The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(29)

I don’t know what it’s costing Run to have Gunther do this, but I’m not in a position to make much of an argument. Jackie is as much his daughter as she is mine. I get it. I’ve decided to do everything I can to put a stop to this; so has he.

Run grabs a piece of okra from Jackie’s plate and pops it into his mouth. “Mmm . . . Retaliation.” He garbles the word between bites.

“Remaliation?” Jackie mocks him. “Mom must have done your homework back then.”

“Hardly,” he replies. “I had perfect grades.”

“Perfect Cs,” I say.

“Yeah. They were all Cs. Perfect.”

“So, did you guys, like, study together?” asks Jackie.

“All the time,” Run replies, suppressing a tiny grin. What he doesn’t say is that we used homework as an excuse to go out on the boat, make out, party, and do all the things a couple of horny free spirits do when they’re young and immortal.

Jackie uses another stolen fry to trace a circle in the sauce on her plate. “Do . . . do you ever miss it?”

She’s getting old enough to realize our dysfunctional family dysfunctions in a weird way. When she was younger, she just assumed it was normal that Mom and Dad lived separate lives and made time for the kid. Now she sees that we’re not like divorced couples and not even technically a couple.

That’s not to say Run and I haven’t hooked up every now and then, but we only do it with the full understanding that it’s a casual thing.

I’ll admit that I feel a twinge of jealousy when I see him out with another woman, but I’m free to do the same. But I’ve turned down a lot of guys because they simply don’t hold my interest like Run. I’d rather spend a long evening in the bathtub thinking of old times than have some awkward, desperate fling I know I’ll regret. Which I’ve done more than once.

Run looks up at me, waiting for my answer. The solution to the mystery of why Mom and Dad get along so well with each other—even have a kid together—but stay apart.

Jackie’s asked me similarly probing questions recently, like if I’ve ever been mad at Run or if he’s ever been really mad at me—trying, I assume, to figure out if one of us cheated on the other.

“I miss a lot of things about being young,” I reply.

Jackie rolls her eyes at my answer. “Right. Like nickel movies and riding your dinosaur to school.”

“Did you just call me a cavewoman?” I reply. “The penalty for that is half a hush puppy.” I take a bite from one of hers.

“I was thinking . . . ,” Run says after a few moments of silence.

“I’m proud of you, Daddy. Keep it up,” Jackie replies.

Run puts his hand in front of her face. “I was thinking about getting you a muzzle. But I was also thinking maybe we all take a vacation.” He hastily adds, “I’d get us some rooms, and we could go somewhere. Maybe skiing. Maybe Australia?” He gives me a hesitant glance, already afraid of the repercussions of saying something like this in front of Jackie.

“Oh my god! Australia?” she blurts out excitedly.

I have to measure my tone. Run is suggesting that we run away for a while. Although that may not be the worst idea, Jackie doesn’t realize for how long he means. And then there’s the fact that my problem could follow us there or be waiting when I get back.

“I have my work,” I reply. “Maybe a father-daughter trip wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“What? No,” Jackie cries. “We should go together! Like . . . like a family. You two can get separate rooms and pretend you don’t like each other and then go touch each other’s butts when I’m not around.”

“Jackie!” I say.

Run covers his grin and faces away.

Touching butts has been the family phrase for sex since Jackie was in kindergarten and came home trying to explain the pornographic act one of her classmates had seen on the internet. Hearing the term still gets a smirk from Run and me. We’re too savvy to Jackie’s tricks to issue a denial.

“I’ve got work, hon,” I reply.

“When will that be done?” she asks.

“I don’t know . . .” I’m struggling here. What do I tell my daughter?

“That sucks.” She crosses her arms, sits back, and fumes. “Why can’t we be normal?”

Gut punch.

Run is about to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t figure out which of you is more selfish.” She stares at me. “But I think I know now.”

“Jackie . . . ,” I protest. “We’re here with you now.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe I’d like to see both of you at the breakfast table. Maybe I’d like to fall asleep on the couch watching a movie between you guys. Maybe I’d like to have a mom and dad who love each other.” She tries to hold back her tears.

“We do love each other,” says Run.

Jackie points to me. “I want to hear her say it.”

Damn. Once again, I’m reminded that growing older means finding new ways to experience pain.

“I love your father,” I reply.

“My father? My father? Oh, do you mean the man sitting across the table from you? Why can’t you just look at him and say, ‘I love you’?”