“Do you still have the antique key Mom gave you years ago?”
He hesitates. “No.”
“Shit! What happened to it?”
“I… I gave it to an old girlfriend.”
“The one you left Mom for?”
Another embarrassed silence. “Yes.”
I can’t even.
Max mouths to me, “Ask her name.”
“I know her name,” I mouth back, pulling out my scratchpad and pen.
I write down,Yolanda Normand.Then mastering all my self-control, I say into the phone, “Old girlfriend?… Didn’t she go with you to Lisbon?”
“We broke up shortly before I left. I haven’t been in touch with her since.”
“OK,” I say. “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.”
I’m about to wish him a good day, but he isn’t done yet. “Lucie, baby, how have you been? When can I see you?”
“I don’t know.”
I guess there’s no point in Max and I flying to Portugal anymore.
Maxtakes my scratchpad and steps out from the office probably to ask Berta to cancel our flight reservation and give his police friend another call.
“I’ll be happy to come to Lyon or wherever you live now,” Dad says. “I haven’t seen you in so long! I miss you.”
“You left us, remember?”
“I left Renée,” he argues. “Not you. It’s breaking my heart that you feel I abandoned you. If I could turn back the clock, Lucie, I would’ve acted differently. Very differently!”
We’ve had this conversation before, many times. I don’t want to restart it now. Especially because, for the first time in years, a part of me believes him when he claims he misses me. A part of me feels sorry for him. For the first time since my parents’ divorce, I see Dad in a new light. Not as the Monster, the Enemy of Old, or the Coldhearted One Who Let Me Down but just a fickle, weak man. A man with regrets. And with feelings.
How odd.
Hardly believing the words that come out of my mouth, I mutter that maybe we can meet up this summer and then I end the call.
Max, who’s been standing in the doorway, reenters the room and pulls the door shut.
“Thanks for calling your dad. I appreciate it.” He shows me an address he’s scribbled on my scratchpad. “It’s where Yolanda Normand lives now. A residential suburb of Lyon.”
I glance at the address. “Not a chic one, ha! More like the opposite of chic.”
“You’re gloating.” He gives me a crooked smile. “I was under the impression a few seconds ago that you were beginning to forgive your dad.”
“Maybe. But don’t expect me to go full Mother Teresa!It’s too much fun to realize that the bimbo who stole him from Mom hasn’t done so well for herself.”
His smile expands. “The last thing I want, Lucie, full Mother Teresa. She was a nun.”
Does this mean he’d like us to have sex again?
How do I feel about it, besides the sudden urge to stand up and do a victory jig? An idea that’s been brewing in the back of my mind for days, finally takes shape and becomes an admission. I like Max more than I like my job at MINDFUCH. And here’s the real shocker; I like him more than I like my pay at MINDFUCH.
