Silence. A squeak of the leather. A sigh, the softest exhale of frustration, not meant for me to hear.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be." A slight snap to the words. "Whatever it is, the prospect upsets you, and you don't want to discuss it until you know if there is cause for you to be upset. Do you wish to speak to Ricky? He's still at the clubhouse. I have business I could discuss with Don."
I shook my head. "No. I just want to get through this. As quickly as possible." I took out my phone and hit a recent addition to my speed-dial.
"Ioan," I said when he answered. "I need to talk to my father."
I braced for some lightly sarcastic comment to call attention to my lack of preamble. But Ioan wasn't Patrick. He could tell by my tone that I was upset.
"Are you being blocked again?" he said. "I thought I had that straightened out."
"No, I mean I need to see him in person. Face-to-face. In private, if possible."
He paused.
"I know you have access and contacts in the prison," I said. "I also know this isn't easy to arrange or I'd have asked sooner. This isn't me deciding I really need to hug my dad."
"I know if you're asking, it's important. You need something from him. An answer, I presume?"
"Yes."
A pause. A long one. Then, "Is it one I could give?"
"Yes, but I need it from him."
Another pause. Then his voice lowered, gentler. "Is it one he'd want to give you, Liv?"
"No, but I need it. Directly from him. And yes, that's cruel and he doesn't deserve cruelty, but I need all the answers and he needs to know I have them. No more secrets."
"I agree. All right. I can't promise this will be ready when you arrive, but I'll do my best."
--
Once I got off the phone, those rocks overhead stopped shaking and chattering. I knew they were still there. I hadn't averted disaster. I just had a moment to pause and reflect and say to myself, What will I do if they come tumbling down? Because they almost certainly would. That breathing room, though, was enough for me to turn to Gabriel and tell him my thoughts, my fears. To do it dry-eyed and steady-voiced.
When I finished, he said, "Thank you. For telling me." A moment of silence. Then, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
I tensed. I tried to hide it, but he'd already noticed.
"And the fact that I need to ask is indicative of the problem," he said, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
"No, I--"
"Please don't lie to make this easier on me. It's about making it easier for you. I should know how to do that. Asking you is like watching someone drown and asking if I can help."
"I'd like to talk it out. That will help. Is my logic correct?"
"Yes." He glanced over. "Which is not what you want to hear. Your logic is correct. I'm less certain on your interpretation of the aftermath. But you're looking for the worst scenario. To brace yourself against it."
"Yes. Thank you."
When he didn't say anything more, I glanced up to see a look I knew well. He had more he had to say and wasn't sure he should.
"What is it?" I asked.
He hesitated.