No Going Back

This week Trifecta gave us the word Father, as in: a. one related to another in a way suggesting that of father to child or b : an old man —used as a respectful form of address.  I went back to a story I started - coincidentally via Trifecta prompts - for this one.  The first two parts to the story can be found here and here.

As always, concrit is most welcome.

            The next afternoon passed in a haze of nerves.  Jen had thrown her mother out for the day because she’d been driving Jen nuts.  Okay.  She’d done it a little more politely than that, but still.  Her mother was getting so pessimistic about things it almost felt as if she didn’t want to find Curran alive and Jen got sick of it.

            As the meeting time with Rhys Waylon approached, Jen found herself pacing the house and checking her reflection every five minutes.

            “Jesus Christ!  You’d think I was going out on a blind date or something,” she muttered after reassuring herself for the twentieth time her make-up hadn’t smudged in the two minutes since the last time she’d checked.

            Then again, the last blind date she went on was with Curran’s father.  Not that the jerk had ever been much of a real father.  Sperm donor was more like it.  Then it hit her.  Jen realized that relationship, such as it had been, was the last time she’d been out with a man.  Even though this meeting was business and not romantic, it was the first time in two years she was meeting a man at a bar.

            The never ending line of minutes marched on oblivious to Jen’s nerves.  Eventually the time did come for her to head to Jack’s.

            The bar was just as dirty and rundown appearing as it had been last night.  Her heart in her throat, Jen stepped inside.  There was a man sitting in a corner table.  She noticed right away how he sat with his back to the wall, hidden in the shadows, yet some sense told her he saw everything that happened in the place.

            She took the gallows walk to his table, instinct telling her this was the man she was looking for.

            “Mr. Waylon?”

            “Please, as I said, call me Rhys.  Have a seat.  We have a lot to discuss, Ms. Becker.”

             Jen sat.  It was too late to back out now.