge farm in Iowa and he could give her everything she wanted.” He glanced at his daughter as they walked up the cement path to the front door of his studio apartment. “Is she happy?”

Nadine nodded because she couldn’t trust her voice. A searing pain still burned deep in her heart. Donna Powell Farley had found contentment with another man, over three hundred acres and two children who were not much older than her grandchildren. Stan Farley was a stable man, a decent man, a man whose finances were secure.