Page 4 of Forfeits

“Who’s winning?” I asked.

“Me!” Lucy stated.

I laughed and met Patrick’s gaze. “You’ve got to stop letting her win.”

“Hey!” my daughter said with indignation.

“I’m not. She’s got good instincts and a way with money. You’d better watch out.” Patrick stood. “Sorry, cuz, I’ve got to go,” he said to Lucy. He looked at his watch.

“But we’re in the middle of a game,” Lucy whined, “that I’m winning!”

“Just leave it, and we’ll continue it Thursday when I’m here again.”

“Fine.”

“I have to drive Patrick to work. See you in about thirty minutes?”

I was only beginning to feel comfortable leaving Lucy on her own for a half hour every now and then. It was possible that, if Daniel hadn’t died, Lucy and I would be further along on our journey toward her independence, but his unexpected passing had affected every part of our lives.

“Yep.”

“Don’t answer the door to anyone, okay? You know the drill.”

“I know the drill.”

Come to think of it, Lucy didn’t answer the door when I was here. She waited for me to do it.

“So how is Maverick Molly’s these days?” I asked Patrick.

He was a server at a relatively new entertainment venue that had set up in a quieter part of Centertown about a year ago. It was called Maverick Molly’s and heralded itself as a kink club and gaming parlor. I’d never been inside but Patrick raved about the place.

“It’s fun. I get great tips,” Patrick said, grinning.

Patrick had told me that the owners, Jacob and Sebastian Moriarty, had the young male servers dress in vintage Victorian undergarments. It sounded bizarre, and I couldn’t imagine it. I didn’t acquaint myself much with historical dress, so I didn’t even know what that meant.

There had been a day when the appearance of a new kink club in town would have been of interest to me, but those times were gone—buried with Daniel and better off laid to rest.

As I drove out of the driveway and down the street, I realized that I should have used the bathroom before we’d left. I needed to piss, but Patrick’s workplace was only a ten-minute drive away. I could hold it until I got back home.

Or could I?

By the time we pulled up to Maverick Molly’s I realized the situation was more urgent than I’d thought.

“Um, Patrick?”

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand on the door handle.

“Do you think I could come in and use the washroom? I should have gone before we left my place…”

“Sure. Of course. There’s one in the staff changing room.”

“Oh, thank God,” I muttered, embarrassed.

I parked in the spot right behind where we’d stopped and followed Patrick up the steps and through the front doors. The sounds of conversation, laughter and light jazz piano, trickled out of a nearby room and into the carpeted hallway. A rack of hangers with jackets and coats on them sat to the left, and I could see doors to another room at the end of the hall.

A tall man with blond hair in a ponytail, holding a bar cloth and wearing fancy clothes from another time that made him look like a Victorian gentleman, came toward us.

“Patrick, hey.” He smiled. The lines on his face spoke of a good disposition and graceful aging.

---