The next day, I invite my father for a beer at The Attic. As close to home turf as it gets for him. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and, apart from us, Joe the bartender, and a lone figure hunching over the bar, it’s empty. At my request, Dad and I slide into a booth, waiting for our first beer before launching into anything resembling a conversation.
“Look, Ellie,” he starts uncomfortably. “What I said the other day… heat of the moment stuff, you know?”
“It’s fine, Dad.” I dismiss his comment with a wave of my hand. Maybe it bothers him that Kay owns this place—possibly his favorite place in Northville. And that of the money he spends here treating his buddies, a considerable amount goes straight into her pocket. I try to empty my brain of assumptions. In my family, we hardly ever spe
