Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Renthrow
Gordie receives a warm welcome when we arrive at the garage. Rebel and April shower her with compliments, which is a totally understandable reaction.
My daughter is cute, adorable, and smart—everything they’re saying.
She responds to April and Rebel politely and then shoots straight to Cordelia. The mechanic pops her earbuds out of her ears and grins when my daughter hugs her leg.
I hang back and let them have their moment.
“Feels like you’re always over here, Renthrow,” Rebel teases, arching an eyebrow in Cordelia’s direction.
I ignore the insinuation. “I’m sure you’d prefer to see Kinsey’s face more than mine,” I tell her. “But you’re stuck with me until we get through this school project.”
Rebel laughs and flings her blond hair over her shoulder.
April motions me over. “Chance tells me you guys are planning something for the team?”
My eyes stray to Cordelia who’s bending her knees to be on Gordie’s eye level. She’s smiling brightly, but something about her seems different. She looks tired, I think.
“Yeah, we’re hoping to bring everyone back together, so we at least have a shot at competing for a league spot as the OG team.”
“I hope that works out,” Rebel says. “Cuts can be ruthless. I don’t know how the team can survive this.”
“We’re family. We have to try.”
Rebel and April both nod.
I move closer to where Cordelia is. Gordie is rambling nonstop about the new facts she’s learned about motorcycles, and it seems like there won’t be a conclusion anytime soon.
“Gordie, remember why we’re here. Let’s start your interview quickly.”
“Okay, Daddy!”
“We’ll do it around the table,” April offers. She smiles at Gordie. “Rebel bought some Hello Kitty cups for us to drink out of while you ask us your questions.”
“Thank you!” Gordie says.
The two women melt.
Gordie and Cordelia pick their way through the cars in the outdoor garage and head to the table near the front of the tent.
I notice Cordelia offering her hand to my daughter and leading her away from an exposed engine on the grass. It’s a thoughtful move, and I can’t help but smile.
When they get closer, I greet Cordelia. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She barely nods at me and turns to Gordie. “I need to wash my hands. They’re dirty.” She shows her palms as evidence. “Do you want to wash your hands with me?”
“Mm-hm!” Gordie excitedly hops beside Cordelia.
I watch them walk away in confusion. What’s going on?
Thinking that her stand-offishness is in my head, I make more of an effort to pay attention to Cordelia.
When she runs out of pink lemonade, I refill her Hello Kitty paper cup and wait expectantly for her to acknowledge me.
She does. Very politely. But then she doesn’t touch her drink at all.
Later, she fans her face, indicating that she’s hot under the tent. I bounce to my feet and adjust the large, solar-powered fans so they’re pointing in her direction.
But then she switches seats with my daughter to be out of the fan’s direct line.
I don’t think I’m imagining this.
After the interview, Cordelia and Gordie walk to the door. I follow, quietly waiting for a chance to have a chat with Cordelia too.
I keep looking at her face, searching for any indication that she’s happy to see me or that this moodiness isn’t personal. But that sign never comes, and I’m left reeling with unease. It feels unnatural to be this close to her and yet feel so far away.
I contemplate what to do next. Should I sweep her up in my arms again like I did the day I took her to the hospital? She was piping-hot mad that day, but at least she was looking at me.
The instinct grows, but I tuck my hands into my pockets and try to remember that I’m a civilized man.
“I want to ride your bike,” Gordie says, pointing to the intimidating machine on the lawn.
“Sorry. Your daddy doesn’t want you riding bikes.”
Is that why she’s mad? Did I offend her when I said I didn’t want Gordie riding a motorcycle?
I step forward. “Motorcycles are dangerous for kids. And teenagers. But I have no problem with adults who ride.”
See, Cordelia. I have no issue with bikes. I just want to protect my baby girl. It’s not personal. Can you look at me now?
Cordelia runs her fingers through Gordie’s hair, ignoring me to the point of frustration.
“I promise, Gordie, if you still want to ride a motorcycle when you’re a grown-up, I’ll personally go with you to buy one.”
I cringe at the thought of Gordie grown up. I want her to stay at six years old forever.
Gordie, on the other hand, is exuberant. “Pinkie swear?”
The two twirl their fingers around each other’s.
“Bye now!” Cordelia grins at my daughter and moves back a step.
I look expectantly at her.
“Renthrow.” She dips her chin like she’s an officer who stopped me for speeding.
“Cordelia!” I blurt.
She turns to look at me.
Gordie looks up too, her expression pure and innocent.
Say something! My heart is beating loud enough that April and Rebel can probably hear. “I’m making fish tonight.”
Cordelia arches a brow.
“I mean, I’m cooking. Fish. Uh…grilling fish. I’ll make grilled fish if you want to eat me. Not eat me. Eat with me. Us. Eat with us.”
Great. I sound like an incoherent idiot.
Gordie bobs her head invitingly, going along with it as her dad blusters and fumbles. Sweet thing.
“Sorry. I have to work late. Maybe another time.”
“Yeah. Sure. Of…”
Cordelia stalks away.
“…Course,” I say to her back.
Man, that was painful.
“Daddy, let’s go! Delia has to work, and I have to start drawing in my booklet.” Gordie tugs on my hand and leads me like a stunned horse to the car.
Maybe I got the signals crossed.
I thought Cordelia and I were on our way to being friends.
I guess…I was wrong.
Later that night, I’m still in a daze, and Mom picks up on it. As she washes out the pan that I used to make the casserole, she looks over at me.
“Son, is everything okay?”
“Yup.”
“You’ve been wiping that same spot on the counter for the last ten minutes.” Mom shakes the pan a bit and sets it in the drainer.
“There was a stain.”
Mom accepts my words with a nod. “Thanks for the food. It was great. As usual. I really don’t know where you get your cooking skills from because it wasn’t me.”
I mumble an incoherent response and put away the rest of the groceries that I hadn’t been able to get to earlier.
“Gordie said we were supposed to have fish,” Mom muses. “Why’d you change your mind to chicken casserole?”
The mention of fish brings back the horrific memories of my bumbling invitation to Cordelia this afternoon.
I exhale shakily. “Mom, can I run something by you?”
“Of course.”
I lean against the counter. “I have a friend who came to me for…advice on women.”
“A friend?” She pops a brow. “Do I know him?”
“It’s Max,” I fib. “He thinks I’m some expert on relationships because I’ve been married before, but clearly”—I gesture to myself—“I’m not.”
Mom returns her attention to the dishes. “What advice did Max want?”
“Like I said, he has a female friend—”
“Is she attractive?”
“Extremely.”
“Hm.”
“I-I assume,” I stutter, “based on the way he talks about her.”
“Makes sense.”
“He and his friend seemed to be getting closer.”
“Closer how?”
“Like…as friends.”
Mom makes a hurry-up gesture.
“But the next day, his friend suddenly acted strange. She didn’t look him in the eyes, she didn’t want to talk, and she ran away from him every time he got close.”
“That’s easy. She’s acting that way because she doesn’t want to be his friend anymore.”
I push off the counter and bark, “That doesn’t make any sense. Things were just fine last night.”
Mom halts in place. “Last night?”
My stomach flips over. “Or so Max told me.”
“Let me see if I understand this correctly.” Mom finishes with the last of the dishes and grabs a kitchen towel to dry her hands. “Max has a female friend that he’s getting close with, and without warning, she pulled away from him.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Well, son, women generally have a reason for withdrawing from a man—friend or otherwise. So what did Max do or say to her before things changed?”
“Nothing. They had a really deep conversation right before things went south. She was a little quiet when he took her home, but everything else was normal.”
“What did they discuss?” Mom prods.
I look away.
“Did Max not tell you?”
“No, ma’am.”
Mom studies me, and I hold my breath, hoping she doesn’t insist that I call Max and get more information. That would set my story up in flames.
“Son, I think that if Max is really concerned about his female friend pulling away, he should spend less time being hurt and more time figuring out what he said or did to trigger her reaction.”
What I did? But I didn’t do anything except share my story with her. Everyone in town knows I’m divorced. My past was never a secret. That couldn’t have been what caused this.
My shoulders slump. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let Max know, Mom.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Speaking of female friends, you and Cordelia seem very close lately. A little birdie told me you even took her out for ice cream.”
Abort mission! I can sense that Mom is on the prowl to set me up again.
“Do you hear that? I think Gordie’s calling for me.” I shuffle away.
“You’re not getting any younger, Viking!”
“I’ll be right back to walk you to your car!” I yell, hurrying up the stairs.
Mom’s chuckles follow me all the way up the stairs and to my daughter’s room.