On Second Thought
Page 76

“I know, Ainsburger. That’s my fault. Too much travel!” But he smiled; he really did love his job. “I wanted to see how you were doing about Eric.”
Dad, worried about me? That was new.
It dawned on me that I hadn’t thought too much about Eric in the past couple of days. I mean, sure, he’d crossed my mind; Jonathan was only the second guy I’d ever slept with, so there was some comparison. I was happy to say that Jonathan won. “Well,” I said, “I’m getting over it, I guess. He’s making it easy by turning into a total idiot.”
“I always thought he’d take good care of you. That’s why I liked him. Nice parents, too.”
They were nice. But the last time I’d called Judy, she hadn’t called back. The thought made my throat swell, but I smiled at my dad anyway.
“How are you doing for money?” he asked.
I sighed. “I have a little saved up. But I have to find a place of my own. Kate won’t want me with her forever.”
“It’s awfully nice, you staying with her.”
“It’s awfully nice of her, putting me up.”
“She never could ask for help. I’m glad you’re there.” Our lunches arrived, and we dug in. It was heaven, this food. Heaven.
“The reason I asked about money, Ainsburger, is I have some for you.”
“That’s okay, Dad. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s from your mother.”
I blinked. “It is?”
He nodded, not looking at me. “She had life insurance. Not a lot, but it’s been earning interest all these years. Close to a hundred thousand now.”
I sputtered in shock. “A hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes. I figured I’d give it to you when you got married, but...well, it’s yours.”
I sat back in my chair. “Why didn’t you ever mention it before?”
“The truth is, I kind of forgot about it. It was supposed to be yours when you turned twenty-five.”
Leave it to my father to forget a huge sum of cash. I closed my mouth.
My mom had been twenty-five when she died, almost twenty years younger than my father. Did most young mothers take out life insurance? “When did she do that?” I asked.
“The week before you were born. She had this... Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It does, Dad. You never talk about her. Please tell me.” The truth was, I’d learned more about my mother from Kate a few weeks ago than I had from Dad in three decades.
He sighed. Looked out the window. “She had a dream that she was dying,” he said very, very quietly. “That she was giving birth to you, but she knew she wouldn’t make it, and all she wanted was to last long enough to see you. She woke up so upset. Cried and cried.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I used to tease her about it after you came. Tell her at least she got to hold you, see you walk, see your first tooth. I never thought...” His voice broke.
“Oh, Daddy,” I said, reaching for his hand with both of mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“I was ruined when she died. I felt like I died, too.” He wiped his eyes in the way men do, pinching away the tears with his free hand. “You’re so much like her, Ainsley. In all the good ways.”
I kissed his hand, my own eyes filling with tears.
He squeezed my fingers, then pulled free. Wiped his eyes with his napkin, shook his head, smiled at me and resumed eating. I watched as he retreated back behind his amiable mask. Somewhat fitting that he wore one for work.
Not everyone could cope with a broken heart. Some people never recovered. My dad seemed to be one of them.
Kate would recover. I’d make sure of it.
Our heart-to-heart was over. I told him about the ice tool museum and suggested we visit it in the fall when baseball was over, and he told me that he’d gone to see a movie in Seattle at a theater where the seats reclined, and he’d fallen asleep and woken in the middle of the next movie.
I never realized how lonely my father was. All those girlfriends, all that cheating, all those years with Candy, who couldn’t get over him the same way he couldn’t get over my mother.
“Are you and Candy really getting a divorce?” I asked.
“What? Oh, that,” he said. “No. She just likes to go through the motions once in a while to get my attention.”
A man dressed in chef whites came over to our table. “How was everything today? I’m Matthew, the chef and owner.”
“Fantastic,” Dad said, shaking his hand. “Best pasta I’ve had in years.”
“And Dad eats out a lot,” I said. “All over the country. He’s an umpire for Major League Baseball.”
“Oh, man! What an awesome job! You ever meet Derek Jeter?”
“Sure have. He’s a great guy.”
The men talked baseball for a few minutes, then the chef shook both our hands, thanked us for coming in.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly remembering my job. “I’m the features editor at Hudson Lifestyle. I don’t think we’ve covered you.” That in itself was weird; we did a story on a bead store opening last year. There was nothing too inconsequential for us, so long as it was in the area. We always covered new restaurants.
“Yeah,” he said. “Um...”
Dad’s phone chimed, and he looked down at his phone. “Oh! Clancy canceled for tonight’s game. I have to get to Camden Yards. Can you get back to the office on your own, Burger-baby?”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll walk. It’s beautiful out.”
He kissed me on the cheek, shook the chef’s hand again and left, once again buoyed by our national pastime.
“Do you know our magazine?” I asked Matthew. “We do lots of restaurant features, and this is a lovely spot.”
He sat down in Dad’s vacated seat. “I do know the magazine. I’m Matthew Kent.”
My mouth fell open, and a rush of heat rose up my chest.
Jonathan’s brother. Jonathan’s brother, who slept with his wife.
“Oh,” I managed. “You.”
“Yeah.”
Now I could see a resemblance. Matt’s hair was lighter, and his eyes lacked the odd beauty of Jonathan’s, but he had high cheekbones and beautiful hands.
“Have you worked there a long time?” he asked.
“Two years.”
“So you know my brother well?”
I know him biblically. “Mmm-hmm.”
“And based on the hate shining from your eyes, I guess you know about me.”
“Yep.”
He sighed. “Yeah.” His fingers drummed on the table. “Well, I’m not proud of the way it happened, but I do care about my brother.”
“Funny way of showing it.”
“There’s no excuse, I realize that,” he said, staring down at the table. “For what it’s worth, I really do love Laine and the girls.”
“Of course you do. They’re your nieces.”
His gaze snapped up to me. “Look. I was in love with her years before Jonathan even noticed her, okay? And when our father had the stroke, Jonathan just closed up. There was no room for me, no shared grieving or whatever, and Laine was alone all day long with two little toddlers. All he did was work.”
“So you thought you’d help by shtupping his wife.”
He looked away. “As I said, I’m not proud of it. And I didn’t just shtup her. Long before it got to that point, I was buying the groceries, cooking dinner, playing with the girls, fixing the furnace.”