47 

By ten o’clock, she’d showered and her dad picked her up at her condominium. “Nice place, JuJu,” he said, looking around. “Great view.”

She waited for the critical comment she knew would follow, and her father didn’t disappoint. “But your air conditioning bill must be atrocious with those windows.”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

Within fifteen minutes, they’d packed her company files, Oliver Ford’s address, and their tenuous truce into the car and headed north.

After pulling through a McDonald’s for breakfast sandwiches and coffee, her father turned to her. “I thought we’d take the back way to Gruene.”

She unwrapped her Egg McMuffin and checked to make sure the cheese had been left off like she’d requested. “The freeway’s faster.”

“Not really,” he said, rolling up the window. He eased his car through the egress into traffic and merged into the left lane.

She unwrapped his egg biscuit. “How can you say the freeway’s not faster? It’s closer and the speed limit is much higher.”

Her father’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess,” she conceded, handing over his breakfast sandwich. “You’re driving.”

They passed a tattered strip mall, the kind that had once been filled with promising new retail shops but over time had become worn, now many of them empty and boarded up.

“So, how are things at the university?” she asked between bites, in an attempt to fill the silence.

“Eh, administration’s focus has turned to technology. They want every lecture in electronic form with digital illustrations. My presentations are now turned into webinars, and students log in from home and watch whenever it’s convenient.” He juggled his sandwich while changing lanes and gave her a halfhearted grin. “They built me a Facebook page and want me to start interacting more with the public, advocating for the university and their fund-raising efforts. Oh, and I’m supposed to start nailing some of my articles to some board on the internet,” he said. “Whatever the Tom Pete that’s all about.”

“Pinterest.”

“Huh?”

“Pinterest,” she repeated, scrunching her wrapper and throwing it in the empty bag at her feet. “I can help you if you want.”

He shook his head and handed her his empty wrapper. “Nah, I’ve got some interns willing to step up. If I play my cards right, I can push all those time-waster projects into their laps.”

Even though her first thought was, Yeah, what’s new? Juliet was determined to keep her cool. The interns could be of the male persuasion, she tried to tell herself as they made their way through the outskirts of town and the scenery became more rural.

Perhaps it’d be best to change the subject.

She handed him the coffee. “How do you like your Jetta?” He and her mother had purchased a hybrid Volkswagen early last fall, mocha-colored with a cream top. Her mom wanted the light blue one, claiming this car made her feel like she was driving around a cup of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. But in the end she’d let him have his way.

Her father took a quick sip, then launched into a diatribe about global warming, claiming an overwhelming majority of climate scientists agreed that human activity, and primarily cars run on fossil fuels, were to blame.

She listened, staring straight ahead at the sun-dappled winding, narrow road, knowing from memory that up ahead were blind curves and drop-offs that could send a car flipping end over end down a jagged limestone crag.

“These vehicles run better too. With 170 horsepower, this baby tops off at nearly fifty miles per gallon.” His face turned indignant. “So, when are you going to get rid of that gas-guzzling Jeep of yours?”

“I think I need to get employed again before I consider buying another car,” she said, maneuvering the conversation carefully.

This served as an invitation for what she knew would eventually come.

“Look, JuJu, I’m sorry you’re in this mess. But in some ways, it’s just as well.” He reached over and manually turned on the radio, ignoring the automated button she knew was next to his washer switch. Despite what the manual said, he always had to do things his way. “You knew working for a profit-driven enterprise held risk. Your talents are far better utilized elsewhere.”

His tired attitude was a living, breathing, hurtful thing. She wanted to let his comments pass without argument, but couldn’t. “I did a lot of good at Larimar Springs,” she pointed out. “I upgraded the lab and incorporated state-of-the-art processes. I utilized my expertise and educated a team of lab technicians, instituting a culture of heightened awareness of the need for food safety.” Reciting her accomplishments emboldened her confidence, her self-worth. She barreled on, letting her comments pick up steam. “Despite the outbreak, many believe my contributions raised the bar. And I’d hate to think what might have happened in this community had I not been the one at the helm when it all broke loose. Many more people would’ve likely fallen victim, that’s what would have happened.”

She wanted him to answer, felt herself needling him to further her point. But he said nothing in return. Even so, she knew what he was thinking.

She’d been a terrible disappointment on many levels. Her career choice, certainly. Likely the way she’d handled everything with the investigation team. She even drove the wrong car.

Some things would never change. She could frost this rock, but the stone would never be a cupcake.

Her father nosed his vehicle up against a line of cars trailing a slow-moving tractor that pulled a flatbed loaded with bails of stone, the kind used in landscaping. He lifted his wrist and checked his watch. Looking frustrated, he laid on the horn.

Her hands balled into fists. “They can’t move any faster.”

As if she’d said nothing, he honked again and swerved into the oncoming lane in an attempt to get around the cars that stalled their progress. That was when she saw he was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

In angry silence, she turned and stared out the window at the brown countryside, with only an occasional splotch of green from cedar trees too misshapen to ever be considered as Christmas trees.

Oblivious to her darkening mood, her father punched the gas and passed the line of cars, swerving back into their own lane at the last minute, just missing an oncoming motor home.

She gripped the dash.

“JuJu, you may have hoped to make a difference,” he continued before she could yell for him to be careful. “But a couple of bad apples motivated by greed can spoil the pie.”

Something inside her head snapped. She’d experienced all of this a hundred times, a thousand times.

She pointed up ahead, to a lane leading to a million-dollar house perched on a distant ridge with hill country stone turrets to capture the view. “Dad, pull over.”

He glanced at her, confused.

“Just pull over,” she repeated.

He quickly glanced in the rearview mirror and did as she asked, pulling the car several hundred yards up the lane to a massive iron gate mounted in stone columns. “Are you sick? Do you need some water?”

Without answering, she barely waited for the car to come to a stop before she bolted out the door and ran as hard as she could in the direction of the stone fence bordering the property. When she reached the stone border and could go no farther, she folded at the base of a scrub oak and buried her face in her hands. In the distance, she heard cars passing out on the highway.

Seconds later, her dad came up behind her, heaving and out of breath. “JuJu? What’s wrong?”

She angrily shook her head. “Quit calling me that!”

“Calling you what?”

“I’m thirty-three years old. I graduated from Cornell University with honors. I hold a PhD in epidemiology and public health, and up until just recently, I garnered great respect for my work on prevention and control of foodborne illnesses.” Her fist pounded the hard dirt beside her. “My name is Juliet. Doctor Juliet Ryan.”

She fell to uncontrollable sobs, great wracking heaves of sobs. It was all too much—too many hopes and regrets and deep disappointment. Her heart was raw and exposed, sitting in the ashes of her burned dreams. Worse—her father’s lack of faith in her wounded as deeply as any sword thrust in her gut.

She sensed more than saw her dad sink to her side. He sat quiet as she cried herself out.

Finally, her lungs filled with ragged breaths, and she rested her burning eyes against her arms.

Birds sang overhead. Any other time, she’d marvel at the idyllic sound. Today, she simply lifted her face and brushed her nose with her hand.

She glanced over at her father then. He stared out at cars passing on the highway, his eyes red-rimmed. A pained look etched across his face.

“I know I failed you, Juliet. And I’m sorry.”

Tears filled her eyes again. She let his words sink in. Oddly, the apology she’d long waited for only served to highlight her own shortcomings.

Her father wasn’t entirely to blame for their broken relationship. He had a way of nailing her vulnerabilities to the wall, and frankly, she didn’t like looking at them. Sandy was right. He couldn’t hurt her like this if she didn’t care what he thought.

She gave a slight shrug. “Being so angry at you was fairly constructive, I suppose—I got a lot done. You were also my scapegoat anytime things went wrong. I could blame you—it was all your fault.”

She reached and took his hand.

His face turned earnest and unguarded. “I get up every morning and pray I can get through the day without somebody.” He swallowed against tears filling his own eyes. “I need you, kiddo. If you only knew how much.”

Her throat knotted. She leaned her head against his chest and whispered, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”

He squeezed her hand. “And I’m sorry for that too.”