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“Still.” Ricki leans forward, dropping a hand on the back of my chair. “You’ve known him for fifteen years, and hey, we turn twelve soon. If he gave you a car, what do you think he’ll get us?”

“Oh, stop,” Nikki says.

“You’re not worried that the sky will fall if something good happens?” I’m teasing them, but I’m actually really happy that they’ve stopped being so nervous about good fortune. “I’m really glad you both like him.”

“I do,” Nikki says. “But even so, maybe I’m a little nervous.”

“Nothing bad happened after Christmas,” I say. “You have nothing to worry about.” As I say that, I feel a little twinge of fear. Alice hasn’t sent the paperwork from their dad yet, but she said he hasn’t shown the least bit of interest in coming out here, so I’m sure it’s fine.

They have nothing to worry about, and neither do I, I remind myself.

But when we walk up the sidewalk to the apartment, there’s a man waiting for us at the door. He’s pacing, and he looks. . .nervous. “Hello?” I ask.

“No.” Ricki stops moving, balling up her hands at her side. She drops her tennis bag on the ground.

Nikki ducks behind me without a word, crouching over. Her whimper is so quiet that I barely hear it.

“Hey girls,” the man says. “It’s so good to see you again. Thanks to a bit of luck, Daddy’s finally home.”

16

Bentley

I’m not a violent person.

In fact, in more than forty years, I’ve only punched someone else on three occasions, outside of a sparring ring. That’s not never, but given the sheer number of obnoxious jerks I’ve met in my life, I feel like it shows that I know how to exercise restraint. One of them was actually trying to steal a woman’s purse, so I feel like that one doesn’t really count.

When I follow Barbara home, there’s a strange man waiting. A man with a combover—which is something I didn’t think anyone did anymore—and very shiny, very hard looking shoes.

“Looks like the new car drives alright,” I say as I walk toward Barbara’s apartment, slowly.

“It was great,” Barbara says, but she doesn’t turn to face me. She’s staring at the man like he’s a viper, poised to strike.

Both of the girls are hiding behind her too, which isn’t a good sign. Nikki’s literally right behind Barbara, her head ducked down so no part of her shows other than her sneakers. And Ricki’s glaring at the man from over Barbara’s shoulder.

“That shiny new blue one?” the man asks. “Was it a gift?”

“It was a gift,” I say, “from her boyfriend.” I hold out my hand. “Bentley Harrison.”

“I’m Patrick Creecher, Nicole and Racquel’s dad.”

“Racquel?” I turn to look at Ricki.

“I hate that name,” she says.

“Oh, come now,” Patrick says. “That’s my mother’s name.”

“She was worse than you,” Ricki says, her eyes flashing. “Why are you here?”

“Apparently you need to be taught a few lessons in respect,” the man says.

A very strong urge comes over me then, to punch my fourth man. “How about you teach me some lessons?” I jerk my thumb back at my car. “And I’ll buy you some dinner while you do it.”

“I’m not here to talk to you,” he says. “I’m here to talk to my girls.”

“I see that,” I say. “But I think you’ll want to talk to me first.”

The man grimaces, sliding his hand over the top of his head and pushing his very thin, very greasy hairs to the side to tuck them behind his ear. “Fine.” He turns. “But then I want to see my girls. They better be ready to give their old man a big hug and kiss when we get back.”

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