“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if your father wanted any say in the discipline that I was forced to serve on a constant basis because of your insubordination, then maybe he shouldn’t have been tied to his second family.”

“Wait . . . what?” I ask.

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t know?” Mom taunts in a condescending tone. “You thought he was away on work trips?” She tsks. “No, he was visiting his other family. His mistress and his two sons. Twins, actually.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Because you hate me, because you’re cruel, and because you haven’t taken enough of my childhood and want to take this away too.”

“I have better things to do with my life than worry about taking away what pitiful life you have. You wonder why your dad and I fell out of love? Because he fell in love with someone else, that’s why. And his mistress, she followed us around to every duty station. He would spend long nights and days with her, and when the boys were born, his time with us diminished even more.”

“I don’t believe it. Why didn’t you divorce him, then?” I ask.

“Because I don’t believe in divorce,” she says with snobbery.

“You’d rather make your life and everyone else’s around you miserable? Is that why you beat me as a child? Because you were mad at him, and you took it out on me?”

“I hit you because you were disobedient,” she growls.

“So why do I have two black eyes now?” I ask, feeling the throbbing of where she hit me last night across the eye with a shoe. “I wasn’t disobedient last night.”

“You were late to dinner, and that’s unacceptable.”

“I was one second late. I was finishing a call.”

“With that boyfriend of yours who is just like your father.”

“No, he’s not,” I say.

“Oh, no? Then where is he? Playing baseball? Your father’s work came first too, you know. I was pushed to the back. So were you. A man’s job will always come first. Always. Best you realize that now before you’re in too deep with the man.”

“Are you ready?” Nichole calls out, approaching with a stern look on her face.

I glance over my shoulder and nod. But before I leave, I say, “I don’t believe you about Dad. There is no way he had a second family.”

She points to the right. “See those two men over there? Those are his sons. And the woman next to them, that’s Miranda, his mistress. Don’t believe me, just go ask.”

I look over and see three people standing together, waiting for their last goodbyes.

“What is she talking about?” Nichole asks.

And I don’t know what it is, maybe the pain slicing through me, or the need to clear the air, but I find myself walking over to them with purposeful strides. And as I draw closer and closer, I realize the men I’m walking toward have a very distinct look about them . . . those bushy eyebrows, the blue eyes, the tall, lanky stature.