I looked at him. Then I took in his look. It was his determined look.

Then I determined we weren’t going to talk, now or ever.

“Pop –”

Like it was since I was a child, Pop’s determination when it came to him saying what he had to say and hearing what I had to say was a lot more determined than mine could ever be.

“Circe, darlin’, what gives?” he leaned toward me. “You ain’t right.”

I switched off my monitor and declared. “I’m fine.”

I started to get out of my chair when Pop’s words arrested me.

“Girl, do you not think I know heartache when I see it? Damn, darlin’, I’ve seen it every day of my life for twenty-five years starin’

back at me right in the mirror.”

My (now) fat ass plonked back into the chair and I looked at Pop.

“And now,” he went on, “I see it every time I look at you.” He lifted a hand and knocked his knuckles on my desk before sitting back and demanding, “So, no more foolin’. What… gives? ”

“Pop,” I whispered.

“Circe,” Pop stated firmly.

“Pop!” I snapped.

“Circe!” Pop clipped back.

Shit!

I stared at him. He took my stare and raised it with an eyebrow lift.

Then I shook my head. “I don’t –”

Pop cut in. “You love that asshole.”

I blinked. Then the pain knifed through me. Then I looked away.

After a moment, Pop muttered, “Shee-it. You do. You love that asshole.”

I looked back at him.

He knew. Yeah, he knew.

We’d never discussed it. The other Circe had told me her story in total (and it was worse than I imagined and I imagined it being bad).

I had not shared mine. She didn’t pry. But she knew the Korwahk and their practices and she watched me like a hawk, like my father did since I figured she’d shared (not to mention I’d disappeared for months so he was gun shy). But she didn’t pry. I’d seen those two with their heads together, starting with a few times in the beginning

when I came home but it was growing more and more frequently lately.

They’d orchestrated this. It was a wonder she wasn’t there browbeating me right along with Pop.

By the way, the other me could be annoying. She was sweet and she was funny but she was also seriously annoying.

“Circe, start talkin’ or I’ll talk for you,” Pop warned.

“Yeah?” I asked sharply. “You and Circe, you both think you’ve got it figured out, do you?”

“What I got figured out, child, is that is the first time I’ve seen you spit fire at me in five fuckin’ months. And my Circe could spit fire when she had tonsillitis. She could spit fire at Larry, who was six foot five, weighed three hundred pounds and had a meaty fist bigger than her head. She could handle my crew of twelve guys without them knowin’ they were bein’ handled. That fire, girl, it’s been gone and Circe and me, your friend Marlene, we thought it was because…” he stopped, his jaw flexed at the thought of me being violated then he started again, “but it ain’t. It ain’t that. I don’t see pain in your eyes from memories that are torturin’ you. I see a different kinda pain, darlin’, one I recognize, one I know, one that lives in me. ”

“Can we not talk about this?” I asked quietly.

“No, we been not talkin’ about this for five months and you ain’t snappin’ outta it. Now tell me, girl, did you fall in love with him?”

I licked my lips. Then I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them and whispered, “Yes.”

He tipped his head to look at the ceiling, muttering, “Shee-it.

Circe warned me this crap happened.”

“Pop –” I started but he tipped his head back to me.

“So why the fuck you come home?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You went to the doc, there was time. You coulda had that kid you’re carryin’ taken care of…” I knew my eyes flashed at the very

mention of abortion when he pointed right at me. “That. That right there. You want this kid. That asshole didn’t force that child on you; you’re carrying it for him. You made that baby and you liked doin’

it. Am I wrong?”

Oh God. Seriously. With my Pop, I didn’t want to go there.

“Pop –”

“Answer me, am I wrong?”

“No,” I bit off.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he clipped.

“Pop –”

He interrupted me again. “So why’d you come back?”