“What are you talking about?”
“My words aren’t that slurred.”
“No idea what you’re saying.” He raises a brow. “Florida?”
“I found a purchase agreement for a property in Florida that has your name listed and my mother as a coborrower.”
“Are you losing your mind too?”
“Cut the shit, Fletch,” I snap. “I heard about the union coffers. So you’re in a tight spot and coerced Deborah into helping you buy a place?”
“Someone must be talking in your ear. I don’t think that made the news out west,” he growls. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“What’s your vice?” I ask. “Gambling?”
“It’s not the same as yours, that’s for sure.” He slams hard on the brakes, causing me to jerk forward. “You’re nothing but a drunk.”
“When we had the fight in the parking lot after school that ended our friendship, why did you say my father might kill yours?”
“Because why wouldn’t your father go after mine if he’s sleeping with your mom?” He slaps his palm on the wheel.
“But what if they weren’t?” I ask. “Did you know your wife wrote my mother an apology letter before she passed?”
“No, she did not!”
“Yes, Kristin did.”
“You’re drunk and trying to start shit.” Fletch sticks his arm out the window. “Look, I know it’s not an easy time for you. Deborah’s struggling to keep it together, but that’s a blatant lie, and I’m not gonna tolerate it.”
“I read the letter. It’s in her handwriting.” I add, “And I know Kristin’s penmanship.”
“She would’ve told me,” he says defensively.
“You got together based on a lie,” I say gently. “That might’ve been a secret she felt she had to carry to the grave, at least from you.”
“You didn’t know Kristin like I did.” His voice quivers.
“Of course not,” I say. “But Nancy Guthrie said something about your mother . . .”
Fletch swerves off the road purposely, and we almost hit a ditch.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” I murmur.
“You! You’re what’s wrong. Everything turns to shit when you’re around.”
The uncomfortable silence lingers as we turn down the long driveway. I expect him to drop me off without another word, but instead, he lets the engine idle.
“If my mother hadn’t followed my father that night to the farm, she’d still be alive.” He jabs his finger angrily in the air. “There was no one else, period. Got it? All the police and fire were focused on your goddamn parents. They had the road barricaded, and my mom would be around today if she had just stayed home.”
“Wait just a second,” I object. “There was someone else there besides your mother.”
“Of course! My father.”
Slowly I shake my head, the pieces starting to fall into place. “Someone showed up earlier in the night, and I couldn’t make out who it was.”
A mosquito buzzes through the open window, and I swat at it in disgust. Waiting for him to speak, I peer out at the night sky, the twinkling stars the only road map out on the blacktop.
Hanging his head, Fletch seems troubled as he stares out the window.
“Is there something else?”
“Nah,” he says. “Well, maybe.”
I tense up, waiting.
“Have you talked to your husband?”
“No,” I sigh. “He won’t talk to me.”
“Is that so?” Miles points a finger at me. “Funny. I didn’t have any trouble getting ahold of him. In fact, ‘surprised’ doesn’t seem to accurately describe his reaction to hearing his loving and loyal wife never made it to rehab and she’s spent her time getting plastered out on the farm, stirring up trouble, a family trait.”
Unbuckling my seat belt, I ask, “How did you know?”
“You know, you shouldn’t be so careless. You left the intake papers in your unlocked car—hell, the keys were in the ignition—and his name was listed as an emergency contact. You really are a piece of work, Sibley Sawyer,” Fletch says snidely.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to go back home and take your mother with you.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother is causing trouble again.” He points to his head. “She’s sick up here, and now she’s telling people she and my dad are dating.”
“How do you know they aren’t?” I say haughtily.
“Because he’s engaged to another woman!” he explodes. “Be a good daughter and get Deborah the help she needs, Sibley.” He adds, steel in his voice, “But keep her away from my father.”
“Your dad’s engaged?” I’m flabbergasted. “Since when?”
“It’s none of your business, so get out.”
I try the door handle, but it’s locked.
“Guess this means we have time for one more question, and since dishonesty is a family trait, I’m guessing monogamy isn’t your strong suit. Did you really have an affair?”
The pointedness of his question annoys me.
“Why?” I snap. “Does it change your opinion of me?”
He retorts, “I’d just say, like mother, like daughter.”
My reaction is sudden and swift: a hard slap across his cheek. I don’t know who is more surprised, but we glower at each other, his tanned face turning fire-engine red.
Reaching a hand up, he strokes his whiskers, never diverting his eyes from mine. “That was uncalled for.”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t. Let me out.”
“Apologize,” he demands.
“Seriously?”
A sinister look pins me to the seat. “Or you could say you’re sorry in another way . . .” A hand reaches between my thighs. “When’s it gonna be my turn?”
“Jesus.” I slap his hand away. “Don’t start with me.”
“Don’t you think you owe me?”
“Is that the going rate of a ride and a fifty-dollar bill?” I spit out. “I should sleep with you?”
“Your mother never seemed to be picky when it came to men.”
“Really?” I raise my hand, and he grabs my wrist. “Your dad didn’t complain, and engaged or not, I bet he’s still coming back for more.”
His eyes bulge out of his head, his hand cutting off my circulation. “You know, I could arrest you for assaulting a cop.”
Reaching across his lap, I don’t bother answering, focused on hitting the door lock. After I stumble out, I hear Fletch gun his engine. If it were daytime, I’d see a cloud
