Mindy isn't eavesdropping... exactly. It's just a coincidence that she's stopped in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom, and it's an unexpected surprise that this is the perfect acoustic spot to hear the deep voices floating out of Alan Castellano's living room.

Truthfully, spying is not her intention. The black and white photo on the wall really does grab her attention as she breezes by. She can't help that the conversation she's hearing is far more interesting than a grainy picture of a man on a fishing pier. It's also not her fault that she has a highly developed sense of hearing. Each sound wave that wafts past her ears is crisp in its melodic intonation.

She probably looks like a mental patient, lips parted as she creeps closer to the end of the hall, eyes cut sideways as if looking in the direction the sound might be coming from will help.

After they entered the house, things became awkward fairly quickly. Danny made no move to correct his father's assumption, merely holding her hand more tightly as they shimmied past the foyer, and Mindy wasn't sure what good it would do to pipe up with a contradiction.

It was only when they were seated on the mustard yellow couch, something that had definitely seen its first days of life in the seventies, that she began to feel uncomfortable.

The springs in the seat were past whatever effectiveness they once had, and when the newly minted couple sat down, the cushions sank dramatically. Mindy and Danny both sunk toward each other into the valley created by their weight. She found herself struggling not to spill into his lap, her free hand awkwardly braced against his shoulder, while Danny glared at his father and squeezed the life out of her hand. Alan's courtesy was the only thing that saved her.

"Would you like something to drink, sweetheart?" He was looking at her, almost pointedly, barely glancing at Danny from the corner of his eye. Mindy wondered if it pained him to look directly at the child he'd abandoned, if it was like staring directly into the sun.

"Um, actually, could you point me to the little girl's room?"

Alan gestured toward the hall, the entrance connecting to the living room at a right angle. "Last door on the left."

She shot up, eager to let these men get on with their reunion without her, but she only took one step before her arm swung out, still attached to Danny's hand. Turning back to him, the expression on his face was enough to weaken her resolve. His eyes were wide, pleading with her to just sit back down.

Instinctively, she turned back toward him, bending slightly to look into his eyes. "I'll be right back." She punctuated her reassurance with a soft kiss on the cheek, and his grip relaxed and she was free.

She's thinking of that soft kiss as she creeps even further down the hall. She's not sure what prompted it, but it had only seemed natural at the time. Her lips still tingle from the scratchy stubble. It's not an unpleasant sensation, and her fingers unconsciously trace the line of her bottom lip as she listens.

"Danny, how have-"

"It's Dan."

"How have you been?"

"Okay."

"Of course you are, you're a Castellano, tough as nails."

"Sure."

Danny's clipped single word responses worry Mindy, and she begins to think leaving the two alone was a bad idea. Her toe drags along the baseboard as she scoots closer to the entryway.

"How's your mother?"

"Why do you care?"

"Look, Netty and I -"

"Annette."

The t's in his mother's name come out hard, bitten off at the end, and Mindy can imagine the way his jaw his probably working, muscles bunching at his temple. Her palms lay flat against the wall. The painted plaster is cool against her skin.

"We have our differences, but I've always cared about her."

"Funny how that works."

"What do you mean?"

Finally Alan seems unable to ignore Danny's antagonism, the gravel in his own voice giving way to a gruff and sonorous question.

"You don't abandon people you care about."

Danny's voice is thick and tears prick at Mindy's eyes. He's obviously not talking about his mother, and the hitch in Mindy's breathing stops her slow progression down the hall. She wishes there was something she could do to ease the tension in his words, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

Sometimes she thinks all of the mysticism she's learned while traveling is nothing but a bunch of nonsense aimed at tourists looking at crystal pendants in gift shop windows, but how can anyone explain the tendrils of connection she sometimes feels? And feel them she does, silken threads physically tugging her in the direction she needs to go.

They're tugging her toward Danny. When she closes her eyes she can imagine the ghostlike energy flowing out of her and wrapping itself around Danny's tense form. It's visualization, a technique she only implements when she really wants something, and right now she really wants Danny to let go of some anger. She repeats a simple yoga mantra under her breath, ears straining to hear the conversation.

"Trust me, son, it's better this way."

"Are you kidding?"

"I know what it's like to have a bad dad. I was sparing you."

Mindy is utterly absorbed. In her old life she was a reality tv junkie, and this is better than any "unscripted" melodrama she's ever seen. The emotions she can hear in the two voices bowl her over, and her tendency toward empathy sets her stomach to churning as she leans forward, neck craning as she's drawn inexorably toward the fraught conversation.

Alan's excuse is the last straw for Danny, and he raises his voice for the first time. "Oh, that is bullshit and you know it. I was thirteen when you left, not a baby like Richie. Yeah, you were no prize, but trust me, a bad dad was better than no dad."

"All I can do is apologize, Danny."

Suddenly Mindy is tumbling out into the living room, cursing like a sailor as she grabs at her shin. There's a cast iron doorstop shaped like a horse at the end of the hallway, it's eyes painted on lazily. The wall-eyed thing stares at her mockingly while she mutters in pain. "Son of a bitch."