He twists the handle. Sunlight pours into the room and I squint. Still, I don’t miss the look on his face.
“Tell Heath to keep his hands to himself,” he demands.
“Why would I do that?”
“He may not know I’m in town.”
“Why would he care?”
“Because this thing between us started a long time ago. We might’ve thought it was over . . .” A soft smile plays on his lips. “But it’s not. Have a good day, sweetheart.”
He leaves me standing in the middle of the room wondering what in the hell just happened.
Ellie
“HEY, DADDY!”
I pull open the screen door and see my father sitting at the table in his kitchen. A little television is propped on one end. He refuses to get a new one. There’s a large flat-screen in the living room, but he spends most of his time in here. He always has.
Growing up, I figured he just stayed in the kitchen because that’s where most of the action happened. Besides, he was the one at home—a stay-at-home Dad before those were a thing. He was ten years older than my mother to start with, but after an injury that got him discharged from the Army and then a career with the railroad, he retired when I was still little. That was fine with me. We’d spend nearly every day from spring to fall outside gardening, walking the woods and empty fields, and fishing. He was the coolest guy I knew.
Then Mom died when I was nineteen, shortly after Ford left, and Dad withdrew into himself. Stopped hanging out with his one friend. Declared himself too old to do the things we used to do. He’d just sit at his table and watch old Western re-runs over and over again.
“Hey, pumpkin.” He leans his cheek out so I can give it a kiss, which I do before sliding into the empty chair between the table and refrigerator. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks. I thought I’d put a little effort in now that I’m a businesswoman,” I say, instead of telling him I didn’t want Ford to see me at my worst.
“How’s the store coming?”
“Good! You should come by and see it sometime.”
He shrugs, his eyes going back to the cowboy on the screen. His cheeks tell the tale of a man that’s lived a hard life, his skin now seeming to hint at a yellow that makes me a little edgy. His hair has receded rapidly over the last few years and the once black strands are now a silvery grey. There are sunspots and moles and I wonder how so much changed in him in what seems like such little time. It makes the guilt inside me soar.
“You need to get out of this house,” I insist. “When is the last time you left this room?”
“I don’t sleep in here.”
“Okay. When’s
the last time you saw John? Or went to Kenny’s,” I say, talking about his lone friend and the pool hall four streets over that he used to frequent.
“What are you? My keeper?” he grins. “I’m fine, Ellie. Don’t worry about me.”
“Of course I worry about you! You’re my daddy.”
This makes him smile. “That I am.”
Glancing around the room, I notice all the dust and cobwebs covering everything not used daily. My mom’s owl collection lacks its usual luster because of all the grime. The once-white walls are starting to peel in places, and the ceiling looks like it had a leak in it at one time.
“I’m going to come over here and clean this place up,” I tell him. “We need to wash stuff down, paint a little.”
“You have your hands full downtown.”
“But I will always make time for you.”
“Don’t bother with it,” he says, leaning back in his chair and wincing as he stretches his arms over his head. “I’ll get around to that stuff.”
“Sure you will.”