Page 20 of Prospect Year

“Where are they?”

Twisting her lips, she looked around. Leaning over the end of the sofa, she reached for the globe displayed in the corner between the sofa and chair. She spun it slightly and tapped a spot.

“Texas,” he clarified. “See them often?”

She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand, palm facing the floor.

“Sometimes. Gotcha,” he said and pushed out a breath. Throwing back his head, he emptied the glass, returning it to the table and falling back into the chair.

“I grew up not knowing who my father was. I always believed he was some scumbag who ran out on my mom. She never talked about him, good or bad. Except for the one time that she commented how much I was beginning to look like him. That’s when I dyed my hair. I didn’t want to remind her of something bad, and I certainly didn’t want to resemble someone who didn’t care enough to be around. So, in my teenage mind, I thought that if I changed the color and grew out my hair, it would work. And she never mentioned it again, so I thought I had solved the problem.” He huffed a laugh. “The things teenagers believe.” He shook his head.

“I ran into someone yesterday. He told me that I looked the same as someone he knew well from years ago. It weighed on my mind, but I told myself I was tired and misheard him. That’s when I decided to crash at the clubhouse. Figured my mind was too fucked to drive any longer. Anyway, today I began noticing some things. Things I had only thought strange and marked off as club ritual that I didn’t understand. But if he’s my father, it all makes sense in a way.”

Lola looked up. “What if he is my father? What am I supposed to do? And how do I know for sure?”

She smiled and dropped to sit on the floor, pulling the legal pad and pen that were on the coffee table toward herself.

Birth certificate.

He shook his head. “He’s not listed.”

Mother.

“She’s gone. I’m not from here, but she did live here not long before I was born,” he told her.

Mia handed him the pen and tapped the word ‘mother’.

He leaned forward and printed his mother’s full name and birthdate. “That’s all I know,” he told her. “You think we can confirm it without talking to Mac?”

She would do her best to help him. She smiled and nodded.

His smile was faint, but it was there. “You never fail to amaze me.”

She popped to her feet, ripping the sheet from the pad. London had given her permission to use the office computer. She’d start there. She stepped from the room with Lola right behind her. She paused as his phone rang, the sound growing louder until he answered.

“Lola here . . . Got it . . . Yes, sir . . . Good boudin. Not the shit you find in the local grocery stores . . . No problem.” He pushed the phone back into his pocket, looking at Mia. “Gotta go.”

“Where you going now?” Amber walked from the kitchen, biting into a cookie.

“Picking up boudin,” he told her.

Amber cocked her head. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.

“Long enough to know about boudin,” he said turning to leave.

“You know Cowboy is from the south and knows every spot to find it. Come to think of it, Ghost is too. They hung out at the clubhouse a lot when I was there,” Amber told him.

“So.”

“Just saying.” She lifted her shoulders.

He turned back, hands on his hips. “If you want to go, just say so.”

She grinned. “Can I?”

“I’m riding to Scott and back. No stopping.”

“I’ll grab my helmet and meet you outside.” Amber let out a soft squeal and Mia watched her head for the stairs.