He opens a cabinet, selects a stainless steel shaker from the
third shelf up, and proceeds to mix a protein shake. Although
he’s toweled off, sweat bleeds through his T-shirt in a V down
his back. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” My toast pops up.
“Me neither.” Two scoops of protein. Chocolate flavored.
Ice cold water from the filtered tap. Shake, shake, shake. “I have
an early conference call with that guy about the grant and there’s
a meeting after my classes about the December conference.”
The shake gurgles as he pours it into a glass, and the shaker
clangs as he places it into the copper farmhouse sink. Sip.
Silence. Sip.
I eat the last section of my clementine and then clear my
throat. “I did some research last night. Online.”
He avoids my stare, simply takes another sip and pulls up
the weather forecast on his tablet.
“I looked up Trina Jordan.”
His gaze snaps up. “Why did you do that, Sam? I told you—”
“You knew her, Dad. Why didn’t you just tell me you—”
His body tenses. “Because I’m the father, and you’re the
kid, and sometimes I know what’s best, okay? I don’t think
involving you in Eschermann’s half-baked theories is going to
help anything. When I say I don’t want to talk about it—”
“But you didn’t say that, Dad. You said you didn’t know
who she was. You
lied
to me about it.” Tears gather in my eyes,
but I blink and inhale, trying to make them go away.
“Samantha . . .”
“Were you cheating on Mom with her?”
“No, Sam. Trina and I hadn’t been involved for some time
before I met your mom. And I haven’t heard from Trina in
a decade.”
32
