Page 13 of Trusting Blake
“Can Marnie and I talk?” Dad’s voice asks. “Alone?”
And I’m brought straight back to the horrible scenario before me.
Mom sits rigid on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the clock on the wall. It’s after one now, and while the rest of the town sleeps peacefully, the Harding Estate is in turmoil. Ruben haughtily examines the knick-knacks on the mantelpiece like a dealer in vintage collectibles.
“No,” I say loudly, finding my voice as I take a courageous step into the room. “I want to hear what you have to say.”
“Mila, just let me talk to your mom,” Dad replies. “We can talk, just us two, in the morning, okay? I promise.”
I’m about to stand my ground, but when I exchange a look with Mom, she nods. She is tired and hurt, and Dad is guilty and desperate, and I think maybe itisbest if my parents talk privately, at least tonight. There are so many mixed emotions and, despite how much I want to hear the truth, I know deep down that this conversation isn’t meant for me.
“Okay,” I concede, and Sheri, Ruben, and I leave the room together. We take ourselves off to the kitchen, where Sheri does a quick check of the security cameras. I should probably head back to my room, but I sit down at the table, afraid to miss out on anything at all.
“So, here we are,” Ruben says, flexing his hands. “It looks like we’re in for a long night. We just had an interminable flight, and I had to navigate these godawful roads all the way from the airport. What more does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?”
Sheri gives him the stink-eye over her shoulder. “I’m sure you were well catered to in first-class,” she retorts, but then opens the refrigerator and pulls out a jug of sweet tea. She sets it down hard. “This is a self-service establishment. Glasses are in the drawer over there.”
Ruben huffs, then reluctantly pulls out a chair next to me. “I was hoping for a nip or two of bourbon.”
“Try the Hilton over in Nashville,” Sheri deadpans. “I’m sure they have a fully stocked bar there.”
“Actually,” Ruben says, holding up a finger.
Sheri and I stare at him with worried expressions, already dreading his next words.
“Everett’s plan was that we stay here.” He has the good grace to look down at the table for a moment. “If you have the space, that is?”
“What?” I blurt. “You want to stayhere?”
All of us cooped up together on this ranch is a recipe for disaster, or even all-out war. Sheri has been in Ruben’s presence for approximately five minutes and already she can’t bear his pompous attitude, and Mom came here to getawayfrom Dad, not to end up trapped here with him. Not to mention Popeye, who seems to be sleeping through all the commotion, but will surely hit the roof when he finds out that Dad and Ruben are here. And they have the nerve to assume they can stay?
“Everett paid for the security around here, didn’t he?” Ruben points out, snapping back into professional mode. “I think it’s only fair he gets to make good use of it until things are resolved. Considering the nature of this excursion, I thought it best we kept things as low key as possible and left Everett’s entourage at home. There’s no need to make this unfortunate situation into more of a circus than necessary.”
“Oh, sure,” Sheri drawls. “Because we all must bend over backward to protect dear Everett from his own damn wrongdoings.”
“Wow.” Ruben snorts and turns to me. “I see where you’ve picked up your new attitude from.”
“Sheri doesn’t have an attitude,” I say, staring him down. It feels like I have waited almost my whole life to stand up to Ruben. Usually, I would keep my mouth shut and nod along to his wishes. But not anymore. If Blake can stand up to hismom, I sure as hell can talk back to Ruben. “She’s as sweet as can be. . . when she actually likes someone.”
Sheri laughs out loud, then buries her head into a cupboard, pretending to look for something while Ruben and I pursue an intense stare-off. He’s put out by my words, but I don’t care. I’ve had enough of his over-the-top controlling Hollywood bullshit. Why can’t he just be a normal human being? Why can’t Dad? Why can’t we all?
There’s a creak from the staircase and the shuffle of footsteps. Then, a raspy voice asks, “What in the world is going on? What ishedoing here?”
Sheri and I spin around in alarm. Popeye appears at the foot of the staircase, unstable from being newly awoken, and rubs his one good eye fiercely, as though he can’t believe Ruben Fisher is really in his kitchen.
“Wesley. It’s been a long time since we last met,” Ruben says politely, and I wonder:whendid Popeye ever meet Ruben? Ruben has never been to Fairview. “Apologies if our late-night arrival woke you.”
Popeye blinks wildly, truly horrified at the fact that Ruben is, in fact, not an illusion. He checks the clock on the wall, then glowers at Sheri, then me, then Ruben, trying to figure out what is going on. How long until he works out that his son is in the next room?
Sheri moves across the kitchen to him. Placing her hand soothingly on his arm, she guides him toward the table. “Dad, I think you should sit down. Ruben isn’t the only one who’s here.”
6
There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s after nine, so I’m already awake and showered, and have been avoiding heading downstairs for breakfast. Instead, I’ve satisfied my hunger by stealthily snacking on a packet of Sour Patch Kids while braiding my hair.
“Mila, it’s me,” Dad’s voice sounds through the closed door. “Can I come in?”
So, he has kept his promise. He has come to talk to me. No Mom, no Ruben, just the two of us. My body tenses with nerves – I was already angry at Dad even before news of his affair leaked, and I have so much I need to settle with him. It can’t wait forever. It’s time I voice my thoughts, and time he treated me like an adult.
