Stepfather. Part 9

I thought of calling her but she’d only hang up. A letter would be no use, either.

I went into my father’s office one Saturday afternoon.

“Dad, can I borrow your car?”

He sighed and looked up from his papers. How different we looked; he had black hair and a sharp nose, while I looked far more like my mother. We had soft, cutely up-turned noses with big eyes and delicate chins. But I had inherited his dark blue eyes—Mom had hazel.

“I was worried one day you’d ask me this ... I’m not sure it’s a good idea just yet, sweetie.”

“I want to visit Mom.”

Dad’s eyes popped open and he shook his head. “Sit down.”

I sat on his comfy leather couch.

Then he gave me an almost pitying smile and walked over to his bar. He poured two glasses of scotch and handed me one.

“Drink it.”

I downed it, coughing and sputtering, and watched him sit across from me in his big winged chair.

“Your mother doesn’t want you to visit her.”

“I just want t