W Is for Wasted

said. “Is there something else going on? I’m not reading your mood.”
    “I don’t have moods.”
    “What is it then?”
    I was tempted to tell him about Dace and the money he’d left me, but I was still trying to come to terms with it myself. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t just make my peace with my newfound riches and rejoice. “How did you get so comfortable with money? You seem at home in a place like this while I’m out of my element.”
    “I like what money buys. Space, mobility, leisure, freedom from anxiety.”
    “I’ve got all those things.”
    “No, you don’t. You live like a monk.”
    “Don’t change the subject. Where’d your money come from? I thought your father was a roustabout. Isn’t that what you said? The way you talk about your youth, I assumed you were poor.”
    “We were dirt poor for years. As it turned out—and I wasn’t aware of this at the time—my dad trained with a man named Myron Kinley. He’s the guy who developed techniques for fighting oil-well fires. It was dangerous work and very lucrative, of course. My dad loved high stakes. At some point, I guess my mother put her foot down. The job was way too risky, so eventually he got out. Meantime, he’d saved up a big chunk of change that was literally burning a hole in his pocket. When we moved from Oklahoma to Texas, he met a guy who fancied himself quite the entrepreneur. This fellow had come up with a scheme to buy oil and gas leases with an eye to flipping them, but he was short on capital. He and my dad each put up a couple of thousand bucks and started picking up expired leases. They’d pay pennies on the dollar, then turn around and resell them to oil companies that actually had the capacity to drill.”
    “Sounds like a great idea.”
    “To a point. Problem was, they fought all the time. They were both headstrong and opinionated, so they couldn’t agree on anything. Eventually, they split their holdings down the middle and called it square. The other guy went broke. My dad hung on to his shares and eventually cashed in big. I didn’t know anything about it until he died.”
    “Nice story. I like that.”
    The phone rang and we both turned to look at it. Seemed too early for Nick’s arrival, but who else would be calling? Dietz crossed to the writing desk and picked up. “Dietz.”
    He listened briefly and said, “Great. Send him up.” He returned the handset to the cradle. “It’s Nick.”
    “It’s good you were here and not out somewhere.”
    “I’m sure my being gone never crossed his mind. Kids are egocentric. Parents exist strictly for their convenience. He probably can’t conceive of my having a life of my own.”
    I got up and set my glass on the side table. “I should go and leave the two of you to catch up.”
    “Stay and say hello. If he hasn’t eaten, the three of us can have dinner downstairs.”
    “I’d love to meet him. I didn’t mean I was galloping off right this minute.”
    When the knock came, Dietz opened the door. He and Nick grabbed each other in a big enthusiastic hug. Then Dietz put an arm across Nick’s shoulders and ushered him into the room. “Someone I want you to meet,” he said to Nick. “This is Kinsey.” And to me, “My son, Nick.”
    Nick turned a dark-eyed look on me, his smile diminishing almost imperceptibly. It was clear he had no idea his father would be entertaining anyone. He was tall and lean with the same striking features I’d seen in his mother’s photograph. In his faded jeans and a leather bomber jacket, he still somehow managed to look elegant. He was actually my concept of a snooty prep school kid who’d had his choice of Ivy League colleges. He was Dietz’s counterpoint and (perhaps) just as appealing in his own way.
    As he’d never laid eyes on me, he was already wary and unreceptive. I’d have been willing to swear there was nothing in my demeanor to suggest the nature of my relationship to his dad. It’s not like I was half dressed or my hair was messed up. Neither of us had gone near the bed, so the covers were smooth. Granted we’d been intimate in the past, but we were still in neutral gear this round, so there was no charge whatsoever in the air. Something had cued him and I’d been marked as the enemy.
    I smiled and held out my hand, saying, “Hi, Nick.”
    He said, “Hello.”
    We shook hands briefly and I covered nimbly for the chill wafting in my direction.
    I reached for my jacket and picked up my shoulder