The irony of receiving relationship advice from the man who destroyed his own marriage isn’t lost on me. But there’s something genuine in his voice—something that sounds like the father I remember from childhood, before everything went wrong.
“I need to keep this quiet for now,” I add. “The public doesn’t know, and if it got out…” I shake my head. “It would be a whole thing.”
“Of course. I understand completely.” He mimes zipping his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. No one to talk to in solitary confinement.”
I groan and point to the wall over his shoulder. “Dad, there’s literally a potluck signup on the wall over there. You’re not in solitary confinement.”
We talk for another hour—about the lawyers, about the case developments I’ve been tracking. For once, he doesn’t ask about Mom, or insist he’s innocent. He just listens. Asks questions. Acts interested in my life.
“What about that cat?” he asks at one point. “Where’s he while you’re gallivanting around Miami?”
“He goes with us, believe it or not. Traveling cat. Right now, he’s with Charlie, while I’m here. She’s been taking care of him.”
“You left your cat with her?” His eyebrows rise. “That serious huh?”
“Well, he’s notmy cat.”
“Whose cat is it?”
I’m getting really tired of explaining this, mostly because it doesn’t make sense. “It’s not the point. All I mean to say is I trust Charlie.”
I hadn’t really thought about it consciously, but leaving Black Cat with Charlie felt natural in a way it shouldn’t have. Like I already trusted her too much, and assumed we were this cat-parenting team. Is that a good sign or bad?
“The cat likes her more than me I think,” I admit.
“He’s not the only one.” My father grins. “Go on, tell me more. What’s her family like? Does she have siblings?”
I talk about Claire—the pregnancy, her naming the baby Charlotte, the way Charlie’s face lit up when she told me. I tell him about the dancers and how Charlie gave them the spotlight. About the blanket fort and the Rotel dip and the way she looked at me when she fell asleep with her head on my chest.
I don’t tell him everything, obviously. Some things are private. But I tell him enough, and he listens with what seems like genuine interest.
It’s nice. Suspiciously nice.
But I push that thought away. Maybe Anne was right. Maybe it’s time to stop looking for the worst in people—even people who’ve given me plenty of reason to expect it. It feels good to just talk. And by the end of the visitation, I realized I’ve probably shared way too much.
“Dad, I really mean it. You can’t tell anyone. Not the lawyers, not your friends in here, nobody. Charlie’s whole world is delicate, and I don’t want her business to get out and put her through hell?—”
“Taio.” He puts his hand over his heart, expression wounded. “I would never betray your confidence like that. You’re my son. Your happiness matters more to me than anything.”
And God, do I want to believe him.I almost do.
When visitation ends, my father hugs me again. Longer this time. Tighter. He pats my back twice, the way he used to when I was a kid and he was sending me off to school.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he says quietly. “I love you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“See you in two weeks?”
“Dad,” I say, dropping my gaze to my shoes. “The upcoming tour dates are tight. It’s hard to get back here between the shows. And Charlie needs me with her?—”
“Taio,” my dad says, stern-faced, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll see you in two weeks,” he reiterates. “End of story. Family sticks together. Don’t let some girl muddle what’s most important, okay?”
Some girl?Wow, how quickly that perspective changed.
“I’ll do what I can.”
He holds up his hand before the guard escorts him out of the room.
