Chapter 8: Before You Go

Jocelyn Dad had left my mother’s coffee mug on the kitchen counter. I found it the next morning beside the coffee maker, the chipped blue one with a painted sunflower on the side. He’d never let anyone throw it away, although the handle had been glued back on twice. Usually it sat at the back of the cupboard, carefully protected from the ordinary hazards of breakfast. He was seated at the kitchen table in yesterday’s trousers and a clean shirt, staring into his coffee. The house smelled of the casserole a neighbor had dropped off after we got home. I’d put the food away while Dad went upstairs, then spent most of the evening answering messages from people I’d barely remembered knowing. “Morning,” I said. He looked up. “Did I wake you?” “No. My brain thinks it’s already at work.” I poured myself coffee and sat across from him. “How’d you sleep?” “Some. You?” “About the same.” Neither of us mentioned the funeral immediately. The living room was full of flowers, cards, and photographs gathered for the service. I’d offered to sort them, but Dad asked me to leave everything where it was. He wasn’t ready for the room to return to normal, and I understood. I glanced at Mom’s mug again. “Remember how she used to get mad when people borrowed that?” “Because nobody brought it back.” “Because you kept taking it into the garage.” He smiled. “I did that once.” “More than once. She made me write your name on the bottom so I could return it to its rightful owner.” He laughed softly, and hearing it was a relief. Mom had been gone for years, but I could still make him laugh with the same stories. He’d never treated her death as the end of our family, and he’d certainly never treated me as a daughter he’d inherited temporarily through marriage. “Did you mean what you said yesterday?” he asked. “About what?” “That you might stay a little longer.” I set down my cup. “Who told you?” “Valerie asked if I knew you were changing your flight. I told her it was the first I’d heard of it.” Of course she had. Rook had overheard my conversation with Brian, passed it to Valerie, and Valerie had carried it straight to Dad before I could tell him myself. “I’m considering it,” I said. “I haven’t called the airline yet.” “Because of Brian?” I met his eyes. “Because of Luke.” He waited. Dad had always been good at that, which was probably why half the town trusted him with its legal problems. He could let silence settle without filling it for somebody else. “I want to understand what happened,” I said. “The police investigated Brian, but there are still questions about the club, Steve’s death, and how Brian ended up president so quickly.” “Steve died in a motorcycle accident.” “I know. I’m not suggesting Brian caused it. I’m saying the leadership changes deserve a closer look.” Dad turned his mug between his hands. “And what happens if you find out Brian did kill him?” “Then I examine the circumstances. Whether he was protecting Sable, whether there was an imminent threat, and whether what he did was justified.” “That’s a lawyer’s answer.” “I’m a lawyer.” “I noticed.” He smiled faintly, then grew serious. “I’m asking because I don’t want you deciding he’s guilty before you’ve even started.” “I haven’t.” “Good. Because Luke made enemies, Jocelyn. Real ones. I wish he’d been a different man, but wishing won’t change what he did.” There was so much grief in his voice that I wanted to change the subject. Instead, I reached across the table for his hand. “You loved him,” I said. “Of course I did. I loved him when he was six and when he was thirty. There were days I didn’t particularly like him, but I never stopped being his father.” He swallowed. “I keep thinking there must’ve been something I could’ve said differently.” “You spent years trying to reach him.” “Maybe.” He squeezed my fingers. “I know you and Luke weren’t close anymore. You don’t owe me an investigation to prove you care.” “I’m not doing it because I feel obligated.” “Then do it carefully. And don’t let it consume the life you’ve built.” I thought about Chicago, my office, my colleagues, and the work I’d done to earn my position. Dad had been proud when I’d left for law school. Even now, when he had every reason to want me nearby, he was reminding me that my future mattered. “I won’t,” I promised. “But I’d like to take another week.” “If that’s what you want, I’d like having you here.” “Good. Because somebody has to make sure you eat that casserole before it becomes a science project.” He laughed, then carried his coffee to the sink while I opened my laptop. I had several matters awaiting my attention in Chicago, including a client meeting scheduled for Monday. I couldn’t simply disappear and expect everyone else to rearrange their schedules around me. I reviewed my calendar, identified the deadlines that needed coverage, and drafted an email to the managing partner explaining that a family death required me to remain in New Mexico longer than anticipated. I requested another week of personal leave, offered to remain available for urgent questions, and suggested colleagues who could handle the matters that couldn’t wait. I read the email twice before clicking Send. There. I’d finally done something beyond talking about staying. I still needed approval before changing my flight, but at least the request was made. Dad returned to the kitchen doorway, carrying Mom’s mug. He’d washed it and was drying the handle with a dish towel. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he said. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to bring it up for a while.” “Okay.” “Before you go back to Chicago, would you stop by my office? I’d rather have the conversation there.” I studied him. “Is something wrong?” “No, honey.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “Quite the opposite, I hope. It’s important to me, though.” “Is this about Luke?” He hesitated. “It’s about the future.” Then he turned toward the cupboard, leaving me with more questions than answers. I’d come home expecting to stay three days, bury Luke, and return to work. Now I had an investigation to begin, a leave request sitting in my managing partner’s inbox, and a father who wanted to discuss my future at his law firm. For the first time since landing in New Mexico, I wondered whether extending my stay by a week would be nearly long enough.