Page 70 of Mongrels United
“He talked about you a lot,” Pete said. “He was very proud of you.”
Nash drew in another shocked breath. “We barely spoke to each other.”
“It bothered him.”
Nash shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “He was a regular for eighteen years?” he said finally. “I didn’t know he ever left the Wall District. Where did he go, here?”
“He’d walk the forest, every single morning,” Pete said. “I’d drop him at the north side and pick him up there two hours later. Like clockwork, every single day.”
Nash stared at him. “Are we talking about the same man? My father didn’t walk. He didn’t have habits, except to stay at home.”
“Every day,” Pete repeated, his tone firm. He pointed to the distant line of the forest. “There’s a redwood, the one they call the Old Man. Know it?”
“There’s a path into the forest that starts at the foot of it.”
“That’s where I dropped him.”
Nash felt winded.
Pete lifted the processing unit. “Well…”
Nash got to his feet and stepped out of the boat. His legs felt like they weren’t his. He climbed up to the apartment and at the top, in front of the door, he paused to watch the scratched hull of the taxiboat as it lifted up over the tavern, turning slowly to face toward the Palatine hub, still rising.
Nash badly wanted a drink. He wanted averybig drink. More than one. He slapped his hand on the lock plate, and pushed inside. “Clip!!”
The bot rolled toward him as he moved into the main room. “Yes, Nash?”
On the verge of telling Clip to get him his favorite get-drunk-quick liquor, Nash said, instead, “I need something to make me sleep for…” He paused and calculated how soon Grady could expect to get here. “Eight hours.” And he strode toward the bedroom. “Kill the light, Clip!”
The lights dimmed around him as he stripped and climbed into the bed, which was still rumpled from where Grady had slept beside him.
He knocked back the tablet Clip brought him, then composed himself for sleep, his thoughts chasing around endlessly.
He’d gained an understanding in the last few weeks about how little he truly knew his father. He’d even intellectually wrapped his mind around the fact that his father probably—make that almost certainly—had killed a man. Killed Nash’s other father, in fact. But this…walking among trees and bushes every single day…it showed a completely different side to the man.
What would his father have been like, without the Bellish?
Grady always reminded Nash that there was no going back and changing anything. All you could do was deal with what was in front of you right this moment. Even leaning too far into the future, wishing for it to arrive, was as useless as wailing about the past.
But right at this moment, Nash was more confused than ever about the man who had indifferently raised him.
Chapter Thirty
Luus brought Grady’s attention to the second screen he had running on his desk, showing social feeds.
It was showing the Aventine Markets. A crowd was forming around a speaker.
“Speaking your mind in the Aventine Markets has a long-standing tradition,” Grady pointed out, trying to rein in her impatience. The day was not going well. Siran had been stiffly formal with her since their conversation about Nash. Jackalyn looked harried and with no time to spare for even a quick coffee and chat.
And finding a replacement for Vasanta was proving difficult. Who really wanted a job with the major function of fetching and carrying? But it was an essential role, and the lack of someone to take care of minor details was causing headaches in the office.
“Never seen people just talking in the market before,” Luus said flatly.
“Who is it?” Grady leaned forward to examine the screen. “I don’t recognize her.”
“Ah…Camilla Lippi,” Luus said, reading off the other screen, which had a Forum profile up.
“What is she talking about? She’s drawing a big crowd.”
