“Why don’t we ask my son’s new girlfriend?”
“Charlene? And why would the Mayor buy us a new car?”
“Because we’re doing her a big favor, that’s why. We’re keeping her streets safe.”
“Local government nowadays doesn’t have any money to spare, I’m afraid,” said Father Reilly with a sad shake of the head. “I asked the Mayor for money for a new church roof and she turned me down. Said I should ask my parishioners to chip in.”
“That’s it!” Vesta cried. “We’ll start one of ‘em online collections! Gofungus!”
“I think it’s called Gofundus,” said the priest with an indulgent smile.
“Go Fund Me,” Wilbur corrected him. “We did one last year for my mom’s new hip. We got enough for three hips, so my sister used the money for a new boob job instead.”
“Do you really think people are going to give money for a new car for the watch?” asked Scarlett dubiously.
“Of course! Who doesn’t like to live in a safe neighborhood? I’ll get on it tomorrow morning first thing. And if we’re not driving around in a fancy big Escalade this time next week I’ll eat my hat.”
“You don’t have a hat,” Wilbur pointed out.
“Then I’ll eat your hat! Or Father Reilly’s!”
“You can eat my hat,” said Scarlett. “I was thinking of buying myself a new one anyway.”
“Wise-ass,” said Vesta with a grin, and suddenly the mood in the car was uplifted to such a degree that for the rest of their patrol, a pleasant atmosphere reigned, and Father Reilly didn’t even bring up the delicate and intricate art of sermon-writing again.
Chapter 19
“Look, I don’t want him here, all right?”
“But, honey!”
“No, you listen to me. How do you even know he’s yours?”
A smile appeared on Marge’s husband’s face. “I just know he is. Besides, he looks exactly like me, doesn’t he? He’s my spitting image.”
“No, he doesn’t. He looks nothing like you.”
They were in their bedroom, conducting a whispered conversation, which was outrageous enough if you thought about it: there they were, in their own house, having to whisper because suddenly Tex had gotten it into his nut to invite a complete stranger into their home—a complete stranger who claimed, without evidence, that he was his son!
“I didn’t even know you dated Jaqlyn Checkers. You never told me!”
“I’ve been trying to remember. Before Dudley showed up I hadn’t thought about Jaqlyn for over thirty years. I even had to look up her picture. And as far as I can remember we never really dated. We went out a couple of times, before she dumped me for Timothy Gass, who had really nice hair back in the day. And of course he had a car.”
“But you do remember getting her pregnant,” Marge said acerbically.
“No! I didn’t think we ever got… that far.” He blushed a little as he said it. “And she definitely never said anything about being pregnant. Though I seem to remember now that she dropped out of school the last semester of high school. The story back then was that her dad had gotten a post as ambassador to Italy. I hadn’t even been aware he was a diplomat. Then again, I guess anyone can be an ambassador if they know the right people.”
“She never told you about the baby?”
Tex shook his head. On his lap were their old photo albums, which he’d taken into his son’s room so he could show him a little more about the family he’d suddenly found himself to be a member of.
“I find it very hard to believe you made this girl pregnant and you can’t even remember, Tex. You weren’t exactly the school Adonis back in the day.”
“All I remember is that we fumbled around a little on the backseat of her dad’s Volvo one night. Like I said, I don’t remember going that far, but apparently we must have.”
“Oh, Tex,” said Marge. “For a doctor you’re hopelessly clueless sometimes.”
“Obviously I must have had relations with the woman, otherwise Dudley wouldn’t have been born.” He smiled. “I always wanted a son. I love Odelia, but a son is… special.”
She gave him a dirty look which he totally didn’t catch and folded her arms across her chest, giving herself up to dark thoughts about her husband and men in general. Why was it they all considered a son their highest goal?
“Dudley wants to be a doctor, you know,” said Tex, with a beatific smile on his face. “Or at least he always wanted to be a doctor but his mom couldn’t afford the tuition so he never pursued his dream. Maybe he still can. With a little help from his dear old dad.”
“Oh, Tex!” Marge cried, and swung her feet from the bed. She couldn’t stand to be in the same room with this man anymore.
“What did I say?” asked her husband dumbly.
But she was already stalking out of the room and then she was stomping down the stairs and into the kitchen. And she’d just taken the milk from the fridge so she could warm up a glass, when suddenly she became aware of a noise nearby and slammed the fridge door shut, only to be faced with… Dudley, staring at her intently!
“D-Dudley,” she stuttered, much surprised. “You startled me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Poole,” said Dudley in that obsequious and overly polite way of his. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just had one of those midnight cravings, you know.” He smiled and gestured to the bottle of milk in her hand. “Like you, I guess.”
“Yeah, I-I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well have a glass of warm milk.”
“My mom used to drink warm milk before going to bed,” said Dudley as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “With a spoon of honey and some nutmeg. Always did the trick. Even when she was sick, she used to ask me for a glass of warm milk.” His smile faltered and Marge suddenly felt bad for talking about the kid behind his back. He clearly had been through a terrible time with his mother dying from cancer.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “That must have been really hard on you. To lose your mom like that.”
“It was,” he said, then his smile returned. “That’s why I’m so happy to have found Tex—and you, Mrs. Poole. A new start for me. A new chance at happiness.”
She nodded, and poured some milk in a pan and put it on the stove then pressed the designated spot on the ceramic cooktop to turn up the heat. The cooktop instantly glowed hot.
“I can’t wait to get to know you better, Mrs. Poole,” said Dudley as he dragged a casual hand through his neat blond do. “You, my dad, Vesta… and Odelia, of course—my sister.”
“You can call me Marge, Dudley,” she said as she took two cups from the cupboard.
“Thanks, Marge.”
“Did your mother never mention Tex before?”
Dudley shook his head. “No, and she was very sorry that she hadn’t. At the end she said she wished she’d been more honest with me. I could have had a real father in my life much sooner. Which is why I’m so happy that you invited me to stay. This way I can make up for lost time.”
“That’s nice,” Marge muttered vaguely.
“You know what? Maybe we can all do something together tomorrow. Like… going to the beach? Or see a movie together as a family?”
Marge made a noncommittal noise. She wasn’t really ready for family trips with this kid yet, but couldn’t exactly come right out and tell him so.
She poured the milk into the cups and handed him one.
“If the death of my mother taught me one thing, it’s that you have to enjoy every day as if it’s the last one. Spend time with your family while you can, for you never know when it will be over. And it can all be over like that.” He snapped his fingers, startling her.
She put a hand on her heart and laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge.”
“And why is that, Marge?” he asked, leaning closer until they were almost face to face. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”
“No–no, of course not.”