Forgive Me(61)

Angie shriveled up inside. Disappointing her dad was something she strived to avoid, but upsetting him, especially now, felt like an egregious violation of their close bond. She made a fast retreat. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m just trying to figure it out, that’s all.”

Her father went silent for a long time and Angie’s anxiety level spiked. Why was it she could take down two armed and dangerous men in a street scuffle, but when it came to her father, she still felt like a little girl eager to please? Some roles could be reversed, she guessed, the way a spouse could become an ex, but others were so ingrained, so deeply rooted, they were burned into the psyche as if seared with a cattle brand.

“Angie, I understand your need to pursue this,” her father eventually said. “Your mom’s death has been—”

Angie figured the next word would be hard, but a few shaky breaths interrupted him, the kind that foretold tears the way dark clouds implied rain.

“It’s been difficult on us all,” he eventually managed. “I don’t know what to tell you about the picture and your mom’s checks to that organization. All I can tell you is that your mom loved you very much. Maybe there was a secret in her past, something she kept from us both . . . from everyone, for all I know. But is it going to do you any good to find out what it was?”

That took Angie by surprise. She hadn’t considered any other way to look at it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have a vision of your mom and that vision is frozen right now. She can’t get any older. She can’t change who she was to you, what she meant. In a way, odd as it is to think about in these terms, she’s in a state of suspended animation. She’s the woman who gave birth to you, who loved you, who cared for you. She’s that woman. Now if you find out something about her, some secret she didn’t want us to know, how is that going to change your perception of her? The way she is now is something you can’t ever get back.”

“I just think I should know the truth.”

“Okay, okay. I get it, I really do,” her father said. “But give this some consideration, if you will. Your mom is in a state of suspended animation for me as well. Don’t just think about what the answers mean to you, Angie. Think about what it could do to me.”

The only time Angie had ever been hit in the gut hard enough to take her breath away was when Flo Mendelssohn sucker-punched her in the eighth grade. Angie had the same creeping sick feeling in her stomach once again. Her dad had a point. Was digging into the past jeopardizing the future? What good would the answers do any of them? She had an unblemished vision of her mother, and her father had the same. Angie was living a perfectly good life. Was the truth worth knowing if it came at the expense of all her memories, of her contentment, of her dad’s happiness? It was a question without an easy answer.

Angie’s mind churned up various possibilities. What if her mom had led a double life, and somehow that little girl was a part of it? Could she have had an affair? Could the girl be a niece or someone of importance her mother turned her back on? What if her mother had somehow hid a pregnancy? Angie had seen enough Lifetime movies in her days to come up with a myriad of explanations, all of them with the potential of ripping her dad’s broken heart into even more pieces.

One thing was certain—she wasn’t going to stop searching for answers—but now she had a new wrinkle to consider. Would the truth become a burden, a secret she would have to keep from her father?

They ended the call with usual salvos of I love you, be careful, call if you need . . . but something lingered, a residue Angie found unpleasant and hoped would clear with time.

The cloudless sky cast in bright sunshine had turned her car into a terrarium of sorts. She cracked a window for air, but could still sponge sweat off her body. She needed to clear her head and get a bit of fresh air.

She radioed Mike. “I’m taking a walk.”

A crackle first, and then Mike said, “I’m taking orders for lunch.”

“We just ate lunch.”

Crackle. “No, you just ate a bagel and I had a corn muffin. That is not lunch, Ange. That’s what old ladies feed pigeons. I’m getting a burger, fries and a Coke. Good news. I’ll buy and fly.”

“Wait until I get back from my walk. I want to see if anything is going on inside the apartment.”

Of course, going for a stroll as herself wasn’t an option because Casper and Mr. Fedora might recognize her. From the trunk of her car, Angie got the box-o-disguises, as Mike had taken to calling it. She waited for a lull in foot traffic before slipping on a red wig, stylish black-rimmed glasses, and a beige trench coat she’d picked up at a thrift store. Angie adjusted her wig, using the window for a mirror.

Mike called her cell phone. “Angie, careful. There’s a gorgeous redhead standing right outside your car door.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the warning, Mike.”

“Think you could get her number?”

“Mike, please.”

“Okay, well, ask her if she wants a cheeseburger. My stomach is sending out Morse code.”

“She wants a salad, maybe with chicken on the side if it’s not from some greasy spoon.”

“Tell her I’m going to Paul’s Pollo Emporium.”

“I thought you were getting a burger.”