Petty shrank back. He was so large and overwhelming, I understood this involuntary reaction.
The big man now stared openly at his stolen daughter. “Where have you been all these years?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Petty of course needed time to adapt to these new circumstances before she’d be able to talk or even process what was going on. It would be like the slow rise from the ocean floor to avoid getting the bends.
“Kansas, sir,” I said.
“Call me Mitch,” he said, sitting back down. “And who are you?”
I introduced myself.
“And you’re her . . .”
I didn’t know this man, and it was obviously an emotional moment, but he sounded wary.
Embarrassment heated my face. “Her friend, sir. I’m just her friend.”
Mitch shifted his gaze to Petty and said, “Is that true?”
She nodded.
“And how old are you now?”
She cleared her throat. “Twenty--one.”
“That seems right. She was about three the last time I saw her.”
Before Michael Rhones whisked her away.
Mitch was still staring at her, looking her up and down. “You’re taller than she was.”
Petty squirmed under the scrutiny.
“But of course you are,” he said, with a big smile. “I’m your dad! You’re just a chip off the old block.” He chuckled, although it sounded a little forced. He must not have any other kids, because the words I’m your dad seemed unnatural coming from him.
“Well,” I said. “We’re sorry for coming here so late, but circumstances kind of forced us to. Would it be all right if we came back tomorrow and spent some more time with you?”
“You have a place to stay?” Mitch said. “You know -people up here?”
“No sir,” I said.
Mitch decisively rapped both arms of the chair. “You’ll sleep here. Dekker, you take the guest room, and you can have my bed, Marianne. Anne Marie, I mean.”
“My name is Petty,” she said, in a tiny voice, startling me.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Bellandini said.
“I’d never even heard that other name until today,” she said, her voice stronger. “My name is Petty.”
Mitch snorted. “Petty. That’s not a name. It’s an adjective.”
I was shocked by this pronouncement, and his casual denigration of Petty’s name irked me.
Petty bristled. “It’s my name,” she said, sounding like herself again.
“Oh, well,” Mitch said. “My apologies. In any event, you’ll stay here.”
He wasn’t wasting any time taking control and telling everyone what to do. The thought of spending the night in that cabin helped me understand how Petty must have felt when faced with the prospect of sleeping at Ashley’s place. Disoriented. Uneasy.
“We don’t want to impose,” I said. “I’m sure there’s a motel nearby.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Mitch said. “No daughter of mine is going to a motel with a boy!”
He gave a laugh, but I knew he was deadly serious. It would be a bad idea to tell him that we’d stayed in a motel together already.
“I work the night shift, so you can sleep while I’m gone. I’m a security guard at the old Black Star mine.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go move your car up to the house and get your luggage.” To Petty, he said, “The bathroom’s just down the hall if you want to freshen up.”
Petty shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.
I rose and followed Mitch out the door. The dog came running, but I realized this one wasn’t like Sarx and Tesla. He didn’t know how to attack; he was just an outside animal, aggressive and out of control. So I ignored him and sniffed the air—-which was filled with the scents of pine and wood smoke—-and gazed at the dark sky overhead. I’d never seen such brilliant stars. Once we hit the yard, they were drowned out by the blinding motion--sensor lights.
I walked down the embankment to where we’d left the Buick on the access road, got in it and drove up to the front of the house where Mitch waited. I got out and opened the trunk to get our stuff from it, and handed a few of the Walmart bags to Mitch.
“Mr. Bellandini—-Mitch—-why did you come out of your house with a gun?”
Mitch paused for a minute in the alpine chill, the bright light behind him obscuring his features. “We’ve had a lot of vandalism and theft up here in the past year or so,” he said. “Had to buy a gun and a mean dog. -People out creeping around in the middle of the night make you jumpy.” He set the bags on the ground. “So tell me. Are you a student? A working man?”
“I’ve been saving money to go back to school,” I said.
“Ah,” he said. “What’s your major?”
“Geology.”
“Geology! How would you like to tour the Black Star mine tomorrow?”
“That would be epic,” I said, and I meant it.
“So you’re saving money to go back,” he said. “What do you do?”
This was Petty’s dad I was talking to, so I didn’t want to answer “delivery boy.” I wanted to sound more impressive.
“Well, actually,” I said, “I’m the drummer for a band and we’re playing at a big show in Kansas City in about a week.”
“Really? So you’ll need to leave soon?”