Happy spring, my friends!
It’s been a while since I’ve written. That’s partly because of the relaunch of the Gluten-Free Guidebook. Since I brought it back as a weekly Substack newsletter last October, it’s taken up a fair bit of my time. (If you have any gluten-averse people in your life, please let them know they can find it here.)
But I’ve also been busy on the fiction front, and I’m thrilled to say that I’m back in the pages of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. My story “The Good Father” is in the March/April 2024 issue, on newsstands now. Here’s how it starts:
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” The voice on the other end of the line was so faint I could barely catch the words. My teenage daughter, Marcella, sounded like she was turning into a ghost even as she ditched me. “I can’t make our visit this weekend.”
I drummed my fingers on my desk, shifting from excitement to concern in a heartbeat. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? This is our special time together. I’m taking you to dinner at Catania tonight and on Saturday we’re going to Fashion Island and then…”
“I’m really sorry, Daddy.” Marcella’s voice quavered. “But I can’t.”
I inhaled sharply, suddenly aware of what was really going on. “This is because of your mother, isn’t it? Put her on the line, sweetheart. Please.”
I struggled to keep my anger out of my voice. My ex—Marcella’s mother—was a liar and manipulator of the lowest order. Everything was a game with her, and I knew Ekaterina would be delighted to ruin the one court-allotted weekend a month I got with my beloved only daughter. Ekaterina and I had spent years wrangling in court over custody and divorce. Marcella was only fifteen, and was regularly crushed under her mother’s thumb.
“She’s… she’s out right now.” Marcella gulped audibly.
“Where is she?”
“I’m not sure, Daddy. I need to go. I’m not feeling well. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
There was a click and the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, thinking how Marcella had never canceled on me before. I wasn’t angry at my daughter, but I felt like ice was trying to pass through my veins. Was my sweet Marcella—who loved ballet and stuffed toys and frogs and fantasy novels—morphing into her mother’s shadow? I couldn’t seriously entertain that idea, but it slipped under my skin and poked at me like a splinter of glass.
I took a few breaths, drinking in the view from my office, and made a decision. My lawyer would blow a gasket if he knew I was calling my ex directly, but I saw no other choice. I dialed Ekaterina’s number, gritting my teeth in the way that my disapproving dentist regularly griped at me about. The phone rang four times before Ekaterina answered.
“This is Sam,” I said quickly. “I’m calling about Marcella. You know I’m supposed to see her this weekend but…”
“Don’t you dare! You are not ruining this for me!” Ekaterina shrieked, her accented voice piercing my eardrum. “Do you hear me? I’m going to hang up and call my lawyer. Don’t you dare push me, Sam!”
“Please calm down. It’s okay. Seriously, it’s okay. Let’s just calm down here.” I’d taken an anger-management course that emphasized the power of repetition. I’d hoped it would work on Ekaterina, but that had been in vain. “I told you, I’m calling about Marcella. Our daughter. This doesn’t need to be adversarial.” The words on my lips didn’t match what was in my brain, but they were born of previous experience, with Ekaterina secretly taping me and using some ill-chosen, furious words against me. I couldn’t pretend to be the smartest guy—I’d blown up my first marriage for a Russian gold digger, after all—but at least I learned from my mistakes.
“I know you’re calling about your precious daughter, you monster,” Ekaterina snapped, careful not to curse me out because she knew I could be taping her. “This is your assigned weekend with her, and if you cancel on it now, at the last possible second, I will see you in court.”
“Court? What are you talking about?”
“I planned this weekend in Cabo because it’s your weekend with Marcella. If you think I’m flying back to take care of her because you’ve decided to put work ahead of your family, you can go…” I knew what she wanted to say, and I also knew she was clever enough to keep it from family court’s interested ears. “Well, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“It’s another think coming.”
“What?”
“The phrase you used. It should be, ‘You’ve got another think coming.” I knew I sounded like a smug jerk, but Ekaterina loathed having her almost-perfect English corrected. It was a sub rosa way to drive her bananas. “Look, I’m still counting on seeing Marcella this weekend. I’ve got everything planned. Are you saying you’re not trying to mess that up?”
“Why would I?” Ekaterina’s decibel level simmered down but her tone was still suspicious. “I flew to Mexico this morning. She knows she’s meeting you after school. You are picking her up, correct?”
“Right,” I agreed, in spite of my confusion. “Is Marcella feeling okay? I just spoke to her on the phone and she sounded sick.”
“She’s a teenage girl. All she does is whine about what’s wrong with her,” Ekaterina snapped. “Anyway, you’re the one running a big biotech company. Maybe you can come up with something that cures teenage girls of stupidity.”
With that last bit of venom, my ex hung up. Most calls with Ekaterina ended that way, even during that hazy, crazy time when we’d been married. Her parting jab reminded me of all the times she’d weaponized crocodile tears against me. She was very good at getting her own way. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to say something about Marcella, but I was worried about my little girl. Once she turned sixteen, she would be able to choose to live with me, but that was eight months and a week away. Yes, I was counting the days.
For once, it didn’t bother me that Ekaterina was spending my money at a fancy resort, undoubtedly with a boy toy in tow. All that mattered was my daughter. Something wasn’t right.
Ellery Queen is available on newsstands and by subscription; you can also buy a single issue online. I hope you’ll enjoy “The Good Father.”
Thanks for reading!
Hilary