She threw a chip at me. “
Don
’
t be a smart mouth.”
I picked the chip off my shirt and tossed it in the garbage. “
Look, I
’
m not asking what went on with Mags and Jack. I
’
ve given up. I
’
ll probably never know. I just want to know...”
I pic
ked up my water and put it down again. “
What he was like, I guess. What kind of man he was.”
Vera studied me for a minute, then sighed. “
He was a nice man.”
“
Nice
? Nice how? Was he kind to animals and small children? Did he tip big at restaurants? Did he g
ive blood? What?”
Vera
’
s eyes glanced over toward the door as though checking for Mags, and then darted back to me. She grabbed a chip. “
He was smart. He loved classical music. He read a lot. He was really into Shakespeare. You know he was the one who cam
e
up with your name, from that play...”
“
Merchant of Venice,
I know.”
That was one of the small bits of information I
’
d gleaned from Mags. I looked at Vera impatiently. She tossed the chip down and wiped her hands with a napkin.
“
He liked boats and the wate
r. He used to take you down to the pond out off River Road to teach you to swim.”
A small smile crept over her face. “
He
’
d bring you back all wrapped up in a towel and beaming. He said you were the best little swimmer that Catoosa County would ever see.”
I
grabbed my tonic and took a sharp sip, blinking my eyes. It was the first compliment I
’
d ever gotten from my father, and it cut through me harder than any insult I
’
d ever received.
“
I knew we shouldn
’
t be talking about this,”
Vera said quietly as she watc
hed me wipe at my eyes. There was a long silence. Then,
quietly
, “
He loved you very much. I know he did.”
“
Oh, really?”
I felt the anger surge through me, and I knew none of it was Vera
’
s fault, but I turned a sharp look on her anyway. “
Then why
’
d he leave
?”
Vera sighed and bit her lip, but didn
’
t say anything. I got up and shot my water bottle into the garbage.
“
You know,”
I said after a moment of staring at the back of the computer monitor, “
I understand why Bev
’
s not talking. That
’
s just Bev. And Mags was born clueless and will always stay that way.”
Vera looked up at me over her half-moon reading glasses. I met her eyes dead-on.
“
What really gets me is that you
’
re the one who
’
s supposed to know better.”
I left without looking at he
r and sneaked out the back way so that Bev and Mags wouldn
’
t see I was upset. As long as we were keeping secrets, maybe I
’
d start keeping a few of my own.
“
Well, if Mags found him, I probably can. You
’
d be amazed at what you can find on the Internet.”
Beau
ji adjusted herself again on her couch, then pushed into the top of her bulging stomach. “
Foot out of the ribs, kid,”
she grumbled.
I sighed and leaned my head back on her big, fluffy couch. “
I don
’
t know.”
“
Look, just give me everything you know about him
and I
’
ll do what I can. Just because I get his number doesn
’
t mean you have to dial it.”
I sat forward. She had a point. And it was a sure bet that she wouldn
’
t let up until I agreed. I grabbed a pen and a notepad from the coffee table and jotted down eve
rything I knew about my father.
Lyle Jackson Tripplehorn.
Born February 28th, 1937, in Hastings, Tennessee.
I handed the sheet to Beauji. She read it and sighed, then tossed it on the coffee table. “
Okay. That
’
s settled.”
She paused, cocking her head to th
e side as she watched me. “
So...how are things with the Brit?”
“
When is that damn baby due, anyway?”
“
Eight days. Don
’
t change the subject. It
’
s rude. How goes it with Sir Ian?”
“
Fine, no thanks to you.”
She waved her wrist at me. “
Oh, please. If it wasn
’
t
for me, you two would still be doing the is-you-is-or-is-you-ain
’
t-my- baby shimmy.”
I fought a smile. “
How do you know we
’
re not?”
“
Because I can read your face like a damn newspaper.”
She reached over and picked up her ice water. “
So, spill it, girl. Wh
at
’
s going on?”
I looked at my watch. “
We have an official date in three hours and twenty-two minutes.”
“
Great. I like him. You know”—
she bit her lip
—”
I think he
’
s a really good guy.”
I glanced up at Beauji. Her face was the picture of sincerity. Her face
was never the picture of sincerity. An alarm in my head went off. “
What
’
s going on?”
She sighed and paused, watching me. Finally, she came out with it.
“
He told you he
’
s divorced, right?”
“
Yeah,”
I said slowly. “
How did you know?”
She waved her hand at me
dismissively. “
I figured he did. I mean, most people are divorced, right?”
She gave me a tight smile. I sat up straighten There was more.
“
What did you find out?”
“
Nothing. I just...I looked him up on the Internet. I was just curious about him.”
She pointed to a folded-up piece of paper sitting on the coffee table. “
I personally don
’
t think it
’
s a big deal. But I know you will.”
I reached over and grabbed the paper and opened it. It was a printout of an article about Ian from
People
magazine.
Spy
Master Thrills Booksellers,
the headline read. I glanced up at her.
“
Second paragraph from the bottom,”
she sighed. I turned my eyes back to the article.
Ebullient and gracious during the discussion on craft, Alistair Barnes clams up when asked about his
personal life. Although he won
’
t comment on his divorce three years ago, he did confirm that he hadn
’
t seen his ex-wife since she was hospitalized in Seattle for complications from childbirth just before the split.
I folded up the paper and tossed it back
onto the coffee table, trying to maintain a normal breathing rhythm. I clasped my hands together over my knee, disgusted with myself that they were shaking.
“
I
’
m sorry, Portia,”
she said. “
I shouldn
’
t have shown it to you. I just didn
’
t feel right knowing
something you didn
’
t know.”
Wish more people felt that way,
I thought. “
No, you did the right thing.”
Beauji skimmed her hand over her head. “
I
’
m a horrible friend.”
She had tears in her eyes. I remembered a story Davey had told me about how she cried for
an hour when the pizza guy brought ham instead of pepperoni, and decided to tread carefully. “
What are you talking about?”
She reached behind her and pulled a tissue out of the box on the end table. “
You really like this guy and I
’
ve ruined it. I confronte
d him on the hair-tucking thing and totally embarrassed you
—
Davey reamed me a new one for that, let me tell you. And now I
’
ve shown you this.”
She motioned to the printout on the coffee table and blew her nose. “
I keep ruining your life.”
“
You
’
ve hardly ru
ined my life,”
I said.
She reached over and grabbed my hand. “
You know my intentions are good, right? You know I
’
m just insane because I
’
m about to have a baby, right? On a normal day, I
’
m okay, right?”
“
Beau, you
’
re fine.”
I patted her hand. “
Thank you fo
r being concerned, but it
’
s really not a big deal.”
She laughed and wiped at her eyes, then squeezed my fingers. “
Portia, don
’
t let this ruin anything. I
’
d feel horrible if I ruined everything for you.”
I shook my head. “
You haven
’
t ruined anything.”
Her e
yes darted over my face. “
So...you
’
re still going to see him tonight?”
“
Sure,”
I said, running my hands over my legs. “
Yeah. Why not?”
“
It was three years ago, Portia. And you don
’
t know what happened.”
“
Am I arguing with you?”
“
I like this guy,”
she said.
“
He
’
s good people. I can tell. I mean, how many guys would put up with a cranky pregnant lady knocking down their door at the crack of dawn?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “
I know of only one.”
I took a drink of water, tried to squelch the sinking feeling i
n my gut.
“
He
’
s not like your father.”
I smiled as brightly as I could. “
You
’
re right. He
’
s not.”
Beauji sighed and took another drink from her water. “
Don
’
t tell Davey, but I think he
’
s right about me minding my own damn business.”
I stepped back and look
ed at myself in my full-length mirror. I
’
d pulled my hair back in a twist, done the natural-but-glowing makeup routine, and slipped into a semi-clingy red dress that Beauji loaned me with wistful eyes.
I sighed, pushing away thoughts of a wife and baby sitting alone in a hospital room.
“
Just because he left the wife doesn
’
t mean he left the baby,”
I told my reflection. “
Give him a chance. Don
’
t assume anything.”
Hell, it might even be why he was here in
the States, to be closer to his kid. I
’
d only known him a few weeks. There was plenty of time to find out what really happened.
“
It
’
s nothing,”
I said, pointing a scolding finger at myself “
It
’
s not a big deal. Do not overreact.”
I pulled on a smile. A lit
tle wine and some time in Ian
’
s company, and I was sure it would grow more genuine. I walked out into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water, debating on whether I should wash the piling dishes or not.