Page 83 of Restless (Brazen Bulls Birthright 5)

“Those are my terms,” Richardson confirmed. “If we’re agreed, I’ll have an assistant bring in the paperwork for signatures. You’ll allocute at the hearing already set for next week, and be taken into custody there.” A single atom of compassion must have brushed against the man’s stony heart then, because he added, “With good behavior, it’s possible you’ll serve only three of those years. You look like a man who can manage good behavior at McAlester.”

Petra’s father only nodded.

Mr. Vermeyer looked at him for a long time. Then he turned to Richardson. “Bring in the paperwork.”

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~oOo~

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Petra and her fatherstood on the parking lot and watched Mr. Vermeyer drive away. After he’d pulled out of the lot and disappeared, they still stood in place.

Her mind was a hive of bees. She knew she needed to say something, but no words would form. The one clear thought she could make out was a new memory: as they’d left, her father hadthankedEliot Richardson andapologizedto him. Like a condemned man thanking his executioner.

There was a quiet space in her mind, a single bee resting on a truth: her father had broken the law. He had endangered countless lives. He’d continued to do so even facing the threat of prison, and today Petra had learned that it was even worse than she’d thought. He hadn’t only drunk at home. He hadn’t only continued to drive despite his suspension. He’d continued todrive drunk.

That bee suggested that her father had been right to take the plea, that he was right that he deserved prison.

But Petra couldn’t countenance it. This was herfather. Her only family, and a man who’d loved her and treated her like a treasure her whole life. He’d struggled with alcoholism from earliest adulthood, from even before that, but he’d been sober since he’d learned he would be a father. Until her mother had been taken away from them so suddenly. So recklessly.

Richardson was right to be appalled that her father did the exact same thing. She knew that. She was appalled herself. But this was herfather. She didn’t know how to lose him, too.

At her side, Dad sighed out a long, disconsolate breath.

“Daddy,” Petra whimpered, using a word she hadn’t used habitually for almost twenty years. She realized she was starting to pick it up again during this crisis. Because she needed her daddy and was about to lose him.

He grabbed her hand in his. “It’s done, Petey. I don’t want to talk about it any more today. What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I have to be at the bar in about three hours or so. Other than that, nothing. You want to get some lunch?”

“I do. But I don’t want to sit in a restaurant, where we won’t have anything to do but talk about what’s about to happen. I don’t want to talk. It’s done. It’s a beautiful fall day, and I don’t have many more I can enjoy. How about we go to the Philbrook? We can get some food at their restaurant, take it to the gardens and have a picnic, and then we can wander around the galleries. I remember how you loved that when you were little, staring up at all the paintings and making stories about what you saw.”

Fighting back tears, she squeezed his big, hairy hand. “I still love it. I don’t make stories so much anymore, but you know I still love the art museum as much as you do. We’re not dressed for a picnic, though.” He was wearing one of his banker’s suits, and she was in a long skirt and low suede wedges. They’d dressed for the meeting.

“They’re just clothes, Petey. I don’t think it much matters what happens to this suit now.”

She almost pointed out that he hadn’t been given a death sentence, that someday he’d be outside again and maybe he’d miss his expensive suits, but she held it back at the last second. Maybe five years in the state prison would be a death sentence for her father. Maybe three years would be. She couldn’t begin to imagine the stresses and troubles that awaited him.

Instead, she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it. Right on the wedding ring he still wore. “Let’s go have a picnic.”

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~oOo~

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The Philbrook Museumof Art was a gorgeous, glorious location. Once the property of a former oil baron, the original museum was housed in an Italian-Renaissance-style mansion. And the surrounding gardens were astonishingly beautiful. It was a favorite location of both Petra and her father. Her mother had loved it, too.

They had a picnic in the gardens, during which they both worked very hard to talk about lighthearted subjects—which meant that Petra, whose immediate future was rosier, did most of the talking. There was only one thing in her life right now that felt most clearly good: Jake. So Petra talked about him. Dad asked lots of questions but offered no judgments, not even when he asked what he did, and she told him about the Brazen Bulls. He was only concerned that Jake made her happy. She told him he did, because it was true, and explained how her worries receded when she was with him.

Her father said that was the only thing that mattered. He wanted her to be happy.

He asked to meet him, and Petra said he was out of town but due back that night. They made a plan for her to bring Jake to the house for dinner over the weekend.

After their picnic, they spent about an hour wandering the galleries. He asked her to make up some stories like she’d done when she was little, and Petra did, feeling a bit silly at first but then getting into it.

All afternoon, she felt like she was holding doom back with her hands, but she held it back and made room for some light. For her father. For his last few days of freedom for a long time.

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