“To stop my work?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you asking?”
“Call it curiosity.”
It takes me a minute to answer. “No.”
“Why not?”
The lie is right there, the lie I’ve been telling everyone for so long. Yet I can’t do it. After a moment, I spill the secret I’ve hoarded all these years.
Marius’s expression betrays nothing. “Does your daughter know?”
“No. And I want it to remain that way.”
“Anybody else?”
“Only her mother knew,” I say flatly. “But she took that knowledge to her grave.”
Marius nods. “Your secret is safe with me.”
26
JUSTIN
––––––––
Wednesday evening, July 14
I need my parents’ van, but I doubt my dad will let me use it. Six months ago, Iborrowedthe van to drive around town and slap CANCELLED stickers on circus posters, a bottle of Johnnie Walker keeping me company. After overcorrecting on a curve, I landed up in a ditch with a broken nose, an enraged father, and a hefty repair bill. I’ll bet the bike, though, that my folks are away on some or other rescue jaunt, which means I’ll only have to contend with Joel, who lives with my folks.
After a quick detour to my townhouse to contact the whistleblower and print out the report, I pull into my parents’ driveway and cut the engine.
The porch light snaps on and Joel’s gruff voice calls out, “Who’s there?”
“Your worst nightmare, my friend.”
“Justin!” The front door opens and a tall, lanky frame fills the doorway. “I was wondering when you’d pay a lonely old man a visit.”
I find myself enfolded in a rib-cracking hug. Closing my eyes, I breath in Old Spice and breath mints, the familiar scents of childhood.
Joel ushers me into the house. “It’s too bad we missed each other Monday.”
“Yeah.” I deliberately picked a time when I knew Joel would be out to collect the two Alsatians for my meeting with Heather at the park.
I hang my jacket on the coat rack in the entryway, making sure the report is still hidden inside. My dad’s homemade plaque—Animals have no voice and no vote. They need us to defend them—still hangs crooked on the wall.
“How is dear old Dad?” I ask, taking in a lungful of air warm from cooking, still feeling like a stranger in a house that had never been a home.
“The same. Still refusing to slow down.”
“Only a coffin will solve that problem.”
“It wasn’t a criticism, Justin.”
I shrug. “Where are they off to this time?”
