Free Deadly Rich by Edward Stewart

stage?”
    “This chicken is delicious, but why do I have the feeling this discussion is going in circles?”
    “You’re the one going in circles.” She brought him another glass of lemonade. “I’m just trying to keep up with you.”
    “Sorry, kid, I’m trying to keep up with you and I guess I’ve had a long day, because I’m doing a lousy job of it.”
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing’s the matter.”
    “Something’s the matter.” She pulled out the other chair and sat across the table from him. “What happened at work?”
    “What usually happens at work? Someone got killed.”
    “Who?”
    “A woman.”
    “Why does that upset you?”
    “Why shouldn’t it upset me? Anyway, it doesn’t upset me.”
    “You’re very upset.”
    “I’m very upset because you’re very upsetting tonight. This is very unlike you. Maybe I will have some potato salad.”
    “I told you you’d need the fork. Who was she?”
    “I don’t know her. I didn’t know her. I’m not sure I’d want to know her.”
    “Then why does she upset you?”
    He realized Terri was interrogating him. Something in their relationship, some last remnant of control, was slipping from his hands. His daughter was beginning to manage things. “She’s not the one that upsets me.”
    “Then there is someone who does upset you.”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I like long stories.”
    “No, you don’t. Not this one.”
    “Why are you in such a mood? I just want to hear about your day.”
    What they were doing now had started three or four years ago, he couldn’t remember exactly when. It had started as a game, the little girl playing big momma to the gruff old man who played bad little boy. The game had produced tangible benefits. She ran the house for him. She cooked for him. Laundry got sent out on time, dishes got washed, beds got made. There was always soap and toothpaste and toilet paper and fresh towels. But sometime during the last year the game had become more than a game, and he realized he’d come to rely on her.
    Sometimes he found himself resenting her power just a little, withholding himself just a little. Like now. “I said it’s a long story.”
    “You said a woman got killed. Does it bother you because that’s what happened to Mom?”
    Suddenly he didn’t want any more potato salad. “It’s nothing like what happened to Mom. Stop being a psychiatrist.”
    “I’m just trying to understand.”
    “I don’t think about her.” He got up from the table. “That’s past.”
    “Is it? Seven years, and you’re still alone.”
    “Alone? Seems to me there’s two people in this house.”
    She followed him back into the living room. “There should be three. At least.”
    “For a kid who says she’s grown up maybe you don’t know as much as you think. That was a dumb remark. About three.” He flopped down on the sofa and stared at the dark TV screen. “If I wanted three people in this family, there’d be three people. I’m not an idiot.”
    “If you had someone, you could talk to them.”
    “Why should I talk to someone?” He picked up the TV Guide from the coffee table.
    “So you wouldn’t be in a mood when work gets to you.”
    “I can talk to you if I don’t want to be in a mood.” He turned to the Wednesday-night listings to see if anything was on at eleven-thirty.
    “But you don’t talk to me.”
    “This is why, because we talk like this.” He didn’t want Nightline , he’d seen enough trouble for one day. And he wasn’t in the mood for The Honeymooners ; Channel Eleven had been rerunning it for so many years that he’d seen most of the episodes two or three times.
    “This is the longest we’ve talked in months.” Terri sat on the sofa beside him. She drew her legs up under her. “We’re having a good talk.”
    And he didn’t think he could take Arsenio Hall. Not tonight. “What’s good about it?”
    “I like it when you tell me how you’re feeling.”
    He glanced at her.