Page 25 of Trusting Blake
“Of course I am,” Mom says, then pushes her hair off her face with her manicured fingers. “But your dad and your grandpa. . . It’s a sensitive subject. I know how much it hurts him.”
“Hurts who? Popeye?”
Mom gives me a strange look, as though I should know this. “No, Mila. Your dad.”
I’m trying to make sense of her words when Ruben dashes into the room, Dumbo mug still in hand, bringing the smell of scorched bacon with him. “Where is he?”
Mom stares at him in despair, but eventually answers with a nod to indicate “upstairs.” Ruben turns to leave, and I wonder if I should stop him. I doubt Dad will appreciate Ruben chasing him down when all he seems to want is a second to himself.
“Let’s hurry up and get to church so I can pray that he sees sense one day,” Popeye mumbles a moment later as he follows Sheri into the living room. She has broken out into a sweat and loose strands of hair wisp around her cheeks. Meanwhile, Popeye is still a ball of unfiltered anger.
“Church?” Ruben repeats as he sticks his head back around the doorway, having overheard Popeye. “I’m sorry, but unless that church is stationed right here on your ranch, Wesley, then I’m going to ask that you don’t attend.”
“Mr. Harding!” Popeye snaps, turning to point a finger at Ruben. At this point, I’m amazed Popeye hasn’t kicked his LA ass out on the street for his consistent lack of respect.
Ruben holds up his hands apologetically, but it’s painfully clear that he doesn’t actually care. “I wassaying,” he continues, “that it’s best not to go to church today. We have lots of visitors outside, remember? And, Mr. Harding, they will follow you.”
“Those lowdown scavengers! They won’t stop me from living my life!”
“He has a point,” I say, and Ruben fixes me with a death stare.
“Ruben, it’s a Sunday and we will be attending church,” Sheri decrees. No apologies. Good for her. They shouldn’t be sorry for getting on with their normal lives, the same way I’m not sorry for disappearing yesterday with my friends and Blake.
Oh, excuse me.My boyfriend.
My boyfriend who will also be at church today.
“I’m going too,” I say in a voice so chirpy it surprises even me. “We go every week.”
“Maybe we should all go.”
The sound of Dad’s voice entering the conversation startles us all. He appears at the doorway, a little behind Ruben, and interlaces his fingers behind his head while taking a deep breath. In the minute that he’s been gone, he seems to have pulled himself together and appears much more composed. But he could be acting, I guess.
“You don’t go to church,” Ruben huffs, shaking his head in astonishment.
“But maybe I should,” Dad says steadily. “I used to go every Sunday when I was a kid.”
Sheri glances nervously at Popeye, and Popeye cocks his head at Dad. “You’re seriously deluded if you think you’re going to show up atourchurch just so you can look good to the media.”
“No, no, no.” Ruben begins to pace the room the way he always does when he’s in a tailspin and trying not to panic. “This is such a bad idea, Everett. They are justwaitingto pounce on you out there.”
Dad ignores Ruben’s attempt at reasoning – which, to his credit, is sensible – and keeps his eyes trained on Popeye with the occasional glance at Sheri.
“You think I want to get harassed?” Dad asks. He is much calmer than earlier, but there is still a distinct undertow of exasperation in his voice. “Just consider, for one damn second, that maybe I want to go to church because I think it will be good for us all to attend. As a family.”
“In that case,” Ruben adds, “I’ll come with you.”
“No, not this time,” Dad tells him. “It’s best that it’s family only.”
Ruben flinches as if physically wounded. Dad’s his one and only client and they have worked together for years. It’s very unlike Dad to go against what he recommends.
“Are you sure?” Mom asks, but only because I thinkshe’sunsure of the idea.
Dad nods, then looks at Popeye with an odd mixture of pleading and loathing in his eyes. This is hard for him, but he knows it must be done, however reluctantly. “Dad, this is an olive branch that I am offering you. Please accept it.”
Popeye twists his hands, undecided.
“I think Everett is right,” Sheri says in a quiet voice as she casts a glance at Popeye, like she’s afraid he’ll accuse her of taking Dad’s side over his. “Maybe itwillbe good for us.”
