Page 79 of Snowed In with My Best Friend's Dad

"I'm all right. I need to do this."

Dunk shook his head, but he moved out of my way. I drove to Miranda's house, trotting up the front walk to the door. I wouldn't call my knock a bang, but neither was it soft.

It occurred to me that Lindsay was supposed to be here, which was all the more reason for me to contain my anger.

She opened the door, and her smile was sweet. As if she was happy to see me. Was it real?

"You just missed Lindsay."

Thank God. "What’s going on with your stepmother?" I tried not to be angry, but my voice was definitely terse.

Her smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

"I just had a visit from your stepmother, and she's trying to get $150,000 out of me. Are you a part of that?"

For a moment, she just looked at me, studying me like she didn't know who I was. And then I could see it in her face, the moment everything inside her shut down, and with it came the panic that once again, I was letting my anger get the best of me.

I took a breath and counted to five. "I just need to know what’s going on."

She shook her head and started to shut the door. My hand came out, holding it open. "Listen, if I am wrong, if I'm out of hand, tell me. Tell me what's going on. This thing can't work if you just shut me out."

She shook her head. "We can't work at all, Brett."

"Don't say that. I've been working my ass off so that I can be better. The only reason I'm doing that is for you."

"You're just doing it for the baby."

I brought both hands up to my head, grabbing my hair, feeling like I was going to yank it out by its roots.

"Of course, I love the baby, but all these weeks, it's been an excuse for me to see you. Jesus fuck, Miranda, can't you tell that I'm in love with you?"

Her eyes rounded in surprise, and I thought, hoped, that I was reaching her.

But then she closed down again. "If that were true, you wouldn't be here asking me if I was working with my ex-stepmother to take money from you."

I'd done it. I had told her what I wanted and how I felt, and it didn't make a difference. My brain buzzed with all sorts of things I wanted to say, most of which would probably make my situation worse. Then again, how much worse could it get? I'd gone as far as I could go, but there was no having the dream that I’d been trying so hard to put in place. The only thing to do was to let it go.

I turned away, heading to my car. When I reached the street and opened the driver’s side door, I looked up toward the house, I suppose, hoping that she would stop me. But the door was closed and the porch light was off. It was a metaphor for my life.

30

Miranda

What was the saying about always doing the same things and expecting something different? How had I thought that Brett wouldn't lash out at me again? Granted, this time, he didn't call me names, but the idea that he thought I would be in cahoots with my stepmother to get money from him was ludicrous. Hadn't I spent the last few months telling them I didn't want anything from him?

He asked me to explain to him what was going on, but what was the point? This was a pattern, one I didn't want to be a part of anymore.

After I shut the door and moved back into the house, my father appeared, clearly having heard it all.

"Why didn't you tell him you had nothing to do with Loretta? Or tell him the type of woman Loretta was?” he asked.

"What would be the point?"

"Because the man was desperate to know that you weren't part of it."

How was it that my father was siding with Brett? "If he truly loved me, he would know that." Had he really said that? That he loved me?

My father cocked his head, giving me a look like I was naïve. "From what I heard, he didn't say anything as awful as you indicated he’d said before. His only crime was having doubt, questioning you. But you remember Loretta. Do you have any doubt that she said something to him that might make him think she was working with you?"

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