He is about to continue with the details when he pauses suddenly and looks at me.
"Look, Dante, I'm really sorry about all of this, okay?" Dad says.
I clear my throat. His eyes meet mine and he looks away briefly, but then returns.
"I know that I've been a fuck-up for a long time. Not a very good father. And I know that I've hurt you. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have been that way. I should have been more present, but I wasn't. I don't know what else to do, except to apologize and to ask for your forgiveness, even though I know that you’re reluctant to give it."
"I appreciate you saying that.” I nod.
"I shouldn't have introduced you to that life. I shouldn't have showed you how to gamble, how to kill people. Those were all my fuck-ups. And you deserve more than that."
I swallow hard. This apology is basic but it’s more than what he’s ever offered me in all of these years. All this time has passed, and yet I realize that a simple apology still goes a long way, especially if it's sincere.
“So, this wasn't some sort of scam I'm going to find out about later?"
He shakes his head. "No."
"You can tell me now, that way you won’t have to apologize."
"No, it wasn't. It was supposed to be there. This was going to be my ticket out."
"You were finally going to be able to live on ten million dollars for the rest of your life? With your spending habits, I find that hard to believe," I say smugly.
He laughs and takes it as a joke, even though I don't really mean it that way.
The door opens and Lincoln comes back in, carrying fast food and he plops it on the table to share with us. Dad turns up his nose. That's not exactly his style, and I'm not hungry.
"Fine, suit yourself," he says and digs into his hamburger. We don't say anything for a while.
I turn on the TV and flip through the channels, finding nothing of interest. I get another call on my phone. When I look down at the screen, I see that it's Jacqueline.
She hasn't called in quite a while. I don't answer and a text message arrives saying that she needs to speak to me.
It's urgent.
11
Dante
As I pull out of the parking lot, Jacqueline texts me again. I don't think that my dad would lie about something like that. But then again, we're no longer together, so why would anyone even be after her in the first place?
I decide to not call her back until I get to the Hamptons so that the phone call will actually ping there versus Montauk. I still have my burner phone on the front seat, and I have to find a good place to get rid of it.
The dumpster of any pharmacy should do, especially since no folio was stolen and no actual crime—well, besides breaking and entering—was committed.
When I get to West Hampton, I stop at a Starbucks and call her back. My mom's house is not too far away from here, so I have a plausible explanation of why I'm here if anyone were to ask.
"Thanks for calling me back," she says, her voice cracking just a little in the beginning.
"Sure. What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"No, just wondering how you are."
"I'm good. How are you?" I'm tempted to ask her to get on FaceTime just so I can see her, but I brace myself and I tell myself no, not now.
We make a little bit of small talk. I ask her how she is and I ask about her mom. Her answers are short and quick, both times saying fine a little bit too quickly.
Everything about this conversation is forced. She doesn't sound like she's distracted, typing on the computer or looking up something on her phone, but rather that she just feels incredibly uncomfortable talking to me.
And that's the thing that throws me off the most. We have always been very good at understanding one another, in filling in the silences with understanding, but now it feels almost as if she's a stranger. Or perhaps it's different than that.
Perhaps the problem is that too much time has passed, and maybe we did become strangers after all.
"You said that something was urgent." I press the phone into my face, trying to get closer to her. "What happened exactly?"
"Can we meet up? I think it would be better if we talked about this in person."
I clench my jaw. If she were to come to me and tell me that she wants me back in her life, and if she were to do this right in front of me, I wouldn’t be able to say no.
I wouldn’t be able to reject her again because this time away has been more than just a little bit difficult. It's been devastating. It's one of the reasons why I agreed to help my father with the folio because I needed a distraction. I needed to get away from all of this darkness in my life.
"Dante, please. Can you please meet me? I'm in the Hamptons now."
"You are?" I ask, clearing my throat.
"But I can meet you wherever you are."
"I thought you were in Seattle."
"I was, but not now. I'll tell you everything when I see you."
"Is it about Vasko?" I ask. "Are you still working for him?"
"Just meet me. If you're in the city, I can go there."
"No, I'm in the Hamptons, too," I say quietly.
"You are?" she asks, genuinely surprised.
I nod, even though she can't see me, and we make plans to meet later this afternoon at four o’clock at a coffee shop near Madison Street. It's not exactly in my mother's neighborhood, but I kind of like that, an in-between sort of place. Even though the plans have been made, I'm still on the fence, still somewhat uncertain as to whether or not this is the right thing to do.
I arrive at the coffee shop early. It’s a non-chain, small Bohemian kind of place with an easy-going vibe. I like to get to meetings early, especially important ones. They give me an opportunity to scout out the place and to see if it's the right kind of place for me.
I meander around back after I park my car two streets away. I still have the rental, and she would know that something's up if I didn't have my car. I walk around through the parking lot and make my way over to the front entrance, biding my time. I stay a little bit out of the way because I want to see her enter first.
If I'm inside, then I'm cornered. But from out here, I have a minimal amount of control. If I see her and my chest tightens, then I can always cancel, not run away, but protect myself from being in her sphere of influence. There's nothing toxic about that. There's nothing toxic about her. It's all about me.
I broke up with her for a good reason. To protect not just her but me, too, and I need to stay away from her for a good reason. If her life is in danger, then maybe it wouldn't be if I were no longer part of it.
Of course, I don't know any of this and I have no idea what she needs to talk to me about. But as soon as I see her appear and pull into the parking lot, her face tense behind the steering wheel, her hair falling softly around her face, I know that I have to go in.
12
Jacqueline
As I drive over to the coffee shop, I grip the steering wheel so hard I can see the whites of my knuckles. My lips are chapped, my mouth parched, and I seem to be breathing through my mouth even though there's nothing wrong, even though I don't have a cold.