Page 12 of Inside Silence

“Enough with the misplaced loyalty, Daddy. He needs to go,” I insist. “He’s a liability. I am giving him a chance to walk away with his record and his pension intact, otherwise I will be forced to take steps that will not end well for him.”

My father grabs his hat off his head, slaps it against his thigh, and gives me a dirty look as he turns on his heel and marches back toward the barn.

I figured he’d be upset, which is why I came to warn him. He’ll get over it, eventually.

When I turn around, I catch sight of Phil standing on the deck of the house, softly clapping her hands.

“Good riddance,” she says when I get closer. “Never could stand that man.”

“Dad liked him,” I offer, but she shakes her head.

“Nah, he didn’t. Not really. He just felt he owed him. But you don’t, so good for you. Your dad will get over his snit.”

“Yeah, eventually.”

“Now…I’m curious…” Phil bumps my shoulder with hers. “Who is this man you so passionately advocated for?”

Nate

* * *

I observe my daughter as she puts in her order.

Apparently, she can spare a smile for the waitress, I’d almost forgotten what that looked like.

At least she was willing to come out with me to grab a bite to eat, although she may have had an ulterior motive for agreeing to dinner with her old man. I should’ve been suspicious when she suggested the restaurant.

I spotted them the moment we walked into Bread & Butter, the local diner; that kid, Carson, and his father. I remember Hugo Alexander, but I doubt he remembers me. He was a big deal for small-town Silence back in the day. Star quarterback for the high school team before he wrecked his shoulder his first year in college. I was still in elementary school when I would sneak out on a Friday night and hide in the bleachers to watch the games, dreaming of playing ball like him one day.

What can I say, I was young and stupid, I had stars in my eyes, much like Tate does now, glancing over at Hugo Alexander’s kid. Fuck me.

“And for you?”

I turn to the waitress, who is all smiles.

“I’ll have a bacon burger with mushrooms and Swiss, and a loaded baked potato instead of fries, with a Caesar salad on the side.”

“A healthy appetite, I like it,” she comments before adding, “Can I top up your drinks?”

I’ve barely touched my iced tea and Tate still has half of her drink in front of her, and I’m definitely not in the market for whatever else she has on offer.

“We’re good.”

“All right, then I’ll get the kitchen going on your order right away.”

“Thanks.”

When she walks away, I turn to Tate, who is scrutinizing me.

“What?”

“Eww, you know she’s hitting on you, right?”

I nod. “I’d noticed. Why the ‘eww’? Think your old man is that hideous?” I joke, encouraged she is talking at all and hoping to keep the momentum going through dinner.

“No. She is,” Tate sneers, glaring over to the counter where the woman in question is talking to a colleague.

I’m surprised at her tone. Just moments ago, when she was placing her order with the waitress, she’d been smiling and friendlier than she has been with me lately. I guess that changed when the woman showed an interest in me.