He’d taken his bike, so the only logical explanation was the fact he’d gone for a ride.

She walked into the kitchen and poured herself some old coffee. She put it in the microwave to warm it up.

If Preacher was gone all night, she wanted to be awake for when Bishop finally arrived home. Not that she’d have the first clue as to what to say to him.

How could she talk to Bishop about what was going on between her and his father? None of it made sense, not even to her.

She sipped at her coffee as she heard the unmistakable sound of a bike arriving home.

“Bishop?”

She rushed toward the window and the floodlight Preacher installed was on. Rain had started to pour down, but she didn’t care. Without grabbing a jacket, she opened the door and saw Bishop, straddling his bike. The light at the front glowed forward.

“Bishop,” she said.

He looked toward her but didn’t get off.

Stepping out of the house, she walked down the small set of steps, and rushed toward him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it matter to you? How long has it been going on?”

“Come inside and we’ll talk about this. It’s wet.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to know how long you and my father have been lying to me.”

“We haven’t been lying to you, Bishop,” she said.

“You’ve been having sex behind my back.”

“Look, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. Preacher had business—”

“So it’s Preacher now? I’m surprised you’re not calling him Caleb or Mr. Keats.”

“You don’t have to be this way,” she said. She didn’t want to argue with him.

“What are you to him? His whore?”

She shook her head.

“When did it happen?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“A couple of weeks ago? You mean to tell me you’ve been screwing my dad right under my nose and I haven’t even known about it?”

“We haven’t been screwing.”

“What do you do? Make love? Is that it? You’ve been making love to my dad? I’m sorry if I wasn’t saying the right words you needed to hear. Have you been making love to my father all the time?”

“No!” She yelled the word. “I get it. You’re angry. Hell, I even know you have a right to be angry, but I never wanted this to happen. I never led you on, Bishop.”

“We’re married.”

“In a marriage I didn’t want. You can blame me, by all means, blame me. It might even do you good to point the finger at me and tell me what a horrible, disgusting person I am for falling for your dad. You think I don’t know how weird this is?”

“The first time, were you drugged?”