The Jealous Kind (Holland Family Saga 2)

Mr. Epstein hung up the phone and motioned for me to enter the kitchen. He was olive-skinned, his hair flaxen and curly on the tips, his short sleeves tight-fitting on his biceps. “Sit down.”

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

“We’ll see. What do you have to say?”

“About what?”

“You and Valerie.”

“About us going out?” I replied, my vocal cords beginning to atrophy.

“Call it that if you want. You seem like a nice kid. At least that’s what my daughter thinks, and that’s all that counts. Here are the rules in my house. I don’t impose my way on Valerie. She’s like her mother. Not afraid and not receptive to control by others. That said, she’s still my little girl, and that means no boy or man will ever abuse or disrespect her. If that happens, I get involved. Are you reading me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s it.” He picked up a teacup and drank from it.

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

How about that for clarity of line?

“Is that Sterling Hayden in the photograph?” I asked.

He nodded and waited for me to go on. But I thought the less said, the better.

“What do you know about him?” he asked.

“He gave names to the House Un-American Activities Committee.”

“What are your thoughts on that?” he asked.

“I don’t have any.”

“How about your parents? What do they think?”

“My father said the ones who gave names should have taken their medicine. My father hates war. He was in the trenches in 1918. He says Russia’s objective is to bleed us white through its proxies.”

Mr. Epstein nodded, his eyes hazing in the way of adults when they’re no longer listening. “You ever meet Clint Harrelson?”

“Grady Harrelson’s father? I know who he is.”

“He’s the founder of a right-wing organization that would enjoy seeing people like me put in a soap dispenser. I’ve had a couple of personal run-ins with him. His organization called me a Communist in i

ts newspaper.”

“You’re not a Communist, are you, Mr. Epstein?”

“Not now.”

“Sir?”

“I think his son was after Valerie to prove something to his father. I told the father in front of the Rice Hotel that if either he or his son brought harm to my family, I’d shoot him.”