Page 39 of Mail Order Bride: A Psychological Thriller

“I dig graves.”

“Oh, yeah?” he says. “That pay well?”

“I can't complain.”

Gina’s dad only responds with a coughing fit so bad he doubles over, gripping his bulging belly. When he finally catches his breath, he turns to face me. He has a pained expression, and his eyes are watery and red. I instantly realize something is seriously wrong with him.

“Daddy, you okay?” Gina asks, throwing a dishtowel on the counter.

I see Gina’s dad looking at me. It is almost like he is lookingintome, like he is trying to read me. “I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is strained.

“Joel lives on a lake, Daddy. He has land; he farms.”

Gina’s father looks past me then, and it feels like he is looking into my soul. He takes a step toward me, and then another. By the time he is a foot away, he is glaring at me, his eyes burning a hole right through me. He has a look of disgust on his face, like I’ve somehow done something to him. I can see the veins in his neck bulging, and his fists are clenched at his sides.

But then he just smiles at me again. A smile that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It is a yellow-toothed smile. It is a leering smile. It is a smile that says,“I know you want to fuck my daughter. I know what you want to do with her, to her. And it ain't gonna happen.”

I’ve always prided myself on being a man in control of myself. This guy’s smile has me scared shitless, and it is only for a second. I do my best to not let him think he is getting to me.

“Food's ready,” Gina calls, catching everyone’s attention.

“Smells good, princess,” her father says, eyeing the spread. “Looks good, too.”

I help Gina clear the table. There are boxes scattered about, and photos, a lot of photos, but only one in a frame. “My mother,” Gina says, holding it up for me to see.

“She's pretty. You favor her.”

“Why don't you ask where she's at?” her father coughs. The light in Gina's eyes dies a little bit when her father mentions her mother. It's like she's holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable pain that comes with talking about her. I can see it in her face, the way she clenches her jaw and looks down at the table. I can see it in the way her father's eyes harden when he talks about his wife. There's a lot of anger there, and a lot of pain. And I can't help but feel a little sorry for both of them.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m sure you’re dying to know.”

I shrug. I’ll bite. Even if I know the outcome, I’ll let the old man have what he wants. “Where's she at?”

Gina looks away.

“Prison,” her father says, stabbing at the butter. “Well, she used to be, anyway. She’s dead now.”