“And what did she think?”
Father holds my gaze. “She worried for the safety of our family.”
I see him in my memory—his chair angled toward the front door the night Lydia was taken. The gun within reach. “You do too.”
“Of course I do. But I would no matter what my job was. It’s part of being a parent.”
“When Lydia went missing . . . what did you think had happened?”
Father blinks at me a few times. “I don’t understand your line of thought.”
“I told you that I came downstairs that night to get a drink. You were asleep in your chair. With your gun.”
Father pulls his lip in again. I wonder if he knows he does that when he’s crafting an answer.
“Did you think I was at risk?” I press him.
“Of course I did. Because I’m a father, though. Not because of my job.”
I think back to what Mariano had told me about Father’s case, and Colin Finnegan winding up in jail. “It had nothing to do with a big case you’d won?”
“I won’t pretend that it never occurred to me that you or one of your brothers might be in danger because I had angered people—”
“The Finnegan brothers.”
Father tries to shove away his surprise, but I see it before he can tuck it away. “Yes. They had certainly crossed my mind. But, obviously, I was being paranoid.”
All roads in Lydia’s disappearance seem to lead to the Finnegans. Is it merely proof of how far-reaching they’ve grown to be in this city? Or is it something more?
Father glances at his wristwatch. “I don’t have long before our scheduled departure.” He settles his hands on my shoulders, and waits to speak until I’m looking him in the eyes. “When I get home, I give you my word that we will sit and talk about this to your heart’s content. I will be as open as I can without violating my clients’ privileges. But for now, I just want you to know that I’m sorry you were caught off guard today, and I’m sorry for my part in that.”
I want to keep my anger. Want to cuddle it close, where I can protect it and nurse its growth.
Yet I remember Lydia leaving my house on the day that turned out to be her last. How we almost parted in anger, and how I only escaped being saddled with that lifelong regret because she stayed long enough for us to work through our disagreement.
“I hope you have a good time on your honeymoon.” The words are stiff, starched by my resentment.
“I love you.” Father holds me in a long hug. When he lets me go, he adds, “And I hope you’ll consider what I said about Mariano. I really do think he’s good for you.”
“No.” He intentionally misled me about who his family was. How can I trust that he really is on the straight and narrow? “Being involved with him . . . It’s just too risky.”
Father takes hold of the locket around my neck, bought for me by my mother and bearing Lydia’s image. “Piper, my girl. To love anyone is to risk.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
It’s after eight when Joyce, Walter, and I return to the house. The air inside feels strange, as if even the house can sense the change this afternoon brought. After making sure Joyce knows she’s off duty this evening, I turn on the radio and perform an unladylike flop onto the couch. Nellie Melba’s Mattinata pierces the haze that’s surrounded me since my good-bye with my father. The higher her pitch-perfect soprano climbs, the harder I have to work to hold in the tears.
Walter returns from the kitchen with an odd assortment of appetizers left over from the wedding, along with two thick slices of wedding cake. Sidekick bounds along beside him, looking up at the tray with hope.
“So, earlier we ate a dinner that required about six different utensils. Now, we’re doing this.” Walter’s smile seems wary as he settles onto the couch. “Is it just me, or do you feel like at any moment, Mother will come in here with a broom and chase us out?”
I hold out a cube of cheese to Sidekick and feel the comforting tickle of his muzzle. “There is something uncouth about eating in the living room, isn’t there?” I pop a caviar canapé into my mouth. “But it isn’t the worst thing we’ve done in this room.”
Walter smirks. “It certainly wasn’t my idea to play a game of baseball in here.”
My mouth twitches with a smile. “I hated that vase anyway.”
“Mother thought for sure she was going to get fired for her son being a bad influence.”
“She had no idea that I was the bad influence.” A memory comes—swift and painful—of Lydia being yelled at when I talked her into climbing the tree in her front yard. That Sail girl is a bad influence on you, Mrs. LeVine had snapped to Lydia.
“And then it turned out your father was so happy to see you acting like yourself again, he didn’t mind at all.”
I scratch under Sidekick’s chin, and he groans his contentment. The aria fades to a close, and, for a moment, the room is silent. “I can’t believe I didn’t really understand about Father.”