Daddy

“Dad! Are you in there?” It was a tiny room, and Oliver was sure the child could hear his breathing. He shook his head, wanting Megan to say he wasn't.

“No, he's not. I'll be right out.” She spoke from the floor, with his father on top of her, awash with terror.

“Okay. Do you know where he is?”

“I don't know. He said he was going to get something.”

“Okay.” And then more door slamming and he was gone, and Ollie leapt to his feet, threw cold water on his face, pulled up his pants, and tried to straighten his hair as she laughed at him.

“I told you we'd manage it somehow.”

“Megan, you're crazy!” He was whispering, convinced the child knew, but she wasn't frightened.

“Relax. He's ten years old, he has no idea what his father is up to.”

“Don't be so sure.” He kissed her quickly and unlocked the door, as she casually fished in her bag for her bikini. “I'll see you at the pool.” He just hoped she would behave herself there or Mel would be horrified. But on the other hand, she had just spent the summer with her mother and her twenty-five-year-old lover. He had a right to his own life, didn't he, and just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the echo of his father's words … but this was different, wasn't it? Or was it?

And he found Sam waiting for him in the kitchen. He had wanted a Coke and couldn't find one. “Where were you, Dad?”

“I was in the garage, looking for a wrench.”

“What for?” Oh God, leave me alone, I don't know … it had been so simple while they were away, and now this was so crazy.

He poured Sam a Coke, and went back to the pool, where Megan was slowly easing herself into the water in a minuscule red bikini. Her cascade of dark hair was piled high on her head, and Mel was watching her with a look of female appraisal.

The two women never spoke, and Oliver felt like a large puppy dog, circling the pool, watching them both, keeping an eye on Sam, and feeling incredibly nervous.

“I like your bathing suit,” Megan said to Mel. It was pink and ruffled and comparatively pure compared to her own, which was barely more than two tiny patches on her breasts, and a loincloth with a thong. But she wore it well. She had an incredible body.

“I got it in France.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“All right.” She didn't want to talk about the accident anymore, and she didn't think Megan knew. Her father had said she was a casual friend he hadn't seen in a while. “We've only been home for two days.” Megan swam past her with long, smooth strokes, and a few minutes later, Mel left her raft, to make a spectacular dive. It was as though there was a competition between the two, and the tension around the pool was dense all afternoon, particularly between the two women.

They had hot dogs for lunch, and Megan began talking about spending time in England as a child. But it was obvious Mel wasn't impressed. And Megan made no particular effort with her or Sam. It made Oliver uncomfortable watching all of them, and he was almost relieved when they dropped her off at her place, that evening, in town. Her eyes blew him a kiss, and she disappeared with a wave, as Mel visibly relaxed in the car, and Sam snorted.

“She's nice, isn't she?” Ollie said, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. Mel turned on him like a snake, with a look of fury.

“She looks like a whore.”

“Melissa!”

“Did you see that bathing suit?”

“Yeah.” Sam grinned, and then looked chastened as his sister shot him a quelling look in the backseat.

“She's a very nice girl,” Oliver defended as they drove home.

“I don't think she likes kids very much,” Sam offered.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged. “She didn't say very much. But she sure looks good, doesn't she, Dad?”

“She's smart too. She's an editor with a publishing house.”

“So what? All she cares about is flaunting her body around.” Mel had sensed her sexuality, and had hated it, unlike her male relatives, whose eyes had been glued to her all afternoon.

Oliver let the subject rest, and that night after Sam was in bed, Mel came out of her room with a frown. “I guess you can give her these.” She handed him the blouse and bra she'd found in her room two days before. “They're hers, aren't they, Dad?”

“What makes you say that?” He felt as though he'd been caught in the act, as though he'd defiled their home, which he had. But he had a right to do what he wanted to, didn't he? After all, he was a grown man. “I told you, they're Daph's.”

“No, they're not. Daphne's got much bigger boobs. These are Megan's.” She spoke accusingly and he could feel himself blush as he looked at his daughter.

“Look, Mel, there are some things that grown-ups do, that just don't involve kids, and are better left alone.”

“She's a tramp.” Mel's eyes blazed at him, but now he was angry.

“Don't say that! You don't even know the girl.”