And I also understand how shocked he was when he heard Brent had been evicted from his trailer. I mean, look at them—Dad all comfortable and prosperous, and Brent penniless. But how could he have thought he could disappear for days with no explanation and still keep his secret intact?

“So let me get this straight, Dad.” I lean toward him. “You were hoping that you’d just go off to Vegas, see Corey, somehow put things right for Brent, come home—and we’d never ask about the details.”

Dad thinks for a moment, then says, “Yes, that’s about the sum of it.”

“You thought we’d just sit at home and wait patiently.”

“Yes.”

“When we thought you’d been kidnapped by Bryce and he was going to brainwash you and Tarkie.”

“Ah…”

“You thought you’d come back and Mum would say, Good trip, dear? and you’d say, Yes, and that would be the end of the conversation.”

“Um…” Dad looks a bit foolish. “I hadn’t really thought that far.”

Honestly. Men.

“So, what has happened about Brent?” A deep voice comes from behind my seat, and I look round to see Luke standing there. “Good to see you, Graham,” he adds with a little smile, and holds his hand out to shake Dad’s. “Glad you’re safe and sound.”

“Ah, Brent.” Dad’s face twists in anguish again. “It’s a bad situation. I’m doing my best. I’ve appealed to Corey. I’ve appealed to Raymond. But…” He sighs. “There were personality clashes, you see.”

“But it makes no sense!” I say impatiently. “Why would Corey send you money every year but totally con Brent out of everything? What’s he got against Brent?”

“Well. It goes back to the trip. It was all to do with…” He glances awkwardly at Mum.

“Cherchez la femme,” says Mum, rolling her eyes. “I knew it. Didn’t I know it? Didn’t I say, ‘This is all about a woman’?”

“You did!” exclaims Janice, wide-eyed. “You did, love! So, who was the woman?”

“Rebecca,” answers Dad, and some last bit of tension seems to sink out of him. There’s a dead silence. I can sense eyes flickering avidly about the group, but no one dares even breathe.

“Graham,” says Luke at last, in such calm, even tones that I want to applaud, “why not explain about Rebecca?”

—

I’ve learned a lot of useful lessons on this road trip. I’ve learned you can’t line dance properly in flip-flops. I’ve learned that grits are definitely not my favorite food. (I ordered them in Wilderness; Minnie hated them too.) And now I’m learning that when your dad spills the beans on some ancient, complicated three-way love affair, you should take notes. Or ask him to do a PowerPoint presentation with a handout.

I am so confused. In fact, I’m going to run over the facts again, privately to myself, leaving out the talk of sunsets and young men’s blood and the heat of the day and all the other poetical stuff which Dad throws in.