I nod.
“What kind of name is Trick?” she asks, a sour look on her face.
“It’s a nickname. It’s short for Patrick.”
Her eyes light up. “Patrick is a good, strong name. I like him already. Do you love him?”
“Drogheda! I’ve only known him—”
“I didn’t ask how long you’ve known him. I asked if you love him. I say yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes even if you can’t.”
There’s no fooling Drogheda. I melt onto a bar stool across from her. “I do. I really do.”
“Does he know?”
“I think he might. I may have accidentally said something to him over the weekend.”
“I thought you were with Jenna.”
“I was. But we weren’t alone.”
“Lying to your papi won’t do you any favors, mi Camille.”
“I know, but he’s just so hard-headed when it comes to Trick. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Maybe you should ask him. He’s a smart man, chica. Give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s your father and he loves you. He only wants what’s best for you.”
“Even if it’s Brent?”
She screws up her face and I know her answer before she gives it. “Well, let’s just hope that’s not his only choice.”
“Promise me you won’t tell him, Drogheda. Please!”
“I promise. But you need to do the right thing by the people you love, Cami. All the people you love.”
I sigh. “I know. And I will. I’m just waiting for the right time.”
We both turn our heads when a light knock sounds at the door behind us. My heart jumps up into my throat when I see Trick standing there with the tips of his fingers stuffed into his pockets. I smile brightly, even as I’m praying he didn’t hear any of our conversation.
I walk to the door and open it. “Good morning.”
He clears his throat and smiles tightly. “Mornin’. Can I, uh, can I talk to you?”
His eyes are darting everywhere, like he doesn’t want to look directly at me. My stomach drops into my boots and I fight back the urge to run to the bathroom and hurl.
“Of course.” I turn back and smile at Drogheda. I know it faltered when I see her face is lined with concern. “Don’t worry about breakfast, Drogheda.”
She nods, but says nothing. I can feel empathy pouring off her like water off a cliff. I know without having to ask that she feels as apprehensive as I do. Trick wouldn’t be here, visiting me at the main house where there’s a possibility of being discovered, if it wasn’t important. And bad.
I follow Trick onto the patio out back. He walks to the railing and stops, turning to face me. He looks down at the toes of his boots, making me more and more nervous.
“All right, spit it out. Whatever it is. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”
That draws his eyes upward. And they’re filled with a thousand things, not one of them good.
“I don’t really know how to say this.”
“Just say it.”
Why am I encouraging him?
But I know the answer to that. Because the suspense, dragging it out, feels like it’s killing me.
“I found out some…things when I got back last night, things that have to do with my father.”
Like a death row inmate might feel when the red phone rings, I feel a temporary reprieve.
“Oh. Okay. Tell me.”
“The thing is,” he begins then pauses to run his fingers through his hair. My nerves are back again.
“What is it, Trick? You’re starting to scare me.”
And he is. I feel like there’s something much worse than getting dumped on the horizon. But what could that possibly be?
He looks up and his eyes meet mine. In them is an overwhelming sadness that makes my chest feel tight.
“My father left me something, something that my mother apparently had decided not to give me. Until she met you.”
Now, I’m just confused. “Me?”
He nods. “He left me a Ferrier’s kit he’d bought me years ago, along with a letter.”
I wait for him to continue, to tell me what’s in the letter. When he doesn’t, I prompt him. It’s that or reach out and choke him. “And?”
“I never really knew why my father killed himself. Until now.”
“Did he tell you in the letter? Or did your mother tell you?”
“He explained it in the letter. I think I told you when he first started out in this business, he had a partner. Someone he trusted and had a pretty close relationship with. Until he started seeing the guy’s wife.”
The gasp slips from my lips before I can raise my fingers to stop it. “He cheated on your mother?”
He nods again.
“I don’t mean to be callous, but stuff like that happens all the time. Why would he kill himself over that? I mean, it’s terrible, but…”
“That’s not the worst part.” He pauses to consider. “Well, maybe it is, but it’s not the only bad part.”
He stops again and this time rubs his fingers over his eyes. Everything from his posture to the hang of his head shouts that he’s in misery. I do the only thing I can and I go to him.
I approach him slowly, like he did with Rags over the weekend. He doesn’t move away when I lay a hand on his arm. I mean only to comfort.
“Tell me the rest.”
“When they were discovered, his partner wanted out, of course, and the only way my father could repay the financial investment was to sign over the horses. It left our family with nothing. We had no money, he had no job. All he and my mother had between them was hurt. And regret.”
“So that’s why he killed himself?”
“Well, guilt, yes. But also, he was able to spend his last chunk of money on an insurance policy with pretty much no restrictions. Upon his death, Mom would get enough money to take care of us for a long time. And it did. Until it ran out recently and they started investigating the indemnity clauses of the policy.”
“How did…how did he die?”
“Wet roads, no guard rail and a very deep quarry.”
“But that could’ve been an accident. Are you sure he…”
“He left my mother a letter. He planned the whole thing, knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Ohmigod, Trick. I’m so sorry.”
I just want to take him in my arms, but when he looks up at me, I see that there’s more. And by the look on his face, the worst is yet to come.