“Aren’t you hungry, dear?”
I furrowed my brow and stabbed a carrot with my fork. Her strained politeness would soon be chipped away and all the pleasantries would cease.
“Not really.”
“Well, why not?” I waited for the right words to come and she rolled her eyes with impatience. “Really, Nina. You know I don’t like it when—”
“Has Daddy always been a criminal, or was it something he took up just before he died?” I blurted out, unconcerned with the consequences.
Cynthia’s fork fell to her plate with a shrill clang. She didn’t say anything for a long while. We both held our breath, waiting for the other to speak.
“What…did you say?” she finally whispered.
“You heard me.”
“No. I don’t believe I did. I’m sure you misspoke,” her eyes fluttered as she ended her sentence.
“Port of Providence.” I sat slightly forward in my chair, watching her expression change from insult to shock.
“What? Where did you hear th—,” Cynthia stopped mid-sentence and shook her head. She was flustered, which she rarely experienced.
“I saw the file, Mother. Was it organized crime, or did he just skim off the top at the docks? You know his payroll was full of dirty cops, right?”
“Nina Elizabeth Grey! You will shut your mouth this instant!” I could see the wheels in her head turning, and then she stood up to come to my side of the table, sitting beside me. “You saw files. What files?” I could tell her fury was subdued, she would address my disrespect later.
“The files locked in the hutch in your study, Mother. Stop playing dumb.”
Her eyes tightened; my rudeness narrowly outweighed her curiosity. “I’ve never played dumb in my life, Nina. Why on earth would you—,”
“I want the truth.” I didn’t let my eyes move an inch from her gaze.
“I didn’t bother myself with your father’s business dealings,” she said, turning away.
“But you know what I’m talking about when I say Port of Providence, don’t you?” My accusing eyes bored into her.
Cynthia nodded slightly. “That’s not something you want to admit to having knowledge of, Nina. Forget you saw any of that,” she whispered.
“Forget—,” I was in shock. My father was a…a….criminal? A thief? My face twisted into disgust. “He stole from the distributors he shipped for, he sold things on the black market, he smuggled illegal contraband, and he used cops to cover up his dirty work…police officers, Mother! All of which he gathered evidence against to keep them from turning on him!” My eyes glossed over with anger. “Everything we have is from blood money. Jack had people beaten…he’s had people killed.”
Cynthia wiped a tear and looked down at her lap. This took me off-guard; I had only seen my mother cry a handful of times, all of them following Jack’s accident and death.
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. She looked at me with sympathetic eyes, “You were never supposed to see those things, Nina. Your father was always so careful to keep you safe from that part of his life. He hasn’t been gone six months and I’ve failed him.” Cynthia rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door.
I pushed myself away from the table and called after her. “Tell me I’m wrong, Mother. I need you to tell me this is a mistake.” My voice was closer to begging than the firm tone I’d meant to take.
Cynthia didn’t turn around; she wiped another tear and sighed.
I took a deep breath and braced myself. “Charles Dawson wants those files.”
“He knew where they were?” she shrieked, flipping around.
Anger surged through me. “You know who he is?”
“He worked for your father,” she said, touching her mouth nervously in thought.
I sat up higher in my chair, my muscles rigid. “Why is he harassing me, Mother? Why aren’t you upset about that?”
“Nina, Dear,” her tone turned soft, “I told you. Your father did everything in his power to keep you removed from his dealings. I understand you were frightened; but you were safe, I promise.”
“What does that mean? Why won’t anyone give me a straight answer?”
Cynthia tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, the way she did when I was little. “Wouldn’t you agree that after tonight, some things are better left unsaid?”
My immediate reaction was to scream at her and demand the truth, but she was right. I had lost my father again tonight, the reverence I’d once felt for him was replaced with debilitating disappointment. It was worse than losing him to death. All perception I’d had of him had been ripped away. He was no longer God in my eyes, he was just a man; a flawed, corrupt man.
I considered Cynthia’s suggestion and nodded.
She lifted my chin. “I’m so sorry, Love.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” I blurted, turning away from her touch. Everything I knew was a lie. I left her alone to fetch my coat.
“Where are you going?” she called after me.