31. Wyatt #2
“Is she her mother? Not the mean-looking one but the happy one.”
I smiled, realizing his very accurate descriptions of Bethany and Lark.
“Lark is special to us, but not Penny’s mom. The mean-looking one is actually her mother.”
Dad considered that information. “That’s too bad. I like the dark-haired one.”
I chuckled. “Me too.”
I looked out into the courtyard. It hit me that maybe this place wasn’t so bad.
Dad had some friends, nurses who could manage him on days that were bad, and access to activities that kept his mind active.
I’d thrown money at the situation, hoping for the best, and Duke had taken care of the details.
I hadn’t given him the credit he was due.
“You lose a game?” He shook the small bag, testing out how much seed was left.
I turned to Dad, confused. “What? No.”
“You got that pissed-off look on your face like you always do when you lose a game.”
He can still read me. That part isn’t gone.
I chuckled, then sighed and stretched my arm around the back of the bench. “Nah. Pissed off about a girl.”
Dad laughed. “Yeah, they’ll do that to you.”
I missed this. Talking with Dad and not having every conversation be steeped in disappointment or sadness.
I didn’t want to push him and ruin it, but I took a chance anyway.
“It’s Lark, the dark-haired one. I’m in love with her but realized I haven’t treated her like she deserves.
Plus, she’ll be leaving town. It’s what she needs to do. ”
“She break up with you?”
“No. But she might have a new job, and she should take it. Then she’ll be gone.”
Dad seemed to be thinking about my words. I wasn’t sure if he’d registered what I said, but I stayed quiet.
He slapped a hand on my knee. “Then she has to go.”
I studied his face. At one time, he knew me and my drive to achieve my dreams better than anyone. “Is this one of those, If you love them let them go, if they don’t come back it wasn’t meant to be kind of things?”
I frowned. That was not the heartwarming encouragement I had been hoping for.
“Hell no—that’s horseshit. You let her go so that girl can see what she’s missing. Then you do everything you can to convince her to bring her pretty little ass back home.”
Home .
I hadn’t allowed myself to consider the concept of truly settling in. Sure, the nature of my job meant travel, but if I dug down, leaned on the people who mattered, maybe I could pull it off. We could pull it off.
Warm thoughts of sharing a home with Lark filled my mind. I had a lot to think about and even more to do if I was going to step up to be the man she truly deserved.
“I gotta go, Dad. Thanks.”
* * *
On Saturday afternoon, Penny and I walked through Outtatowner and browsed the shops, looking at blown-glass artwork, trinkets, and an assortment of crap designed to cater to the tourists.
For the millionth time, I thought about asking Lark to join us and spend a lazy day in town before getting dinner down at the beachfront restaurant she loved so much.
Meetings and practices kept me busy, and while we still fumbled for stolen moments, we hadn’t talked about her audition or what happened when summer inevitably came to an end.
My heart sank every time I thought about it.
“Look at that one, Daddy!” Penny tugged my arm and pointed at a glass suncatcher casting long bands of colored light. It was shaped like a bird with a yellow face and a black mask that stretched across its eyes. It cast sunshine like a prism, and the detailed work was impressive.
“Can we look at it? Pretty please?”
I nodded and followed her into the little shop. “Don’t touch it,” I warned.
Penny tucked her hands behind her back and gazed at the array of little glass trinkets—birds and fish, a fox.
“What bird is that?” Her nose got closer and closer to bumping the glass shelf.
“I don’t know, baby. I’m not really a bird guy. A yellow finch, maybe? Grandpa Red would probably know.”
“That would be a horned lark.” The shop owner stepped closer as Penny’s eyes went wide. “It’s a rare and special songbird. They’re the only larks native to North America.”
“Can we get it for her? Dad, it’s the perfect present!” Penny was practically vibrating out of her skin with excitement.
I thought back to Lark and our conversations about love languages and all the ways I could show her how I felt. “You know what, Pickle, I think it is.”
Later that night I sat on the steps of the porch with a beer and looked up at Lark’s apartment.
It was dark since she had her book club, and I already missed her.
I spent my time thinking about what my dad had said—that Lark needed to see this audition through.
It was the only way to be sure I wasn’t holding her back, that our relationship had a solid foundation and we both dove in with a clear head.
Dread pooled in my stomach as I thought about her leaving us. We’d miss dinners together. Laughing with Pickle. I wouldn’t have her in my bed, warm and pliant. Her laughter wouldn’t float through the farmhouse as Penny did her homework and I cooked something on the grill.
Every fiber of my being rioted against the prospect of willingly watching Lark leave us.