Page 93 of Bidding War

Mom stares at me in silence, then sighs, shaking her head. Then she says the worst possible thing she could ever say to me. “You are so much like your father.”

48

ANDERSON

Time simultaneously flies and drags when you’re recuperating. I lose whole days to sleep. Liquid diets are nowhere near as fun as they sound, and I wasn’t too keen on the idea to start with. I’d give my left nut for something to chew on besides ice and popsicles. But as the weeks go on, I am getting better, and that’s all that counts.

I can even answer the door myself when someone knocks. “Moss, come on in.”

He lumbers in with a cursory wave to June on the couch. It’s become her office over the past few weeks, and when she’s there, we don’t bother her. She returns the wave and then returns to her laptop, but I have the impression she keeps an eye on me at all times.

Since there is no wall between the kitchen and living room, I know she can hear us. But there are no secrets with her anymore, and Moss has been acting accordingly. We crowd at the kitchen island, but I have to take a seat.

Moss asks, “How are you feeling today?”

“Considerably better now that I’ve been getting sleep on a regular basis. Thanks for asking.”

“Here.” He passes me a piece of folded construction paper.

“What’s this?”

“Marianna says hello.”

I laugh, and it hurts a lot less than it used to. There’s still that same pinch in my side, but it doesn’t take my breath away. I unfold the paper, and inside is a skillful pencil drawing of me and his ten-year-old holding hands. Underneath, it says, “Get well soon.”

“Wow. She is so thoughtful—wait. What does she think is wrong with me?”

“I tell her you were hurt at work. Had a bad fall.”

“Ah.” I get up and amble to my refrigerator, sticking the drawing on the side with a magnet from a downtown bar. “She really is the sweetest kid.”

“She thinks you are love of her life. She was bereft to learn you were hurt. She begged, ‘Daddy, take me to see him,’ but I tell her, ‘Marianna, he is too old for you.’ She did not talk to me the rest of the night.” He grins and shrugs. “Such is young heartbreak.”

“I am certain she will get over it. You just have to redirect her to someone her own age.”

“Perhaps.” He lowers his voice. “Things with June? They are good?”

I nod. “She’s been amazing this whole time. I don’t know what I did to deserve her.”

“We never deserve them. We just do things to make them blind to that.”

That feels remarkably true. Especially now. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I want you to know this. I am grateful for what you did for me, Anderson.”

I frown up at him while I smile. “I know that.”

There is something on his mind that he doesn’t want to tell me—I can tell by the way his brow goes Cro-Magnon as he frowns. “Your father does not want you going on the ride-alongs any longer.”

“Since when?”

“He tells me this morning.”

“Do you think he suspects your divided loyalty?”

He shakes his head. “I do not. I have given no reason to suspect anything.”

Then … the fault lies with me. I whisper, “Do you think it’s about June?”

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