“Work called while we were walking? You want to tell me know what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He buckled up himself and turned on the ignition. The convertible had a manual transmission, and he stepped on the clutch, shifted into first gear, and drove away from the house I’d grown up in.
“But I’m going to. I just want you to promise me one thing.”
“Whatever you want, babe.”
“You won’t kill my father.”
He was silent for so long I started to panic. “Wills?
He sighed. “What did he do?”
I told him, and the car stalled out.
“Say that again?”
“He told the family I’m a crackhead, that I use crystal meth and God knows what all else.”
“I…I see. Well.” He shifted into neutral and restarted the car. “Two promises I regret.” He looked grim.
“Wills?”
“I promised you I wouldn’t kill that—your father. And I promised your mother we’d be here for Mother’s Day.”
“Now I wish you hadn’t.”