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“Yes.”
“Did he ever give your father any trouble?”
“You mean like rebelling?”
“Yes.”
“He and I did a couple of stupid things—like borrow my dad’s car when we were both fifteen.”
“What happened when your dad found out?”
“He didn’t. We covered for each other.”
“You like him?”
“He was as close to me as a brother.” Memories flooded her. “We hung out together, because Dad was usually busy. You could say he was the kind of father who didn’t have a lot of time for his kids, but I knew he loved me.”
“We were talking about Patrick, not your dad.”
“I was trying to explain why Patrick and I were so close.”
“And he loved Patrick?”
She hesitated. “That might be too strong a word. I know he’s fond of him. And he’s certainly come to rely on him.” Again she paused before continuing. “Patrick didn’t have to come back and work for Dad, but he did that on his own.”
“Okay.” Wyatt checked the rearview mirror. “What about your mother?”
“Dad never talks about her.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
She thought for a moment. “When I was maybe six. I went into her room, and she was packing.” The pain and confusion of that long-ago moment came zinging back to her again. “She said she loved me, but she needed to leave. She said she’d be back to see me, but she never came back.”
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