I thrive off conflict and competition, so fighting with Dad at the Ingomar Club was fun on some level, like driving a hundred miles an hour on a Texas freeway in a red Mustang convertible. Nothing could stop me, and fuel was fast and easy. But something worried me. I didn’t believe he was banishing me for my protection. There was more to it. It felt like a c***k in the foundation of our relationship. Even in the best of times, our relationship was never warm and cozy, but he always took some care. I’d seen his cutthroat side, before, I guess, but it had always been on the phone, directed at someone else. Was this a change? He had Linda, but I only had him.
My mother, Christine, died when I was eleven. It was a big deal, but I barely remember her. I feel guilty about that, even now. I have
