Sweet Water(68)

“Oh yeah, I think I heard that. An Academy kid. That’s awful. She looked like a real beauty. I meant to call you about that. I’ve just been . . . banged up. Did you know her?”

I dip a beer stein in the water and try not to think about what happens when you mix alcohol with muscle relaxers. Dad probably never thought to look at the label, and why in the world hasn’t he found a woman to take care of him yet? “Yeah, she was Finn’s girlfriend.”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, Sarah Bear. How is Finn? He hasn’t been by in a long time. I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.” Dad sounds sad. I’ve tried to get the kids to visit him, but they’re so busy, they never want to spare the minutes to drive the few miles to the other side of the overpass.

However, they always seem to make time for their Sewickley grandparents, who let them drive their fancy cars and treat them to hot toddies at the country club in the wintertime. It always seemed okay, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’ve taught them it’s acceptable to spend more time with those who can serve them.

Two Christmases ago, William promised Spencer he’d let him drive his Bentley, weather permitting. It was a car Spencer had been practically drooling over since he was a small boy. Finn had never been overly wowed by his grandparents’ wealth—or his grandparents for that matter—but he liked their toys.

But when William went into the auto garage to get his Bentley out, he discovered a rodent infestation had made a full assault on his leather interior. Spencer was so disappointed to hear the news over the phone, but two days later, the kids had come over to find a brand-new Bentley right in its place.

“It was necessary,” Martin joked, but he was completely serious when he said it.

And now I hate myself for tolerating their behavior because I wanted the boys to have the kinds of memories that involved rides in fancy cars instead of the ones I grew up with.

“He’s not well, Dad.” I’ve gotten ahold of myself and take a paper towel and blow my nose. The plate with the marinara sauce has softened up, and I begin to scrub it with a hard sponge. It makes me realize how scattered I am, because the water is filthy now. If I’d done the dishes the right way, I would’ve soaked the plate last. When I dip my hand in the water, it turns red, and I let out a little shriek as I think of the last time I touched Yazmin, leaving my hands wet with her blood. I look away and inhale sharply. The wave of emotion that follows is enough to take me down.

“What is it? What can I do to help?” Dad grips the counter again, and despite the fact he’s eaten nothing but MSG and carbohydrates for God knows how many days, he’s skinny as a rail.

“Nothing, Dad.” And it’s the truth. There’s nothing he can do, because he doesn’t know what I’ve done and he doesn’t know his grandchildren. Part of that is my fault, but part of it is his. He’s never accepted the life I stepped into, the same life where Spencer and Finn have thrived.

“You sound angry. Are you mad at me, Sarah?”

I drain the dirty water, try to wash it away, spray the remnants on the bottom of the sink, and refill it with a fresh batch of hot, soapy water.

“Maybe.” I submerge a few more dirty dishes in the sink. Were all his reservations about the Ellsworths tied to something bigger?

“Would you please stop doing that and talk to me? Why in the world would you be pissed at me? I didn’t kill her.” He chuckles.

His joke is not funny. Fear grips my vocals. “It was an accident! No one killed her.”

Do people think she was murdered? Is that what the papers are saying? I haven’t been keeping track.

“Easy, baby girl.” He tries to take a step forward.

“Please don’t move. Please just sit.” I can’t handle my father being sick on top of everything else.

“Gosh, I think you’re under a lot of stress. You always hated to be hugged when you were upset. Remember when you peed your pants at softball? Whew, that was a doozy. Not that I wanted to hug you then because you were soaked through, but I still tried.” He laughs, but that memory is one of my worst, and it’s not helpful right now. “Nothing your daddy wouldn’t do for ya.”

I turn to face him. “Are people saying she was killed?” I can’t shake the thought.

“No, Sarah. Not that I know of, although I haven’t read up much on it; I’ve been down for the count.” Dad holds his side again, and I don’t doubt that he’s telling the truth.

“Okay.” I sigh, relief hitting me so hard, the hairs tingle on the back of my scalp. I want to ask more questions about why my dad can’t hold himself up, but right now, I need someone to hold me up.

“Are you going to tell me what your beef is with me? We’ve barely spoken; you’ve been so busy being a hoity-toity socialite.” He snickers, annoyed at who I’ve become, and it’s time we talk about it. Maybe he’d open up more if I admitted that I’m not happy with who I’ve become either.

“If you didn’t want me to be a Sewickley socialite, why didn’t you tell me everything you knew back in college when I started dating Martin? That day you cleaned the house.” I knew there was more to the story back then, and I’m sure of it now.

My father almost falls off his stool but catches himself. “Martin’s come clean after all these years. Was he waiting until I retired? Bastard.”