The holding area is nothing but concrete. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. I wonder how thick it is. It’s a jail, so I assume thick, but you never know. Maybe that’s just what they want people to think.

I reach into my pocket to grab my phone, once again remembering that they took it away from me after Lance snuck me in here. Nothing sharp. Nothing electronic. The guard even inspected under my nails. I don’t care though.

I’m about to see my father.

I look for a clock. I can’t say how long I’ve been here waiting. I asked for total privacy but, unfortunately, Lance said that was next to impossible. The best he could do was no Jerry which is, admittedly, far better than I could hope for.

The door behind me opens with an echo. I turn around and Lance stands in the doorway with a guard.

“You ready?” he asks.

I hold my breath and nod.

They lead me down the hall, each step just as echoey as that door behind us. The soft hum of voices grows louder as we come to an open doorway. I look inside, my first thoughts being that I’m in high school again. Five long tables extend from one end of the room to the other. Several benches are occupied with prisoners in orange jumpsuits and their visitors. Windows are thin — too thin to squeeze a full-grown adult through — and barred so that’s not even a possibility anyway.

My gaze lands on a man in the far corner and my breath catches. He sits with his back to us and his arms folded on the table. Thick shoulders and black hair.

My father.

My eyes instantly water at the sight of that orange jumpsuit. I hadn’t even thought about what he would look like. My whole life he wore nothing but suits and ties. I’ve never seen him in a pair of jeans. There’s no situation that can’t be easily made better by looking your best, he used to say.

“Trix.” Lance touches my arm.

“I’m fine,” I say, inhaling. “Let’s do this.”

He leads me across the room to the far corner. Each step makes me feel excited and nervous at the same time. I’m not sure if I want to cry or scream.

Lance walks a step ahead and stops across the table from him. My father’s head snaps up and I almost smile at the familiar growl of annoyance in my ear.

“Oh, it’s you. Look, I ain’t saying another word without my lawyer.”

Lance smiles at him. “Relax, old man. I’m not your visitor.”

“Then, who is?”

I take the final step forward and he reacts to my presence over his shoulder.

“Hey, Papa,” I say, finding my voice.

His scowl disappears. “Bea? What are you—”

I lean down and hug him. They told me I wasn’t allowed to touch him but fuck it. I need this. His big hands wrap around me and he pats my back to comfort me.

I pull away with the sound of boots coming up behind me and look up to see Lance silently intervening with a raised hand. The guard doesn’t look happy about it but he backs off as I ease away from my father.

“I’ll be in the lobby,” Lance says, lightly touching my back. “You have ten minutes. Maybe less.”

“That’s all?”

“Jerry’s on his way. Someone tipped him off that I was coming in.”

“Do they know I’m here?”

He shakes his head. “No, but they will.”

“You can’t hold him off?”

“I’m gonna try but ten minutes is about all I can stomach of Jerry Smitts,” he jokes.

I smile. “Thank you.”

He glances at my father again. “Good to see you again, sir,” he says.

My father says nothing but that scowl quickly crawls back up his face. Lance walks off and I take my seat on the bench across from him.

“Bea, what are you doing here?” he asks. “What are you palling around with that shark for?”

I lay my palms flat on the table. They told me to do that, too, and I might as well not piss off the guards any more than I already have.

“Because he was the only one willing to get me in here to see you,” I say. “That’s why.”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah, Papa, I miss you, too.”

He heaves a thick sigh. “I’m sorry, Bea. Of course, I miss ya.”

I study his downturn face. He’s looking old and ragged and little thinner than the night they took him away. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Are they treating you... I don’t know, I’d guess they’re treating you like a criminal.”

“Eh, I’d prefer a Botsford Plaza, but...” He shrugs.

I smile and swallow hard to keep the tears down.

“You look good, kiddo,” he says. “I heard the auction went okay.”

“It went great.” I nod.

“How are those girlfriends of yours?”

“Good,” I answer. “Nora’s boyfriend moved in with her.”

“Boyfriend?” He blinks. “When did Nor go and get herself a boyfriend?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“And they’re already living together?”

I chuckle. “Long story, Papa.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m not happy about it,” he says. “Tiny woman like her living alone in a fancy place like that? Just asking for trouble. I’ll sleep better now. How’s Ms. Rose?”

“You know Melanie. A full bottle of wine and a charged laptop battery is about all she needs.”

“Yeah, I got her new book.” He blows out. “Girl writes some kinky shit.”

I look around for a clock. “Papa...”

“That Wheeler kid keeping his hair trimmed?”

“Papa, I don’t have a whole lot of time here.”

He squints with concern. “Everything okay?”

I clear my throat. “Honestly, no. No. Everything is not okay.”

He points toward the door. “What’d he do?”

“Lance didn’t do anything, Papa. You did.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“What’d I do?”

“For starters, I had to beg an Assistant State’s Attorney just to get me in here to see you.”

He sighs again. “Bea...”

“Why?” My voice cracks. “And don’t tell me it was because of optics. So what if a girl goes to visit her dad once in jail? Big freakin’ deal. Nobody cares.”

He runs his thick fingers through his thinning hair. “I care, Bea. I care.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

I pause. “What?”

He nods. “I asked your brothers to keep you busy. Keep you focused on the auctions and the charity balls and all that. It makes us look good, sure, but I didn’t want you to come in here and worry yourself to death about me. All right? A daughter should never have to see her father like this.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“Never thought you’d go to him,” he says, eying the doorway across the room again. “And what’s this I hear about some kiss at the charity auction?”

“Lance bid on the dance and won.”

“Yeah. A dance. Not a kiss.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Marcus was livid.”

I bite down hard. “Right. Speaking of Marcus, Papa...” I press my shaking hands to the table. “Why did you give him the ring?”

His eyes drop to my empty finger. “Yeah, I heard about that, too.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He inhales and shakes his head. “I thought that’s what you wanted, Bea.”

My mouth sags. “You thought that’s what I wanted?”

“Yeah.”

“You thought I wanted to marry Marcus?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He turns up his hands. “Well, what was I supposed to think? You two were always running off together when you thought I wasn’t looking — ever since you were kids.”

I collapse my shoulders. “Papa, no...”

“Reminded me a lot of me and your mother when we were young. Hiding in plain sight, dodging her father — boy, he hated me.”

I hesitate. “Marcus and I don’t date. It’s not a courtship like you and Mom and it never has been.”

“Then, what the hell were you doing when you snuck off to the guest house all those times?”

I raise my hands for a moment to press them against my face and hide my shame. “Come on, Papa,” I lay them down and lower my voice. “Ain’t you ever had a fuck buddy before?”

He frowns. “A fuck buddy?”

“Yes.”

His face wrinkles the more he thinks about it. “You and Marcus?”

My cheeks burn. “Yes.”

“That’s all you were? You were just... fuckin’?”

“Yes.”

He shifts in his seat. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” he mutters.

I deflate.

“I thought he was a good choice for you, Bea. I still do,” he says. “And... I’m in here. I’m probably not getting out again for a really long time.”

“Papa, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. You can’t fault me for wanting to make sure you’re taken care of while I’m gone.”

“Then, maybe not tag the guy who’s gonna call me a whore mid-proposal,” I say.

He furrows his brow. “Marcus did what?”

“And I don’t need a man to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“You know what I meant, Bea.”

“And me getting married was never part of our plan.”

He blinks. “What plan?”

I lean back. “Our plan.”

“We had a plan?”

“Yes!” I glance around as heads twist in our direction. “I’m getting my marque, Papa.”

His head falls. “Christ, not this again.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“Honey, I thought you’d grow out of this by now.”

I recoil. “You thought I’d grow out of being your daughter?”

“No, I—” He sighs. “This job — this life — it’s no place for you, Bea. You’re sweet and kind. You remind me more of your mother every damn day and she’d never forgive me if I let you do this.”

My eyes brim with tears. “Why didn’t you just say that when I was eleven years old?”

He laughs. “Would you have taken no for an answer? You’re as stubborn as I am, kid.”

I inhale sharply to argue but he talks over me.

“I told you I’d think it over, thinking that you were just a little girl with stars in her eyes. Surely, you’d grow up and change your mind. Then, you turned eighteen and you still wanted to join up. I brushed it off, told you to get an education first. Surely, you’d meet some nice man at school and settle down.”

“That’s—”

“Then, you graduated and I was so proud. I never went to college — none of us did. Thought maybe you’d go and do something meaningful with yourself — but no. You still wanted in.”

“Of course, I did! Papa, this life — this family — it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s what I was born to do. Not sit on the sidelines and look pretty like some lawn ornament.”

“No,” he says, calmly shaking his head. “You weren’t born to live in darkness like me. You were born to be the one bright thing I left behind. You’re my baby girl, Bea. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about the first time I held you in my arms. You were so small, you fit in my goddamn palms.” He points a stiff finger at me. “I promised your mother I’d take care of you. It’s the one promise I never broke to her and I’m not about to do it now. I’m sorry, kid, but the answer is no.”

I look down, quickly wiping the tear from my cheek as it falls. “You lied to me,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s parenting,” he says, his eyes heavy. “Maybe someday you’ll understand.”

A man rushes up to stand beside us and I can already tell by the wrinkled cuffs of his pants that it’s Jerry. He’s out of breath and scowling at me.

“Miss Beatrix...” he murmurs with judgment in his eyes.

“Jerry,” my father says, raising a hand, “can you give us another minute here?”

I stand up. “No, it’s fine. I was just leaving.”

“Bea, wait.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me?” I say. “Or do you just want to string me along a little longer with an empty promise or two?”

He winces. “I did what I thought was best for you.”

“What about what I think is best for me? My whole life has been nothing but you making my decisions behind my back. Ma telling me that you said to do this. Gavin and Danny telling me that you said to do that. Marcus telling me that you told him that I needed to stop whoring around and be a good wife.”

“I never told him to say that!”

“I’m done.” I take a wobbly step back as my courage builds. “Find yourself a new lawn ornament. I quit.”

“Bea!”

I turn away to hide the tears streaming down my face. My father must have stood up because several guards pass me in a rush as I walk to the exit. I wipe my eyes to better navigate through the unfamiliar faces but the lump in my throat is so big I can hardly breathe.

“Trix?” Lance’s blurry face appears in front of me and he lays his hands on my shoulders. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I move forward. “I have to go.”

“Hey—” He gently takes my elbow. “Are you okay?”

I can’t answer. Not until I know the answer myself.

What am I even doing anymore?

“Trix.”

I cringe. God, not now...

Marcus bolts down the hall toward us from the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” he barks at me, ignoring Lance completely.

I shift backward but he towers over me. “I’m leaving now—”

He plants a firm hand on my chest and pushes me against the wall. “I said, what are you—”

Lance shoves Marcus away from me and plants himself between us.

“She said she was leaving,” he says, standing taller. “Let her go.”

Marcus rolls his fists but a guard clears his throat down the hallway. He eases back.

I wipe my cheek. “Lance, would you please escort me home?” I ask.

Marcus’ nostrils flare with rage. He stares down at me, his eyes bouncing between us.

Lance turns away from him and nods, once again taking my elbow with a soft, comforting grip.

“Let’s go,” he says.