Page 82 of Minted

I wouldn’t count on it, buster.

“Maybe just order a pizza,” I say over my shoulder as we walk back toward the parking lot.

“Is that the kind of food you’ve been feeding them?” Patrick shakes his head. “Not a very balanced diet.”

Why is it that the people who are the very worst at caring for the people they should love are the most critical of the people doing a good job? My hand’s literally twitching to teach him some manners, but I’m pretty sure it’s not time yet. “What kind of food do you like?” I ask. “I’m happy to take you to get soup and salad anywhere you’d like.”

He scoffs. “Steak. Steakhouses have nice salads, right?”

“Sure,” I say.

I drive to the Benjamin Steakhouse, since it’s close, but I almost hate taking him here. “How about this?”

“It looks alright.” He straightens his shoulders like he’s a part of the royal family. “I suppose it’ll do.”

He doesn’t ask about the girls. He doesn’t tell me where he’s been. He doesn’t say anything at all, except to criticize the floors, the lighting, and the tables. But once we have menus, he peruses his, sets it down, and steeples his hands.

“I hear my girls been making lots of money for you lately.”

That takes me by surprise. “They haven’t made a dime for me,” I say. “And I know for a fact that Barbara isn’t taking any money from them either.”

He leans toward me. “Then where—”

But the waiter shows up. We place our orders—he gets the biggest filet on the menu, with two extra sides and two desserts. It’s clear that he’s not planning to pay.

“Alright, when the waiter came, you had a question for me.”

“Yes. I want to know where all the money they’re getting paid is going, if you aren’t taking it.”

I lean back in my chair. “They’re paid for the promos they do on their Insta page, and I think they were paid fairly well for the commercial they did.”

“I seen it. That’s a big gum company, so I know they paid real good.”

“You haven’t seen your girls for at least three years.”

“But they’re good girls, and I’m their dad.”

“Yes, I know that both things are true.” Miraculously. They look nothing like him. “But you haven’t asked me how they’re doing in school, or how they’re doing in tennis, and you haven’t—”

“They’re playing tennis?” He lifts his eyebrows. “Their mom played tennis in high school.”

“Yes, well, they’re doubles partners, and they’re very good at it.”

“Maybe there’s a tennis company that might want—”

“What do you want, Mr. Creecher? Why are you here?”

He smiles slowly. “I like you, Mr. Harrison. I like how you don’t beat around the bushes. You get right to the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“I got some papers from the government wanting me to sign away my rights to those girls, and at first I thought that was smart. I been worried for years that they might come after me.”

“After you?”

“The government, I mean, and when I heared that their mom passed, then I really worried.”

I’m going to do it. I’m going to punch him. “So you did hear their mother died.”

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