Chapter 5
Lark
“Dad?” I call, letting the screen door slam behind me. Bad habit.
“Don’t slam the door, Lark.” I peer through the living room to the door that leads to the kitchen, following the sound of his voice. “In here.”
I see his denim-wrapped legs sprawled across the yellow-and-white-floral linoleum. His body is revealed between open cabinets while his head is tucked under the sink. “Broken pipe again?”
His eyes find mine when he tilts to the side, a wrench in hand still attached to the pipe. “Why pay someone when you can fix it yourself?”
“Because then you wouldn’t have to fix it every few weeks.” I pull out a chair, the metal feet dragging through the barren spot in the flooring. The sound has been a part of my childhood, so neither of us bats an eye.
He tightens the seal and then lowers the wrench. “Turn on the water.”
We’ve had a few mishaps over the years fixing things ourselves, but the memories only reflect good times when thinking back. I turn on the faucet. No yelping is a good start.
He untucks himself from the awkward position under the sink and sits up. “That’s money in the bank.”
When he stands and dusts himself off, I ask, “Did you see the new building going up at the corner of Dobson and Main?”
The wrench clangs in the rusted toolbox when it’s dropped among the other tools. “I’m not an apartment kind of guy.”
“They look really nice. Great views of downtown. Someone else can fix the pipes if they break, and the sale of the house would be real money in the bank.” This is the only home I’ve known.
This is the place where he and Liz . . .
I still can’t bring myself to call the woman who gave birth to me mom.
This is the house where they once lived together, loved each other, and brought me home from the hospital.
I’d be kind of sad if he sold this place.
Still, it would be worth it for the gain he’d get, money he’ll never have working twelve-to-fourteen-hour days in the garage.
Squatting, he packs up the toolbox and then stands with it in his hands. “She’s not much, but in a few years, she’ll be all mine once I pay her off. Then I never have to owe anyone for anything.”
“Other than taxes.”
“You know what I mean, pipsqueak.” He comes over and ruffles my hair.
I could complain about the nickname or the hair like I did when I was a teen, but I don’t get these moments as often these days.
Between work and school, I treasure our Sunday dinners.
Time slows down when I’m at home, and I breathe a little easier.
“There’s value in not owing anybody anything. ”
I nod.
My dad raised me by himself since the day Liz walked out the same door I just entered.
I was two when this gruff—six-one, ex-high school football player, heart of gold of a guy—took on the role of both parents, raising me with a strong work ethic, which is one of the reasons I got a full ride to college. But it’s his values that never waver.
He relied on one person in life, and she let him down, so he stood on his own after that with his chin held high, even when it meant sacrificing his own needs.
I intend to make it up to him one day. It’s not that I owe him that. John Summerlin would be the first to argue I don’t. It’s that he deserves it. He deserves to have fewer worries for all the burdens he’s carried.
Opening the back door, he says, “Hope you’re hungry for burgers. I’ve already got them on the grill. Grab a soda and seat out here and tell me about your week.”
I follow him out onto the cracked concrete patio, digging through the cooler he stocks for us—beer for him, soda for me. “I’m old enough to have a beer, you know?”
“I know.” He doesn’t say why he only ever offers me soda, but I already know.
He wants to keep me young, his little girl, for as long as he can.
Not that he cares if I drink since I’m twenty-one, but I’ll oblige because it makes him happy.
I pop the top on a Sprite and sit in a plastic Adirondack chair I bought him for his birthday a few months ago.
After almost falling through a canvas chair he’d left out in the weather for ten years, the upgrade is nice.
He returns from the garage empty-handed, grabs a can of beer, and sits in the matching chair. “Tell me about your week.”
“It’s boring,” I reply, leaning my head back on the chair.
“Not to me.”
I grin because I have the best dad. “Normal week of classes, but I was assigned a paper on Monday. It took me an hour of work every night to get it turned in on time on Friday.”
“How’d you do?”
“We haven’t received our grades yet, but I think I did well.”
“That’s good. You mentioned last week that you had two shifts this week . . .” He leaves the inquiry open-ended for me to fill in.
So I do. “Wednesday was serving the psychology department. I guess it’s an annual dinner they do to talk about how their goals are being met so far after the first month of school. It was easy. Just me and Larry, but the money was good because they left a big tip.”
“That’s good. You socking it away?
“No, but I put it toward paying rent for next month, though.”
He raises his can. “Getting ahead. That’s my girl.”
Hoping to distract him, I get up and open the grill. “These are looking good. I’ll get the veggies ready to go.”
“Already done,” he says, not making a move. “Sometimes dinner with you passes too fast, so I did what you taught me and prepped ahead.”
Grinning, I reply, “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
He chuckles but gets right back on the track I was trying to detour. “And the other shift?”
I hesitate, twisting the metal top of the can around. “It was actually out at The Pointe Estates.” I glance up to see his eyes stuck to his well-loved Carhartt work boots.
“Huh.” Shaking his head, he says, “Larry must be doing good to get back into their graces.” His tone turns just like it always does at the mention of the Estates. He looks at me as if he’s seeing me in a new light, seeing me as a grown woman. “Did you make good money?”
“Yes. It was a pretty party at a big white house. Green shutters—”
“Fancy cars and buttoned-up crowd?” His grin is genuine as he takes a sip of his beer.
“Yeah,” I reply, my hackles lowering when his dislike of that crowd turns into support for me. “A giant buffet, full party on the other side of the swimming pool. Grass so green . . . It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”
Sitting forward, he rests his forearms on his knees. “Did they treat you with respect?”
Harbor comes to mind, standing in the hallway with that devastating smile asking to spend time with me.
Feeling that weak in the knees for someone will only get me in trouble.
Saying yes to him once would free the floodgates to a thousand yeses right after.
It’s best if I don’t lose focus on a gorgeous guy and keep my attention on my school and applications. “They did. They were very kind to me.”
I receive a nod in satisfaction as he gets up to check on the burgers. “Remember, don’t flip until they’re almost fully cooked. That way, the burgers don’t dry out.”
Seeing right through his own tactics of changing the topic, I ride along with him on the detour by getting up and taking the spatula from him. “Do I keep them on the flame or move them off?”
“Right on the flame, but don’t walk away, or they’ll burn at this stage.”
When the burgers are ready, we eat in front of an old box TV and watch the game. At halftime, he walks me outside and looks up. “It’s getting darker earlier.”
The cue for me to get going is his subtle concern for my safety and makes me feel loved. He’ll worry about me riding home in the dark until I text him that I made it. He tries his best not to treat me like I’m his little girl, but he’ll always look out for me.
I look at the sky and the golden light peeking through the trees. “I think we have another month before it gets dark earlier.” Taking my bike by the handlebars, I swipe the kickstand with my foot and swing my leg over.
He gives me a hug. I bury my head against him. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too, Pipsqueak. Text me when you get home.”
“I will.”
I roll down the driveway and into the street, waving as I ride in front of the house. “Love you.”
My dad is the best anyone could ever ask for. He stands there on the small steps and watches, waiting until I’m out of view. I wave one last time as I turn the corner.
Though I’m stuffed, I know it will be a late night of studying, so I ride the extra two blocks to the gas station since I know we’re out of coffee at home. It was Amanda’s week to buy the staples, and well, I know how that goes. She probably spent her money while out last night.
I park my bike against the side of the building near the ice and peek through the window. If that guy is behind the counter, I’ve already decided I’ll suffer without the caffeine. I don’t want to deal with him tonight.
When I spy TJ, I’m relieved. Although that’s replaced with a feeling of disappointment by the absence of Harbor, which is completely ridiculous. It’s not like he’s a regular here. It was a one-time thing. Let it go.
I tug the door open, setting off the bell to chime above. TJ, the owner and the convenience store’s namesake, spots me when I pass the lottery ticket machine. “Lark, what brings you in tonight?”
“Coffee.” I trek straight for the aisle, hoping he has stocked a variety to choose from. “How are you?”
“Hanging in there. Debbie, that beagle down the road had a run-in with a porcupine a few days ago. Patsy asked me to deal with that disaster.”
I stop and turn back to ask, “How’s she doing now?”
“Patsy’s always been a hot mess.”
I laugh. “I meant Debbie, the dog.”
“The vet says she’ll heal right up and be fine.”
Scanning the aisle, I find the tiny coffee selection. “That’s good. She’s a cute dog.”
“She’s about to have another litter. Want one?”
I start to laugh. “I can barely pay my bills, TJ. I definitely can’t take care of a pet.”