Chapter 18: Eighty Phones

"Look in his ledger," the doctor said, loud and cracked, to the whole room. "Every payment is in it, in his own hand, with my name beside the date."

My father's face finally changed.

It did not break.

It went blank and smooth, with nothing behind it.

He dropped the ledger on the white tablecloth.

"Excuse me," he said politely.

He turned and walked toward the service door behind the head table.

He did not run.

He walked fast, straightening his cuffs, and a waiter who saw his face stepped aside.

"Dad!" I said.

I went after him.

My dress caught on a chair, and I tore it free.

The donors were on their feet now, phones up, shouting over each other.

A man shouted, "Somebody stop him!"

Nobody did.

I was ten feet from the door when a black tuxedo stepped into the aisle in front of me.

Rhett.

He had come around the table at a run, and now he stood in the aisle with his arms spread wide.

The tape on his jaw had come loose and hung off his cheek.

"Going somewhere, freak?"

"Move."

"Dad's got somewhere to be." He smiled with half his mouth. "You and I never finished."

"I'm done with you, Rhett."

"I'm not."

"Rhett, don't," Perry called from the table.

"Shut up, junkie."

Then he swung.

It was a long, slow, hateful punch, and I ducked it.

My ribs sang, but I was in Dutch's cage, and I knew what to do.

I stepped sideways and let him come.

He hit a table instead of me, and glasses went over.

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