For a momentous amount of time, he just stared at her, still seething. His gray-green eyes she remembered. Flecked with brown spots, they were the color of moss. Those qualities were familiar. The anger in them was new.
At last, he said, “He’s bad off?”
“Daddy? Very. His oncologist prescribed another round of chemotherapy, but it’s so debilitating he and Olivia are wondering if it’s worth it. Either way, the doctor thought he was too weak to return home tonight.”
“More chemo might help.”
“No,” she said softly. “It won’t. With or without it, he’s going to die soon.”
He looked away and shifted uneasily in his chair. “I’m sorry.”
She took a sip of her Coke and waited until he was looking at her again before saying, “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
He ran his hand over his mouth and down his chin. “Gloves off? Okay. It’s a shame anybody has to go out like that, but your daddy never did me any favors.”
“And vice versa.”
“What did I ever do to him? Oh, wait. If I need to know, I can just read your book. It will enlighten me.” He gave the book an angry poke.
“If you read it through—”
“I read enough.”
“—you know that the character patterned after you—”
“Patterned after? You did all but use my name.”
“—comes across as a victim, too.”
“Bullshit.”
He’d been leaning across the table toward her, but after that succinct statement, he flung himself against the back of his chair and stretched out his legs, not even apologizing when his foot bumped hers beneath the table.
“Why’d you dredge it up?”
“Why do you care?” she fired back.
“You have to ask?”
“It happened a long time ago, Dent. It impacted your life for what, a few weeks? A couple of months? You moved on, went on with your life.”
He made a scoffing sound.
“Do you have a family?”
“No.”
“You never married?”
“No.”
“You own your own airplane.”
“Working toward owning it.”
“You’re obviously still close with Mr. Hathaway.”
“Yeah. Until today. Gall is currently every name on my shit list.”