Page 68 of Don't Bet On It
“When was the last time you saw your mother?” she asked as she watched me get my tray ready at the start of my shift. I’d been hopeful that I would miss her today since I’d started later than normal. That wasn’t in the cards, however.
I shrugged. “Why does that matter?” I didn’t meet her gaze. It wasn’t by design but was simply a defense mechanism.
“I’m curious.” Candy lifted her finger toward the bartender. She’d been a frequent-enough visitor that he knew to get her an iced tea.
“It’s been a year or so.” I shoved a pen into my apron pocket. Normally, I didn’t need to write down orders. Sometimes, if the group was big enough, it was necessary.
“And where does she live now?”
“Shadow Mountain.”
Candy looked momentarily confused.
“It’s a mobile home park on East Vegas Valley.”
“Oh.” Was Candy surprised by that news? She looked it. “That means she’s not very far away.”
“Not nearly far enough,” I agreed.
Her perfectly manicured eyebrows hopped. “You don’t want to see her?”
“Nope.” I grabbed my tray and started toward the table in the corner, hoping against hope that Candy wouldn’t follow me. I wasn’t that lucky.
“Have you considered talking to her long enough to get some closure?”
I made a face. “I already have closure.”
“So you sat down with her and aired all of your grievances?”
“It’s not Festivus.”
She ignored the jab. “It’s a question. All I’m looking for is an honest answer.”
I was at the end of my rope. “I told her the last time I saw her that it would be the last time. I have no inclination to seek her out so I can tell her that again.”
“And she doesn’t try to seek you out?”
I shrugged. “She might if she knew where to find me. She doesn’t put in the effort to look.”
“I see.” We walked past Ronan, who had an empty table and was busy cleaning the felt while steadfastly avoiding looking in our direction. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to be drawn into Candy’s net.
She was not to be deterred.
“Ronan, when was the last time you saw your father?” Candy asked.
Ronan looked taken aback to be addressed by the therapist. She largely ignored him. “Um, a couple weeks ago.”
“Do you talk to him on the phone regularly?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Candy stopped walking and gave him her full attention. “You don’t miss him?”
Ronan snorted, then caught himself. “Oh, you’re being serious.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t miss him. I’ve found my life is better if we spend large stretches of time apart from one another.”
“I see.” Candy said in such a way that I pitied Ronan. She was now focused on him. “What about your mother?”
“I talk to my mother Sunday mornings,” he replied. “Ten o’clock in the morning, unless I have an early shift for some reason, which is rare. Then we normally skip that week.”
