She reached for the card, but Dex flipped it over, revealing a number jotted on the back.
“That’s my number. In case you ever want to talk.”
Dakota slipped the card into her pocket without looking at it or acknowledging his offer. “I’d better get back before my dad starts to worry.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder toward the sounds of a band warming up at the festival. “Goodbye, Dex.”
She hurried back to the event, hoping it was the last she’d see of Dexter Roberts.
Chapter Five
It’d been two days since the Fourth of July Festival, and Dakota had asked her father five different times in five different ways if everything was all right. He’d grunted that everything was fine and changed the subject each time. She could’ve asked him directly, but then he would’ve wanted to know who’d told her. And she wouldn’t throw Dexter under the bus.
She appreciated him telling her about her dad, even if she hated that he’d been the one to do it. Every time she thought of sitting on that bench a few inches from him, heat filled her chest, her tummy fluttered, and her face heated.
Dakota sighed and fanned herself with an open hand as she glanced at her father’s closed bedroom door. Maybe she’d failed miserably where Marcello was concerned, but she’d spent the past six years of her career as an investigative reporter. A damn good one. She’d busted dirty politicians, shady contractors, tricky grifters, and thieving corporations. Surely she could find some evidence to corroborate Dexter’s concerns so she could confront her father without pointing the finger at her ex.
Her father had gone fishing early that morning with a few of his fellow retiree buddies. They’d been gone a few hours already, so he could return any minute. It was now or never.
Dakota sucked in a deep breath, turned the doorknob, and stepped inside her parents’ bedroom. She hadn’t been in this room in more than five years. Since her mother lay in bed ill, her body slowly being ravaged by cancer.
Her father hadn’t changed a thing.
Her mother’s makeup and perfume bottles were still lined up against the mirror of the vanity near the far window. The bedding and curtains were the same, and everything was arranged exactly as it had been when her mother was alive.
Dakota didn’t dare touch the partially open closet door. She already knew that it would be overflowing with all of her mother’s dresses and shoes. Many of which she’d never worn.
Tightness gripped Dakota’s chest, and her throat felt dry. She bit her lower lip and fought back the tears that stung her eyes.
How could her father sleep in the room that felt so much like her mother every single night for five years? She hadn’t been in the room five minutes and she was on the brink of tears.
Don’t be sad, baby. Think of all the great moments we’ve had together. I couldn’t be more proud of you, sweetheart.
Dakota sniffled and wiped angrily at the warm tears that had spilled down her face.
Why did everything have to be so damn complicated? Even a sweet and touching moment at the end of her mother’s life detonated a minefield of conflicting emotions. She was glad to finally hear her mother say she was proud of her, full stop. Rather than pointing out to her where she could be better.
Sit up straight, honey. No man wants to marry the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Straighten your hair, honey. No studio wants an anchor with a head full of kinky curls.
If they passed you over for that promotion, you obviously didn’t want it badly enough. You’ve got to work harder.
Dakota wrapped her arms around her middle and released a heavy sigh. Work harder. Those words were lodged in her brain. They’d been her unofficial motto since she’d entered her first beauty pageant, at her mother’s behest, at age five.
No matter how far she’d gone in her career or what she’d achieved, her mother’s response had always been That’s great, honey, but…
But…but…but.
She’d barely had a moment to celebrate the win before her mother would launch into a plan of attack for next time.
Always be the best. Anything else is varying degrees of losing.
Dakota raked her hand through her messy hair and turned her attention toward her parents’ bathroom. She crept inside the room, which seemed relatively free of memories. It was sparse. Nothing on the counter but a ceramic container that held her father’s razor and toothbrush, the soap dish, and a tube of toothpaste.
She opened the linen closet and eyed the space, feeling guilty about touching anything unnecessarily. There was a collection of meds. She took a quick snapshot of her father’s medicines, so she could look them up later. Then a little black pouch caught her eye.
Dakota picked it up and unzipped it. The pouch held a glucose meter, a lance, lancets, and a bottle of test strips.
Dex was right. Her father was diabetic.
What else isn’t he telling me?
She grabbed the pouch and crept out of her parents’ room. When her father returned, they were going to have a talk.
Dexter’s cell rang minutes after he’d ended his last conference call of the day. After a three-hour meeting, he relished the idea of silence. But he was glad to see his cousin Garrett’s name and photo pop up on the screen.
“Rett, it’s been a while.” Dexter put the phone on speaker and continued typing notes from the meeting into a follow-up email for his assistant. “How are you?”
“Things are great,” Garrett said. “But the real question is, how are you?”
“Fine.” Dexter stopped typing and turned to look at the phone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Word on the street is your old flame is back in town.”
“How’d you…Never mind.” Dex dragged a hand across his forehead. His mother undoubtedly had talked to Aunt Ellen, who’d told Garrett. “Yes, Dakota is back in town, temporarily. And no, it’s no big deal.”
“See how defensive you sounded right there?” Dex could practically see his cousin wagging one of his Arsenio Hall–length digits. “If it really wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t feel the need to convince me that it wasn’t.”
“I’m not.”
“You used your Uncle James voice,” Garrett said.
Dexter couldn’t help chuckling.
His father, James Roberts, was a good man. A solid family provider and the kind of person who would give a neighbor in need the shirt off his back. But the man had a far more difficult time sharing himself with the people who loved him.
As a kid, one of Dexter’s favorite sounds in the world had been his father’s deep belly laugh. Dex treasured the contagious sound because he’d heard it so rarely. James Roberts was always so serious, with a sober expression and stern tone.
Only two things seemed to truly make James Roberts happy: football and jazz. His father had played the saxophone in a band with a few of his buddies. So Dexter had taken up the sax, too, as a way to get closer to the enigmatic man. And he’d played football, even though he preferred baseball.
He’d had an aptitude for both the saxophone and football, which pleased his father and made him genuinely proud of him. The man had been heartbroken when Dexter’s injury ended his college football career and extinguished any hopes of a professional one. And yet all Dexter had felt when he’d finally learned his fate was a deep sense of relief.