Chapter 11: Weston's Father

Weston had been awake for an hour when the phone lit up.

He lay on his back with Claire's head on his shoulder, and he watched the ceiling.

He had not slept since she fell asleep.

He was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he would wake up alone.

The phone buzzed once on the nightstand, and the light fell across her face.

She stirred.

He did not have to look to know she had seen the name.

He felt it in the way her hand went still on his chest.

"Weston," she said.

"I know."

"That was..."

"I know. Give me a minute."

He slid out from under her, and she let him.

He took the phone to the hall and shut the door behind him, and he stood in the dark, naked, and answered.

"Do you know what time it is?" he said.

"Four," said his father.

The voice was exactly as he remembered it, unhurried and warm.

It was a voice made for rooms where people leaned forward to hear it.

"I thought you'd be awake."

"What do you want?"

"Preston came home drunk and he's locked in his room."

"Delaney's father rang me yesterday evening. He's calling an emergency session of the board on Monday."

"Then you have a problem."

"I have two sons," said Thurston Vanderveer. "And one of them married a woman I've just invited to my house."

Weston leaned his head against the wall.

"I'm not coming back to that house, Dad."

"You haven't been called Dad in this family since you were nine."

"You haven't deserved it."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Saturday," his father said. "Bring her. I want to see the woman who took your name."

"I'll come Saturday. Not for you. She was invited, and I'm not leaving her to walk in alone."

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