Page 91 of Just Trouble

Phil grins and waves. “You got it.”

I jog backwards. “See you at Merrie’s on Thursday?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Mom and I have an early dinner reservation. Merrie is going to slide us in at five, before it gets busy.”

I give him a thumbs-up, and head back to the hotel, ideas sparking like quicksilver. I need to start making lists and calls and soon.

I catchup to Sylvia’s Subaru just as she parks in front of the café. Sierra is in the passenger seat, her backpack slung into the back, and I remember Merrie saying that Sierra was going to be commuting back to Toronto each week to finish up the school year there.

“What’s up?” Sylvia asks when she gets out of the car.

“I want to talk to Sierra.”

Sylvia gives me a look. “I told her already.”

“I figured that, but I want to tell her something, too.”

Sylvia looks between us, undoubtedly noting that Sierra looks disinclined to listen to me, and heads into the café. Sierra gets out of the car with obvious reluctance, her earbuds still in.

“I don’t have to talk to you,” is her opener.

“No, you don’t.”

She is as prickly as a hedgehog. Her expression is mutinous and she’s poised to flee. She doesn’t want to talk to me and that message is received, loud and clear. “So, you’re not my dad after all.”

“Nope.” I come around the car and lean on the front quarter panel while she glares at me.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but I believe your mom.”

Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why aren’t you sure?”

“Do you really want me to give you a TED talk on the perils of excess alcohol consumption?”

That makes her smile, grudgingly, but I’ll call it a win. “No.”

She’s not satisfied, though, and I get it. “I’ll take a paternity test if you want to be sure.”

“You would?”

I nod and she studies me intently. It’s so weird to see an echo of myself in her, all the defiance and fury. I really want to make her story different from mine, though I’m not sure how to do that.

“Why?” she demands.

“Sometimes it’s good to know things, even if it isn’t going to make any difference to anything.”

“But why? If you’re not my dad, why would you care what I want?”

“Well, I’m probably your uncle.”

Her lips tighten and I cede that it’s not a very compelling argument. You don’t believe in the power of family when half of your kin would like you to vanish from the face of the earth.

I try to save it. “More importantly than that, I know what it’s like to grow up in Empire, looking like a Cavendish but not being acknowledged as a Cavendish.” She peers at me then, intrigued despite herself. “I’m the one person here who knows what it will be like for you, and so, I think it would be good for us to be friends.”

“Friends?” Ah, the lip curl is so artful that I smile.

“I know. Impossible with an old man like me.”

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