“Besides lusting for Amelia, you mean,” Jeremy said as he held up a photo of her.
“Feeling’s mutual, I think,” Carl said.
“Really?”
“Something’s there. She looked kinda sick when I told her I’d seen him with Stef.”
“Is she sleeping with him?”
“Do you care?”
“Not really. I’d be surprised, is all. Pregnancy killed her libido.”
Carl wasn’t convinced of Jeremy’s indifference when it came to Dawson Scott and Amelia, but his concerns about the man were much more serious. “What gets me,” he said, “is that this writer showed up out of nowhere, moved into the house next door to your ex-wife’s, and edged in on her and the boys.”
“You said yourself that he was running down the story of me, Darlene, and Willard.”
“That’s what I said, but…”
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” Carl muttered. “That’s what worries me.”
“It makes perfect sense that he’d want to interview Amelia to get background stuff about our life together.”
“True. But it seems to me that he went to an awful lot of trouble to cover a murder trial in out-of-the-way Savannah.”
Jeremy blurted a laugh. “The man went to freakin’ Afghanistan for stories.”
Carl turned to Jeremy and must have telegraphed his rising anger, because his son’s amused grin collapsed. “Are you humoring your old man?”
“No, Daddy.”
“You think I’m getting soft in the head?”
“Of course not.”
“You think you’re smarter than me?”
“No! Jesus!”
“Others have thought they were. They didn’t listen to what I told them, and you know what? They’re either dead or fighting off queers in a goddamn prison.”
“Daddy, I—”
“The day you think you’re smarter than me—”
“I don’t think that.”
“Is the day somebody will take you down.” His left hand had been maimed, but his right hand worked just fine, and he emphasized those last words by poking Jeremy in the chest with his index finger. Carl held him in a hard stare for several moments more, giving the message time to sink in, then removed his hand and turned away. “I’ve worked up an appetite.”
They fixed thick sandwiches of deli meats and cheeses. The freezer wasn’t that great, so the ice cream was soft, but it tasted good. Over cups of coffee they continued their discussion.
Carl said, “Look, son, I get cranky sometimes. I know you’re eager to get your boys back. Hell, I can’t wait until we’re all together, either.”
“They’re gonna love British Columbia. I remember those days we spent there as the best time of my life.”
During one summer vacation, Carl had agreed to meet the Wessons—after so many years, even he had come to think of Randy and Patricia by that name—near Vancouver. They’d rented a cabin on a lake and had spent their days fishing, lazing about, and having cookouts on the shore.