Chapter Two
“Where’s Tia and Lola?” I ask my father-in-law while unzipping my hoodie. It’s just past five thirty, and my kitchen smells like garlic. The Weber grill is pulled away from the edge of the deck, and I bet Amos’s famous dry-rubbed rib eyes are sizzling to perfection.
He retrieves a bottle of ranch dressing from the fridge. After Brynn died, I remodeled the four-bedroom ranch house. Lola wanted white cabinets and blue retro appliances, so I caved and gave my grieving daughter what she wanted: a beach-blue metal fridge with chrome trim and a pivoting handle. I struggled with retro “updates.” It seemed like an oxymoron.
However, Lola still gushes over the blue appliances and the two-person round chrome pedestal table with sparkly red vinyl chairs. So the decor has grown on me because her enthusiasm is contagious.
“Lola had to stay for detention,” Amos says. “But Tia didn’t find out until Lola failed to come outside after school. They should be home any minute.”
I check my phone for missed messages. Sure enough, there’s a call from the school that I didn’t see. “Why did Lola get detention?” I ask, but it’s not her first offense, so I have trouble mustering a shocked response.
“Dunno,” Amos mumbles. “Want to make a little wager before they get home?” He eyes me with a half grin as he drizzles the dressing over the bowls of mixed greens.
“Ten bucks. Someone said something about her bike, and she kicked them in the shin,” I say, because it’s a statistically good guess.
Amos runs a hand over his spiky gray hair before scratching his saggy turkey neck. “Twenty bucks, some little punk pulled her hair, and she throat punched them.”
“You think she’s graduated to the throat punch?” My eyes widen.
He carries two salad bowls to the dining room table, next to a Palladian window overlooking the backyard filled with trees and bird feeders. “Ozzy, she’s halfway through fourth grade. I can see her testing out some new tactics.”
We’re dancing around the truth because it’s less painful than the likely reality that someone said something about the scars on her face. By now, every kid in her school should be used to them, but kids can be relentless little assholes.
I follow Amos, carrying the other two bowls. “That girl has my temper. I should be the one in detention.”
Amos pulls four plates from the oak buffet. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ve been a saint with that girl since Brynn died. Ground her, ignore her tantrum, and let her learn things the hard way. She’s coddled enough.”
I coddle her. He won’t directly point a finger at me, but it’s implied by his tone and reinforced when he doesn’t look at me.
Last year, after Thanksgiving, Amos and Tia sold their ranch in Yellowstone and moved to Missoula so I could go back to work. Since they’re giving up or postponing their planned retirement in Ocala, Florida, to help me raise Lola, I must accept a little scrutiny.
A jab here and there. They walk the line without making pointed comments about my dad because he’s a hard limit for me.
The back door creaks, followed by Lola’s dramatic huff. “We’re home. Don’t be mad. It wasn’t my fault.”
Amos and I force straight faces while we meet Tia and Lola in the kitchen.
Tia inspects me with squinted blue eyes, her dark-gray, chin-length hair matted from her bike helmet. She’s daring me to let Lola off easy. Tia helped brand and castrate cows until the day they sold the ranch. She has the energy of someone half her age and believes kids should be raised with a loving hand and stern voice. Brynn was the same way.
Lola’s always been a daddy’s girl, and watching her heal from the car accident and grieve the loss of her mother has only made me softer.
“I’m listening,” I say, taking Lola’s backpack before she fills a glass with water from the filter pitcher in the fridge.
Tia surgically washes her hands and dark, leathery forearms while eyeing my daughter. I don’t know if Lola feels an ounce of fear, but I still have a healthy respect for Tia’s challenging scowl. The first time I met her, she sized me up and told me I’d better plan on marrying her daughter if I was sticking my dick in her.
My balls instantly shriveled into raisins.
“At recess, Bailey said I have a crush on Miss Obermeier. I said that’s stupid. So Bailey called me a name, but it’s not one I’m allowed to use, so I won’t say it. But then she shoved me, so I shoved her back, and she tripped and hurt her wrist. So I got sent to the principal’s office while Bailey went to the nurse for an ice pack. I know she was faking it just to get attention.” Lola makes the most dramatic eye roll before gulping down her glass of water.
“Why does Bailey think you have a crush on Miss Obermeier?” I ask, unzipping her bag and removing the lunch box filled with a half-eaten chicken sandwich. Her carrots are untouched in the Ziploc, but the chocolate chip cookie Tia made is gone.
“Because she heard me asking Miss Obermeier if she has a husband or boyfriend.”
“That’s weird,” I mumble, handing her the backpack.
“Lola, tell your dad why you asked Miss Obermeier if she’s married or has a boyfriend,” Tia prods, pulling the garlic bread from the oven while Amos retrieves the steaks from the grill.
Eyeing my frizzy-haired girl, I cross my arms and widen my stance.
Lola mirrors me. She’s a little shit. I love her, but she’s all attitude. “Since you didn’t like the lady at Dolly’s Doughnuts this morning, I asked Miss Obermeier. She’s really pretty, and she likes kids.”
“Lola’s trying to find you a date, Ozzy. Why is that?” Tia shoots me that ball-shriveling look while transferring the garlic bread to a basket.
“How should I know?”
Lola pleads her case. “You’re sad and lonely. That’s what Dakota’s mom said. And I don’t want you to be sad and lonely. I know Mom is gone forever.”
Dakota’s mom can suck my dick. Scratch that thought. She’d probably do it.
“Lola.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “I miss your mom. I’ll miss her every day for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean I’m lonely and sad. I have you, and you’re all I need.”
She frowns. “But—”
“No buts. Put your bag in your room and wash your hands for dinner.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, sulking toward the basement stairs.
When Amos and Tia came to stay with us, Lola and I moved to the basement so they could have the two main-level bedrooms. They don’t sleep together, because Amos snores, and Tia gets restless legs syndrome in the middle of the night.
When Lola’s not in earshot, Tia grumbles about the “hideous” retro vibe of the remodel. That also makes me love Lola’s groovy yellow swivel chair and my black Eames lounger a little more. The only furniture we didn’t replace is Brynn’s cream glider, which she used to sit in to rock Lola to sleep.
“We moved here to help with Lola, not so you could date,” Tia says just as Amos brings the steaks into the house. She partially blames me for the car accident, so my happiness is not on her list of priorities.
“Tia, this is all Lola. I’m not sad and lonely. I’m not looking for anyone. But ...” I pause for a moment.
“But what?” she asks.
“Nothing. Let’s eat.” I take the bread basket from her and carry it to the dining room.
“It hasn’t been long enough,” Tia says as she and Amos follow me.
“Long enough for what?” Lola asks, reaching the top of the stairs. My daughter never misses anything unless I need her to listen; then, she magically hears nothing.
Brynn would have said the same thing about me and my selective hearing.
“Lola, I don’t want you trying to find someone for your dad,” Tia says, sitting beside my snoopy daughter and nodding toward the napkin. According to Tia, I’ve been a little lax in teaching Lola “proper manners,” like protecting her lap when she eats and doing chores without an allowance.
“Why not?” Lola sets her folded napkin on her lap.
Tia leans toward Lola, unfolding it and spreading it over her legs. “That’s a silly question, since you landed in detention today from an incident that started because you thought your dad needed a date.”
Amos uses tongs to set a rib eye on his plate before passing the steaks to me. I can’t read his expression, but I think he’s conflicted. He, too, partially blames me for the accident, but I don’t sense his need to see me repent for eternity, imprisoned in a life of solitude beyond my daughter.
Lola deflates while I cut her steak. If I let her cut it, she’ll give up after one failed attempt and pick up the whole slab of meat, tearing off a chunk with her teeth like a wild animal. It’s not coddling; it’s encouraging manners.
“Did you know I met your mom without anyone’s help?”
She lifts her head.
“It’s true. I met her at a concert. I was behind her in line for a ...”
Beer.
I smile. “A snack. When she reached into her purse, her wallet was missing. She freaked out, so I paid for her food and helped her find her wallet, which took forever. By the time we found it, the concert was half-over. She felt terrible that I missed the show but grateful we retrieved her wallet.”
“Where was it?” Lola asks.
“Under her car. It must have fallen out when she opened the door.”
“Then what happened?” Lola can’t help her smile and the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.
“She offered to buy me dinner instead of watching the rest of the concert.” I take a bite of steak and smirk while chewing it. “Your mom fell in love with me pretty quickly.”
Lola whips her head in the direction of Amos and Tia. “Is that true?”
They share a knowing glance and a rare smile. Most of the time, talking about Brynn only reignites their anger toward me—mainly Tia’s.
“It’s true,” Tia concedes. “Your mom called me late that night to tell me she met the man she was going to marry.”
Lola’s eyes bug out. “Really?”
Tia shrugs and stabs her fork into her salad. “Really. Of course, I thought she was out of her mind.”
There it is, the little jab.
“So you need to go to a concert, Dad.”
We laugh.
“We’ll see. I’m working now. I don’t have a lot of extra time to go to concerts. When I get off work, I only want to be with you.”
It’s like Lola stopped listening the second she made her concert comment. That look on her face says she’s already scheming. I don’t understand the sudden change. How did she go from asking me every day if I missed her mom to matchmaking with any available woman in Missoula?