Page 8 of Whiskey Wednesdays

Around lunchtime, I needed a break so I grabbed my longboard and headed out for a ride on a nice wide asphalt trail outside the apartment complex. I found a good playlist, and just asphalt surfed and listened to music.

Later that afternoon as I wondered where to put the last few miscellaneous odds and ends, Dad called.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then sighed. “Isabella, I’m at the main house with Connor McCoy and his brother, Noah.”

The mention of their names made my hackles rise.

“Are you all right? Do you need me to come get you?”

“No sweetheart, but thanks for offering.” I could hear a smile in his voice. He used to say the same thing to me when I was young and I’d call him.

“Mr. McCoy’s house was robbed early this morning.”

“Oh no! Is everyone all right?”

My dad paused again. “Everyone’s fine. It wasn’t a forced entry. Isa, Noah is accusing you. I’m sorry. I never would have had you come here if I’d known this would happen.”

I knew in my gut Noah was trying to set me up.

“Dad, are you in the same room with them?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I sat on the couch. “Okay. What do they want?”

“Connor asked that you come to the house.”

“Do you want me to come?”

He sighed. “No, but I think it would be better to address this head-on.”

I laid my head on the back of the couch and looked up at my water-stained, popcorn ceiling. “Later today when you’re alone, call me so we can talk freely. I’m not coming today. Tell them they’ll have to wait until tomorrow evening.”

“Alright. I’ll let them know.”

“I have a meeting with my supervising pediatrician tomorrow at the clinic. But if Mr. McCoystillhasn’t pulled his head out of his ass by then, I’ll come by.”

“Okay, Isa.” I could hear a little humor in his voice. He knew I had a fierce temper and could be stubborn.

“You can also tell your stupid boss if he calls the police, feel free to give the officers my phone number.”

“If it comes up, I’ll tell him,” he replied. He probably didn’t want to give Connor any ideas.

“Dad, I want you to quit,” I blurted out.

He sounded tired. “Right now, I do too.”

“You don’t need the job, and I bet my landlord would work with me.” I hoped I was right, but I’d pay rent on two apartments for the next six months if I had to.

When he didn’t respond, I kept going. “We could rent a bigger place together, and you could golf and just enjoy the nice weather. Be retired.”

He puffed out a breath. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I need to stay for some reason.”

I rubbed my forehead and held in my objections. “Call me when you can talk. I love you. Don’t worry.” I hung up, and had the sudden violent urge to throw my phone against the wall.

Early Monday evening, I drove into the estate and parked in the driveway of the main house. If I was being summoned for this meeting, then I’d park in Connor’s driveway and walk through that asshole’s front door with my head high.

My dad and I had talked on the phone yesterday evening for over an hour. The conversation was mostly me trying to talk him into quitting. He finally promised he would think about it. Probably to shut me up.

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