Hazel swallows some corndog. “This was the same year my dad got arrested. I’d already ordered the watch when I found all the evidence that he’d done what my cousins accused him of.”
“Oh, Hazel.” That breaks my heart. It’s one thing imagining pre-teen Hazel adoring her father. Quite another to picture the Hazel I know watching her hero fall off his pedestal. “That must have been hard.”
“It was,” she admits. “Want to know the really stupid thing?”
“Always.”
“I took the watch in to have it engraved with Numr Ne Ad. And then everything blew up and I forgot to go get it until after the trial. When I finally picked it up, I discovered the jeweler had taken it upon himself to correct my inscription. He didn’t even call to check. Just decided I’d written it down wrong.”
“Because obviously, men always know best.” I hold up a hand. “That was a joke.”
“I assumed.”
“Is it still mansplaining if it’s done in an engraving?” I glance at my own watch, which still isn’t working. There’s probably some sort of metaphor here. “Mansgraving? Engsplaining?”
She snorts. “I guess. The jeweler engraved the Breitling to perfectly spell out Number One Dad. I burst into tears in the shop. Then I got embarrassed and paid him anyway. Took the watch home and stuffed it in a drawer. It’s probably still in there somewhere.”
“That’s heartbreaking.” I wish I could hold her. “I’d hug you if my shoes didn’t still smell a little like sewage.”
“You hug with your feet?”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Funny girl.”
“Woman, not girl,” she says primly, folding her bare corndog stick into a grease-stained wrapper. “Don’t let me keep you from your shower.”
“You’re not.” I stuff another big wedge of potato in my mouth, ignoring the quick flash of memory. The image of Hazel pinned to the wall in her big, marble shower.
If we were destined to end up conceiving on accident, we sure as hell did it up right.
Clearing my throat, I come back to the moment as Hazel starts in on the chicken strips. “I hosed off my shoes well enough to get through this feast,” I assure her. “Besides, I’m enjoying your stories.”
“There isn’t much more to tell you.”
“What was your parents’ marriage like?”
“Not great. How about yours? Before your dad left, I mean.”
“I don’t even remember my mom and dad being together. When anyone asks, I just say I was raised by a single mother.”
“Hmm.” She finishes her mouthful of fried food. “I tell people I was raised by a single dad. I honestly couldn’t tell you why my parents got married in the first place.”
“Love, maybe?”
Hazel shakes her head. “They were polar opposites. After they split, Mom always said, ‘The only thing opposites attract is heartache.’”
“They must’ve had something in common.”
She shrugs. “Not much, besides growing up poor.”
“Hard to picture your dad being poor.” Last time I saw Owen Spencer, he was driving a brand-new pickup on his way to the courthouse in one of his fancy suits.
“He was the first one in the family to go to college. Worked like crazy to pay for it. Mom always liked the finer things. Maybe because she couldn’t afford food or clothes growing up? She likes designer labels and expensive jewelry, and my dad was determined to give them to her.”
“Why did they finally divorce?”
Hazel considers a chicken strip shaped like a cello. “Dad cheated,” she mutters. “Probably should have tipped me off, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
