The Third Twin - Ken Follett [48]
“It could have been fifteen,” Daddy said. “We had guns on that job.”
“Thank you for sharing that with us, Dad. It’s sure to impress my boss.”
Daddy looked hurt and baffled, and she felt a stab of pity for him, despite her resentment. His weakness hurt him as much as it hurt his family. He was one of nature’s failures. The fabulous system that reproduced the human race—the profoundly complex DNA mechanism Jeannie studied—was programmed to make every individual a little bit different. It was like a photocopier with a built-in error. Sometimes the result was good: an Einstein, a Louis Armstrong, an Andrew Carnegie. And sometimes it was a Pete Ferrami.
Jeannie had to get rid of Berrington fast. “If you want to make that call, Berry, you can use the phone in the bedroom.”
“Uh, it’ll keep,” he said.
Thank God for that. “Well, thank you for a very special evening.” She held out her hand to shake.
“It was a pleasure. Good night.” He shook hands awkwardly and went out.
Jeannie turned to her father. “What happened?”
“I got time off for good behavior. I’m free. And naturally, the first thing I wanted was to see my little girl.”
“Right after you went on a three-day drunk.” He was so transparently insincere, it was offensive. She felt the familiar rage rise inside her. Why couldn’t she have a father like other people’s?
He said: “Come on, be nice.”
Anger turned into sadness. She had never had a real father and she never would. “Give me that bottle,” she said. “I’ll make coffee.”
Reluctantly he handed her the vodka and she put it back in the freezer. She put water in the coffee maker and turned it on.
“You look older,” he said to her. “I see a little gray in your hair.”
“Gee, thanks.” She put out mugs, cream, and sugar.
“Your mother went gray early.”
“I always thought you were the cause of that.”
“I went to her place,” he said in a tone of mild indignation. “She doesn’t live there anymore.”
“She’s in Bella Vista now.”
“That’s what the neighbor told me. Mrs. Mendoza. She gave me your address. I don’t like to think of your mother in a place like that.”
“Then take her out of there!” Jeannie said indignantly. “She’s still your wife. Get yourself a job and a decent apartment and start taking care of her.”
“You know I can’t do that. I never could.”
“Then don’t criticize me for not doing it.”
His tone became wheedling. “I didn’t say anything about you, honey. I just said I don’t like to think of your mother in an institution, that’s all.”
“I don’t like it either, nor does Patty. We’re going to try to raise the money to get her out of there.” Jeannie felt a sudden surge of emotion, and she had to fight back tears. “Goddamn it, Daddy, this is tough enough without having you sit there complaining.”
“Okay, okay,” he said.
Jeannie swallowed hard. I shouldn’t let him get to me this way. She changed the subject. “What are you going to do now? Do you have any plans?”
“I’ll look around for a while.”
He meant he would scout for a place to rob. Jeannie said nothing. He was a thief, and she could not change him.
He coughed. “Maybe you could let me have a few bucks to get me started.”
That made her mad again. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” she said in a tight voice. “I’ll let you shower and shave while I put your clothes through the washer. If you keep your hands off that vodka bottle, I’ll make you some eggs and toast. You can borrow some pajamas and sleep on my couch. But I’m not giving you any cash. I’m desperately trying to find the money to pay for Mom to stay someplace where they’ll treat her like a human being, and I don’t have a dollar to spare.”
“Okay, sweetie,” he said, putting on a martyred air. “I understand.”
She looked at him. In the end, when the turmoil of shame and anger and pity died down, all she felt was longing. She wished with all her heart that he could take care of himself, could stay in one place more than a few weeks, could hold down a normal job, could be loving and supportive and stable. She yearned for a father who would be a father.