“We agreed that if you couldn’t prove it was legitimate, I’d go to the police.”
“That’s not in either of our interests.”
Amy leaned forward, bluffing. “I’m not fooling around, Ryan. If you can’t prove to me that it’s legitimate, I have to turn this money over to the police.”
“I believe you. I swear I do.”
She played it cool. He really doesn’t know I no longer have the money. “I hope you aren’t just stalling.”
“I’m not. What I’m trying to do here isn’t easy. And to be honest, I’m sensing a lot of hostility from you that wasn’t there last week, and it isn’t making this any easier.”
“Okay,” she said, backing off a bit. “What is it you’re trying to say?”
He lowered his eyes, unable to meet hers. “I have a feeling this whole thing is leading to something that is very personal to both of us.”
She withdrew, confused. She had come here expecting a confrontation. Instead, he was soft-spoken, considerate, seemingly honest. The circumstances were horrible, but maybe the nice guy she remembered from the Green Parrot was the real Ryan after all. He’s definitely cute. “Personal?” she said, flustered.
“Yes.”
It sounded as if he was about to ask her on a date. “You mean — you and me?”
He looked lost, then embarrassed. “Oh, no. I wasn’t suggesting — you know.”
“No, of course not. That would be… inappropriate. Don’t you think?”
“Highly.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
They shared an anxious glance. Amy seemed troubled by the way that exchange had just gone. Ryan seemed troubled by what he was about to say.
“What is it?” asked Amy.
“I hate to go into this, but I have to.”
Her anxiety only heightened. “Go on.”
“Maybe it’s just my nature, but I can’t help but ask, why did this money bring you and me together?”
What was he getting at — destiny? “I don’t know.”
“From my standpoint, the more I look into the money, the more I learn about my father. So I’m just wondering if you might learn something, too. About somebody in your own family. Maybe there’s a relative you have always wondered about. Somebody you’d like to know more about.”
Her thoughts immediately turned toward her mother. “Maybe.”
“This might be your chance. That’s all I’m saying.”
Her eyes narrowed. This was suddenly headed in a direction she had never anticipated. Ryan had hit her most sensitive nerve. “If you know something about my mother, say it.”
“So, there is something you’d like to know about your mother?”
“Please, don’t taunt me.”
He hesitated, unsure of how far to take this.
“Before I say anything more, Amy, I’d like to know something. Just answer this one question, okay? My dad was sixty-two years old when he died. How old is your mother?”
“My mother is dead.”
“I’m sorry. How old would she have been if she were alive today?”
She thought for a split second. “Sixty-one.”
“When did she die?”
“You said you had just one question.”
“Sorry. This could be important for both of us. Just tell me, when did she die?”
“Long time ago. When I was eight.”
“Did she ever live in Boulder?”
That was way too close to home. “What’s going on here? What does all this suddenly have to do with my mother?”
Ryan blinked nervously.
Her eyes turned soulful. She wasn’t sure what he knew — or if he was just pushing her buttons. But after twenty years of wondering, she couldn’t let an opportunity pass. “If you know something about my mother, I have a right to know.”
His voice dropped. “Was your mother ever involved in a rape?”
“How do you mean, ‘involved’?”
“I mean, was she ever the victim?”
Stunned silence. “Are you saying my mother was raped?”
His throat tightened. “It’s possible. A long time ago. When she was a teenager.”
“That far back? How would you know about it?”
He said nothing. Amy’s tone sharpened. “How would you know?”
Ryan was struggling. “It’s like I said. We’re both learning some things here.”
Her hands began to tremble. Her voice quaked. “Are you telling me that your father raped my mother? That’s why he sent me the money?”
“I-” He couldn’t say it. He could hardly think it, sitting right across from the daughter.
Her face reddened. A flood of emotions took over — rage toward the Duffys, disgust with the way she had earlier flirted with Ryan. “Oh, my God.”
“Look, Amy.”
“ Don’t even say my name.” She slid out of the booth.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. Far away from you and your whole godforsaken family.” She hurried from the table, nearly running from the bar.
“Wait, please!”
She heard his pleas but just kept going. A tear ran down her cheek as she burst through the double entrance doors. She turned at the sidewalk and headed the wrong way, any way at all, just to get away. More tears followed. Tears for her mother.
Great tears of sorrow for a rape that may have led to suicide.
39
Ryan didn’t follow her out. Numbness took over, shutting out the sounds of a bustling bar. Amy’s outrage had deepened his sense of shame. Until tonight, he’d focused mainly on the way a father’s crime shaped the feelings of a son. Only now did he come to grips with the real victims.
It seemed repulsive now, the subtle way in which he had been taken with Amy the first time he had laid eyes on her. The son of a rapist attracted to the victim’s daughter. Ironically, back at that first meeting in the Green Parrot, they had even talked about children who were destined to be like their parents. He wondered if something in his subconscious was fueling the demons inside him, flooding his mind with loathsome thoughts of his father raping her mother, thoughts of the son raping the daughter. Was there something genetically wrong with him? Or was this situation simply too weird for any man?
He wondered how and where it had happened. The backseat of a car? Somebody’s house? Had his father used a weapon, some other form of coercion? Dad was a strong man. He was no lush, but he did drink more than most, especially at parties. Even so, Ryan had never seen him in a fistfight, never seen him abuse anyone, physically or verbally. He seemed happy with the man he was.
Seemed happy. Now that he was gone, it was looking more like an act. Dad had been happiest in group settings, making friends laugh, singing loudest at the piano. People loved him the way an audience loved a performer. Put him in a crowded room, and Frank Duffy would never shut up. Keep the topic light, and he was even great on the telephone. But face-to-face in a serious conversation, he wasn’t much of a talker. On reflection, Ryan had gotten very few glimpses into his father’s true feelings. Over the years, however, those little windows had stuck with him. Like the talk they’d had nearly two decades ago, on his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
His father had been in a funk all day, working on the house, repairing some outdoor wiring under the roof easements. Ryan had always thought of his parents as happily married. On this momentous occasion, however, Dad wasn’t exactly acting as if he would have done it all over again. Ryan caught up with him outside, standing twenty feet up on the ladder directly beneath the exposed wires. Ryan was on the ground, looking up.
“Dad, what are you doing up there?”
“Fixing this floodlight.”
“That’s not what I meant. Don’t you think you should spend the day with Mom?”
He fumbled for his wire clippers, saying nothing.
“Dad, you’re hurting Mom’s feelings.”
He paused. It was the most serious pause Ryan had ever seen in his father. Ryan was just eighteen years old and ready for college, trying to decide what to do about Liz, his high school sweetheart. Maybe his dad had sensed it was about time for some advice.
His father pointed at the wires dangling over his head. “See these?” he said from atop the ladder. “One of them’s hot. Could even kill a man.”