Page 37 of Monk
It might not be a good thing, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing either.
Chapter Fifteen
Kasey
“This is a fine meal. Delicious,” my dad says.
“Thanks,” I reply. “I thought it might be nice for you to come home to a nicely cooked dinner. I imagine it’s been a little while.”
He nods and takes another bite of the pot roast I’ve made. My dad is a traditional meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, and though I ought to have made him something a little more unique and gourmet, I know he prefers more basic fare.
“So, where were you last night?” he asks.
“Went out. Getting reacquainted with the town.”
“That so?”
“Yep,” I reply. “That’s so.”
He takes another bite and chews thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine. My stomach tightens like it did whenever he would question me like this back when I was a kid. There’s just something in his eyes and the tone of his voice that makes it feel less like normal conversation, and more like an interrogation posing as casual small talk.
“See anybody while you were out getting reacquainted with the town?” he inquires.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin then set it down on the table. I already know where he’s going with this, and it’s not exactly the argument I want to be having right now. I’ve spent the entire day trying to not think about last night simply because it’s left me so damn confused and twisted up inside. Last night did not go how I’d expected it to go.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to just come right out and ask what it is you want to know. I’m not some criminal you need to play word games with, in the hopes of tripping them up to get a confession out of them,” I snap at him.
He takes another bite, his gaze still locked onto mine as he chews. “Force of habit, I guess. But my question still stands.”
My hands ball themselves into fists and I grit my teeth, knowing what’s about to come. But I’m not a sixteen-year-old girl anymore. I’m a grown woman and can make my own decisions.
Yeah, and look how well that worked out with your whole murderous-cartel-employed husband, the little voice in the back of my mind mocks me.
Ruthlessly quashing that voice, I turn my gaze to my dad who is looking back at me like I am actually one of those criminals he expects to lie to him. If this is what the crooks he interrogates feel like, I suddenly feel a pang of sympathy for them. It’s a stark reminder that my dad has eyes and ears everywhere around here. One of the perks of being the sheriff, I suppose.
“Yes, Dad. I saw Jacob last night. I didn’t even know he was in town and ran into the other day,” I confirm what he obviously already knows.
“Uh-huh,” he says as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And why’d you do that? He ain’t cause you enough misery for one lifetime already?”
Picking up my fork, I push the food around my plate, silently counting to ten as I try to rein in my anger, trying to tell myself that my dad is simply looking out for me. He bore the brunt of my emotions when Jacob left, and when things weren’t good around here. But the truth of the matter is that he hasn’t liked Jacob from day one and was glad when he left.
“He wanted to explain and apologize for what happened… back then,” I say.
“Apologizing” might be a generous description of what actually happened, but I’m going to give Jacob the benefit of the doubt.
“I don’t want you seein’ him, He’s bad news. He’s always been bad news,” he grumbled.
“Not that I’m planning on seeing him, but you haven’t liked him from the start. You never even gave him a chance.”
He shrugs. “Man comes from a family like that, he ain’t gonna turn out any different. And he hasn’t. You’ve seen the crowd he runs with now.”
“He’s nothing like his parents. He never was,” I argue.
My dad smirks and shakes his head. “You’ve always defended that boy.”
“Because everybody has always assumed the worst of him. Nobody ever gave him a chance because of who his parents are.”
“‘The apple don’t fall far from the tree’ is an old sayin’ for a reason. I hauled his folks in on more drug and domestic violence charges than I can count,” he says, as if that somehow settles the discussion.
