The Bourbon Thief(35)

“That’s it exactly. That’s what it was like when you told me who my father was. Like I’d known without knowing and finally I had that fish in my hands, squirming and gasping for air. I wanted to throw it back. But that’s where the metaphor breaks down. You can’t ever throw it back once you catch it. And as soon as you see the pattern in the puzzle, you can’t unsee it.”

“You’re something, Levi Shelby,” Tamara said. “You’re a stable boy who knows more about Plato and stuff like that than any of my teachers did.”

“I read.”

“Why?”

Levi boggled at her, shook his head, bulging his eyes out like a Tex Avery cartoon wolf.

“You know what I mean,” Tamara said, laughing. She put up two fingers as if to push his eyes back into his head. “Why do you read about Plato and stuff like that?”

“Some of us can’t afford college.”

“Lots of people who don’t go to college also don’t read Plato for fun.”

“It’s not for fun. Not really. There was this man Mom used to clean houses for. Every Thursday. The Thursday House was my favorite house. It belonged to this college professor, Dr. Amos Golding. Taught philosophy at NKU. She’d bring me with her and give me stuff to play with while she worked. Dr. Golding was home one semester, on sabbatical. He started talking to me, and we got to be friends. He was in his forties and I was five, but still, I was crazy about him. I had all these fantasies that he was my real father. I think that’s why I read so much. He’s the one who told me I didn’t need college as long as I read something every day. Something hard. Something that made me think.”

“Were he and your mom...close?”

“He was very kind to her, respectful. Flirted a little. And he wasn’t married. She’d worked for him several years, so there was this little part of me that believed it was him, and he couldn’t do anything about it, since he was Jewish and Mom wasn’t. We tell ourselves lies to survive when we know the truth will kill us.”

“It didn’t kill you.”

“Not yet,” he said.

It was then Levi noticed that Tamara had put her hand on his knee. She seemed to notice it at the same time he did. She squeezed it like they were old friends and it was old times. He looked down at her hand on his knee and she quickly pulled it away.

“It’s okay. I’ve had more time to get used to this news than you have,” Tamara said. “Now we have to decide what to do.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do, is there? Raise a big public stink? What good’ll that do us? Do you think the courts would really give me Red Thread based on that letter you found? Half the judges in this state probably have kids with their secretaries or housekeepers. They aren’t about to set a precedent like that.”

“We don’t need the courts. We have a judge on our side.”

“Oh, yeah, Judge Daddy. Does he know you’re his daughter?”

“If he does, he never told me. But it doesn’t matter. He’ll help us.”

“Us? When did ‘we’ become an ‘us’?”

“Aren’t we in this together?”

“I don’t know what ‘this’ is. And I don’t know why I’d be in it with you.”

“You’re the only living child of George Maddox. You deserve to inherit his money, his house, his company. All that.”

“Why? He fucks my mother and I get to be a millionaire? Not sure that’s how it works.”

“Come on, Levi. You know we have to do something to make this right. You lost your job because of me. I want to make it up to you.”

“Tamara, as much as I’d love to blame you for me getting into trouble and as much as I did blame you, the simple fact of the matter is I am twelve years older than you are. I knew better than to kiss you and I did it, anyway.”

“Because you wanted to kiss me.”

“Because I wanted to shut you up.”

“By kissing me.”

“By any means necessary.”

“You know you liked it. And you liked me. You still like me or you wouldn’t be here.”

He gave her a long flat look. A steamroller look. She remained upright.

“I’m leaving, Rotten. Very nice to talk to you. Some of us have to work tomorrow.”

He rolled up off the steps and walked past her. Tamara grabbed his hand and he turned around.

“Don’t,” he said. But he didn’t pull away.

“I can help you. Let me help you.”

“How can you help me?”

“Tell me your wish,” she said, looking into his eyes. She had blue eyes, too, but he liked hers a lot more than he liked his.

“My wish?”

“Your wish. Your dream. If I was a genie and I could grant you one wish, what would you wish for?”

“A horse farm of my own. Nothing fancy. Fifty acres. A hundred maybe, if we’re dreaming big. A few horses. A nice farmhouse.” It came out so fast he couldn’t stop himself.

“A wife? Kids?”

“I don’t need a genie for any of that.”

“What if I told you I could give you all you wish for? Horses. Land. House.”