of them. We're just about out of skilled people. Only one can keep projects running right.”
Baloney. Whip wanted to get away from Merry, if only for a few days at a time. I did too. Each trip home was an escape from my disintegrating daughter.
“You're running away.” Emilie set her chopsticks beside her plate and crossed her arms.
I laughed.
“I'm sorry, but you look just like your mother. And me.”
Merry turned blurry eyes at Emilie. “Yeah, you look like your grandmother.”
She probably meant to hurt me, but I refused to get riled.
“You're running away.” Emilie hung onto her thought with the tenacity of a Rottweiler. “Mom, make him stay.”
“I don't care if he goes or not. It's all the same to me.” With that, Merry got up, refilled her wineglass, and went upstairs, leaving her plate on the table.
“Crap.” Whip half-rose then sank back in his chair. “Hey, I'm not leaving tomorrow. My first trip will be while you guys are at camp. You'll never know I'm gone.”
I, too, leaned back and crossed my arms under my breasts—metaphorically, since I didn't want to be seen sitting in judgment over my son-in-law. Not in front of Emilie and Alex. Whip and I needed to present a united front, even when it wasn't true.
Whip would never be satisfied in a nine-to-five job, home every night for dinner, weekends doing chores, and taking his wife to dinner on Saturdays. He was only truly happy with the dust of a job site on his boots and one of his guns strapped to his hip. That didn't jibe with being a father.
Alex finished a second helping and began a third while his father talked about several contracts his company won recently: another huge job in the Middle East, repair work on I-95 north of Richmond, something in northern Kentucky, and a tricky tunnel-and-highway project in the Peruvian Andes.
“Not another Middle East assignment, Dad,” Emilie said. “The last time ended in this mess we're in.”
“It's not fair to blame the area of the world.”
“I don't care. I don't want you going to the Middle East. Period.”
“You mentioned two jobs in the States, one here at home, one in Kentucky.” Before I could go any further, Emilie turned pale and sweaty.
“Dad doesn't want either one. He's going to Peru.” Emilie's words were distant, yet distinct.
“How do you know?” Whip had never seen Emilie go to her secret place before.
“When you think about going to Peru, your colors change inside. It's complicated. I'll explain it some other time.” She waved a hand in dismissal.
“Peru? I want to go too.” Alex turned up the volume to his outdoor-voice level.
“Alex.” I held up a finger.
“Sorry.”
“I'm right. You're going to Peru.” Emilie was close to tears.
“It's a huge job. I don't have anyone else I can trust.” Whip lost the battle of wills.
“Hadn't you better find people you can trust?” She carried her plate into the kitchen and returned to the breakfast area. “I thought you trusted Uncle Johnny,” she said, then she left.
“Does she mean Johnny Medina?” I'd never heard her refer to anyone by that name.
“Yes.”
“Why can't he take Peru?” I was ready to fight even a losing battle if it would keep Whip focused on his parental role.
“He just can't. Wife wants a divorce. Has to be here.”
“You don't? Your wife needs you, Whip. Here. Think about her.”
“Hey, anyone want the rest of the chicken?”
I shoved the half-empty box across the table. Alex dug in with his chopsticks, apparently too intent on claiming the bits inside to bother putting it on his plate.
“I have to think about this.” If Whip was planning to disappear into South America, where did that leave me?
“How long is this project?’
“At least six months.”
Whip was manipulating me, and I hated it. He didn't even ask if I could stay.
Alex finished the chicken and went upstairs.
“You can't just tell me you're going away for half a year and expect me to drop
Baloney. Whip wanted to get away from Merry, if only for a few days at a time. I did too. Each trip home was an escape from my disintegrating daughter.
“You're running away.” Emilie set her chopsticks beside her plate and crossed her arms.
I laughed.
“I'm sorry, but you look just like your mother. And me.”
Merry turned blurry eyes at Emilie. “Yeah, you look like your grandmother.”
She probably meant to hurt me, but I refused to get riled.
“You're running away.” Emilie hung onto her thought with the tenacity of a Rottweiler. “Mom, make him stay.”
“I don't care if he goes or not. It's all the same to me.” With that, Merry got up, refilled her wineglass, and went upstairs, leaving her plate on the table.
“Crap.” Whip half-rose then sank back in his chair. “Hey, I'm not leaving tomorrow. My first trip will be while you guys are at camp. You'll never know I'm gone.”
I, too, leaned back and crossed my arms under my breasts—metaphorically, since I didn't want to be seen sitting in judgment over my son-in-law. Not in front of Emilie and Alex. Whip and I needed to present a united front, even when it wasn't true.
Whip would never be satisfied in a nine-to-five job, home every night for dinner, weekends doing chores, and taking his wife to dinner on Saturdays. He was only truly happy with the dust of a job site on his boots and one of his guns strapped to his hip. That didn't jibe with being a father.
Alex finished a second helping and began a third while his father talked about several contracts his company won recently: another huge job in the Middle East, repair work on I-95 north of Richmond, something in northern Kentucky, and a tricky tunnel-and-highway project in the Peruvian Andes.
“Not another Middle East assignment, Dad,” Emilie said. “The last time ended in this mess we're in.”
“It's not fair to blame the area of the world.”
“I don't care. I don't want you going to the Middle East. Period.”
“You mentioned two jobs in the States, one here at home, one in Kentucky.” Before I could go any further, Emilie turned pale and sweaty.
“Dad doesn't want either one. He's going to Peru.” Emilie's words were distant, yet distinct.
“How do you know?” Whip had never seen Emilie go to her secret place before.
“When you think about going to Peru, your colors change inside. It's complicated. I'll explain it some other time.” She waved a hand in dismissal.
“Peru? I want to go too.” Alex turned up the volume to his outdoor-voice level.
“Alex.” I held up a finger.
“Sorry.”
“I'm right. You're going to Peru.” Emilie was close to tears.
“It's a huge job. I don't have anyone else I can trust.” Whip lost the battle of wills.
“Hadn't you better find people you can trust?” She carried her plate into the kitchen and returned to the breakfast area. “I thought you trusted Uncle Johnny,” she said, then she left.
“Does she mean Johnny Medina?” I'd never heard her refer to anyone by that name.
“Yes.”
“Why can't he take Peru?” I was ready to fight even a losing battle if it would keep Whip focused on his parental role.
“He just can't. Wife wants a divorce. Has to be here.”
“You don't? Your wife needs you, Whip. Here. Think about her.”
“Hey, anyone want the rest of the chicken?”
I shoved the half-empty box across the table. Alex dug in with his chopsticks, apparently too intent on claiming the bits inside to bother putting it on his plate.
“I have to think about this.” If Whip was planning to disappear into South America, where did that leave me?
“How long is this project?’
“At least six months.”
Whip was manipulating me, and I hated it. He didn't even ask if I could stay.
Alex finished the chicken and went upstairs.
“You can't just tell me you're going away for half a year and expect me to drop
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