“She found out,” said Caddie. “One of my teachers told her during one of those parent nights. She told my mom how sorry she was to hear that my father had died in a car accident.” She gave a little laugh. “He died in all kinds of horrible ways,” she said. “Car crashes. Airplane crashes. Avalanches. Once I told someone he had been murdered by my mother’s boyfriend.” She laughed again. “Shit, that was fun.”

“I bet,” said Hudson, and he saw Caddie’s grin disappear. “No, I’m serious,” he said quickly, lest she think he was condemning her. “I wish I’d thought of that when I was a kid. Sometimes I wished my father was dead too.”

“I didn’t wish it,” Caddie said. “I just pretended he was. There’s a difference.”

Hudson didn’t correct her. He knew she was just getting back at him for the perceived slight. Besides, she was right, there was a difference. He just wasn’t sure which was worse.

“My mom had a fit,” Caddie continued. “She made me tell her everyone I’d told a story to, and then I had to go to each one of them and admit that I’d lied and that my father was really still alive.”

“How many were there?”

“That she knew about? Maybe ten,” said Caddie. “Really there were probably four times that many.” She looked at Hudson. “How dumb do you think I am?” she asked.

“You’re not dumb at all,” he said.

The teenagers at the next table let out a shout. Caddie turned to see what they were doing. She misses her friends, Hudson thought, watching her. I wonder what she’s like around them.

Caddie brought her attention back to their table. “Are your parents still together?” she asked.

“My father’s dead,” Hudson said. “Really,” he added when he saw Caddie looking at him doubtfully. “Not like in an avalanche or anything.”

She pushed some stray hair behind her ear. “What about your mom?”

“I don’t really have much to do with her,” Hudson said. “We don’t like each other very much.”

“Why?” Caddie asked him. “Is it because of the gay thing?”

“No,” Hudson said, “although I don’t think that helps. We just don’t have anything in common.”

“Except for the fact that she gave birth to you,” Caddie said.

Hudson leaned back in his chair. “Whose side are you on here anyhow?” he said.

Caddie shook her head. “I’m not on anybody’s side,” she answered. “I’m just talking.”

“What do you and your father have in common?” Hudson said. “Other than the fact that he got your mother pregnant.”

Caddie was quiet. For a minute Hudson thought he had gone too far. He started to apologize, but Caddie spoke. “I didn’t think we had anything,” she said.

“And now?”