“Does it show?”
“I’m in love!”
“You’re too young,” I said, instinctively.
“Oh, Father,” she said. “I’m a junior in High School.”
“That’s young. Anyway, you’re not a junior until next semester.”
“A technicality,” she said, “seeing as how school starts in ten days.”
I sighed.
“His name’s Charlie,” she said.
“Please tell me it’s not Charlie Manson.”
On the other end of the phone, in Darnell, West Virginia, my daughter giggled.
We spent the next fifteen minutes talking about books we’d read, music we liked, and summer vacations we hoped to take someday. I asked her how serious her relationship with Charlie was, and she changed the subject.
“Has Mom called you?” she said.
“Not recently.”
“She will.”
I groaned. “What now?”
“She found out about Kathleen. Her friend, Amy, told her.”
I knew it had to happen. Several months ago, my ex-wife, Janet, had been engaged to the former wife beater, Ken Chapman. In the course of discouraging Janet from marrying the jerk, I met and fell in love with Ken’s former wife, Kathleen.
“Dad?”
“Still here, kitten.”
I wondered how much Janet knew about Kathleen. Did she know only that I was dating the ex-wife of her former fiance? Or had she somehow learned that the woman who came to Janet’s home and identified herself as Ken’s ex was actually a hooker I’d hired to pose as Kathleen; a hooker who lied about being beaten up by Ken Chapman.
Whatever Janet knew, however angry she might be, it had been worth it. I’d prevented the marriage. I knew first-hand about Janet’s ability to push a man’s buttons. With his history of violence, Ken Chapman probably would have killed her.
Kimberly sensed I was distracted. “Did you hear what I said?”
“You said Mom knows about Kathleen and she’s going to call me.”
“That was earlier. Just now I asked if you and Kathleen were living together.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Dad, why is it that when you talk about Charlie it’s all cut and dried, but when I talk about Kathleen it’s ‘complicated?’”
I paused a moment before saying, “I wish I had a better answer, but the truth is, that’s a good point.”
“Damn right, it is! I’m your kid after all.”
“You are that,” I said. “Okay, here’s the scoop.”
