Free The Girl Next Door by Patricia MacDonald Page A

said, breaking the silence. “He’s kind of a high-strung guy. I’m sure he didn’t
     mean to be so …”
    “Stop apologizing, Nina. You don’t owe me any apologies.”
    “This is why I didn’t want you coming back to Hoffman. I mean, everywhere you turn
     you’re running into this kind of thing. People can be so cruel.”
    Duncan snorted. “You have no idea, Nina. You could never imagine, in your wildest
     dreams, how brutal and inhuman people can be to one another,” he said in an expressionless
     voice.
    Nina knew he was talking about his life in prison. “How did you stand it?” she asked
     cautiously. “Especially knowing you were innocent. It must have been horrible. I can’t
     even imagine how horrible,” said Nina. “And after all you went through …Jimmy acts like he’s the one who’s suffered. Honestly, it makes me want to scream.”
    Duncan was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Your brother really seems to have made
     a home with the Connellys.”
    “Yeah, maybe too much,” said Nina. “Patrick’s afraid he’s going to live there forever.”
    “He calls her Mom,” said Duncan.
    “I noticed,” said Nina. She drove along in silence for a moment. Then she said, “Why
did
Jimmy go to live with the Connellys, Dad? I mean, we hardly knew them. Mr. Connelly
     was our mailman. I never really understood how he ended up there.”
    Duncan did not answer right away. For a moment Nina wondered if her question had registered.
     She glanced over at his brooding profile. “Dad?”
    Duncan shook his head. “The Connellys wanted to help because of Anthony. They were
     grateful and they wanted to help. And I thought … I could see what strong people they
     were. Good people. I knew it would take a lot of strength to get him away from … the
     drugs. I thought I could trust them to do … what was best for Jimmy.”
    “Well, in all fairness, I’d say you were right about that,” she admitted.
    “Your mother always blamed Jimmy’s problems on me, you know. She said I was a terrible
     father.”
    “That wasn’t true,” said Nina loyally.
    “I don’t know,” Duncan said wearily. “Maybe it was.”
    N INA had left the lights on, so the house glowed cheerfully as she pulled her aunt’s old
     Volvo into the driveway. She got out of the car and inhaled deeply of the autumn night.
     “It does smellgood here, doesn’t it?” she said to her father, who had emerged from the passenger
     side.
    “You can’t imagine,” he said.
    “Let’s go in. I’m tired. I don’t know about you.”
    Duncan frowned. “I think I’m going to take a little stroll.”
    For some reason, the idea of him out walking alone in the dark filled her with anxiety.
     “It’s kind of late,” she said. “It’s dark.”
    “I’m not afraid of the dark,” he said.
    “I know, but …”
    “Nina,” Duncan snapped. “Don’t be my jailer. Please. I don’t need any more of that.”
    Nina shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dad. You’re right. I don’t know what’s the matter
     with me.”
    He shoved his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and started off down the driveway,
     the leaves crunching and rustling around his feet. Nina turned and went into the house
     after he had disappeared from view.
    The house felt damp and chilly, so she turned up the thermostat, and she switched
     on the TV so the noise would keep her company. Everywhere she looked there were little
     jobs to do. Obviously, Aunt Mary had been letting the housekeeping slide because of
     her age and her bad hip. Nina dusted off the piano keys and closed the instrument’s
     lid, straightened up a pile of magazines, and took a bunch of old newspapers into
     the back room for recycling. She looked in the empty refrigerator and sighed, knowing
     she needed to go to the store the next day. But first things first. She had to check
     her messages, to see if her agent had any news for her. She fished her cell phone
     out of her satchel on the kitchen