feel about you being around that guy. I wish the interview was with anyone else. He’s such a dick to the press. Worse, you might be from Podunk, Oregon, but you are drop-dead gorgeous, like a freaking runway model. He’s going to—”
“Daddy, please. I’ve had to deal with d-bags before. You think I didn’t know exactly what I was getting into when I decided to be a sports reporter? I spend all my time with athletes. I know what they can be like. And, frankly, I’ve been around these guys.” She flipped her hand around the room, at the prisoners in their matching blue chambray shirts. “I’m pretty sure Butler can’t say anything that’s going to shock me.”
“Hey, kid!” a voice boomed from beside her, making her jump. “I hear you’re going to Boston!” It was Jonas, her father’s cellmate. The big man nodded coldly at his wife as he sat down at their table, then turned to Hara and her father. “Good for you.”
Thomas’s face twisted into an ugly snarl, surprising Hara. He barked at his cellmate, “Jonas, you—”
“Hey, hey, you’re right, man.” Jonas held up a hand in peace. “I shouldna been eavesdroppin’. Heard ya when I came in, just wanted to say congrats to your girl.”
The anger in her father’s eyes dissipated as quickly as it had risen. “All right, sure. Rita, nice to see you.” He turned back to Hara, putting an end to the conversation.
Hara raised an eyebrow at him. Her father offered a half smile and a shrug. “Sorry. He knows I look forward to my time with you.”
She forgot sometimes. He was one way with her, but he had to be a different person when he left this room. Less of a person. It broke her heart.
“My little girl, the big reporter. Your mother must be dying.”
“Oh no. You can’t tell her.”
“Well, lucky for you, there’s no danger of that.”
“I know, sorry. You know how she is, though. She hears I’m meeting a famous athlete and she’ll go crazy. She’ll try to come with me, make me wear high heels and contacts and giggle behind a fan.”
Her father smirked. “You could go full-out, get your grandma to turn you into a geisha.”
“Ha. Grandma would stab you with a pitchfork if she heard you say that.” She and her father shared a sad look, missing the spunky woman whose mind was gone.
“You take after your mother, you know, much more belle than geisha. Good thing you’ve got her long eyelashes to flutter,” he said, plucking at his own nonexistent lashes.
Hara laughed. “My daddy, the hairless wonder.” She actually looked like both of them, and yet neither of them. Her height was obviously from Thomas, since her mother was tiny. A petite African-American woman and a tall Japanese dude. Between them, Hara had ended up with thick, wavy black hair that fell between her shoulder blades and a caramel skin-tone that confused a lot of people, especially in contrast to her translucent blue, almond-shaped eyes. People were constantly asking her where she was from, or, more rudely, “What are you?”
“I’m from a small town on the edge of Portland,” she would say. She didn’t bother trying to answer the other question.
“Daddy, I’m not kidding. Mom’s worse than ever. She hounds me to ‘dress like a girl,’ constantly leaving fashion magazines on my bed. I’m pretty sure she set up a Tinder account in my name.” Hara pinched her old sweater. “I dress fine. I’m comfortable. I know how to look nice if I need to. What she really wants is for me to attract a rich dude with my ‘feminine wiles.’ Someone dying to get married. Then my life will be complete. She’s a strong woman, running the farm on her own, yet I’m too muddled to take care of myself?”
“Willa just wants what’s best for you. To have a bigger life than she’s had, out of that town.”
“Okay, first of all, I don’t need a man to do that for me. I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. Secondly”—she pushed up her glasses defiantly—“I know she loves me, I just wish she could see that I’m happy with what I’m doing. She’ll see, I’m going to get a job on a big paper, covering sports. Look at Michelle Beadle. Great sportswriter. And Hannah Storm. And Jemele Hill. I can be—I will be—a damn fine reporter.”
“You sound like you’re trying to make yourself believe that. You are talented, Hara. But your mother is