Did you Windex your pants? Because I can see myself in them.
—CHELSEA C.
Later that evening, I received a voicemail from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Maebell, it’s your father,” he began, his voice gravelly from a lifelong smoking habit. “I got your messages and I think we should get together. Just the two of us. I feel like we have a lot to talk about. Call me at this number.”
The Bluebell Café was a hole in the wall in the small town of Brookshire. On a Thursday night, only a handful of customers were cozied up to the mismatched tables and chairs that dotted the restaurant.
I checked the time for the seven hundredth time. It was 6:45 p.m. He was fifteen minutes late.
I’d told Mama I had to run into Houston after work to pick up some donations for the auction. She had fussed about the weather—stormy gray clouds were rolling in and we were expected to have a long night of thunderstorms— but I told her I would be fine.
The truth was that I was meeting my father.
My leg jiggled with nervous energy. I pushed the menu aside and straightened the salt and pepper shakers, then moved on to the sugar packets. My phone vibrated. I snatched it up, hoping it was my father telling me he was coming. Or cancelling. I’m not sure which of those I wanted to happen more.
Instead, it was Chris.
Dreamboat: About last night…
I set the phone down. I didn’t want to talk about last night and whatever had happened in the barn. I’d dreamed about it every time I closed my eyes. Even now, I flushed thinking about it. I kept replaying the part just before Piper had interrupted. Except in my dream, she didn’t.
Dreamboat: On a scale from 1–10, you’re a 9. I’m the 1 you need.
I rolled my eyes.
Dreamboat: Nothing?
Dreamboat: I know you’re upset about the donation.
Dreamboat: I talked to Peter and took it back.
Dreamboat: I wanted to make things easier for you. You don’t let anyone help you carry the weight.
Dreamboat: You know I can tell you’re reading these, right?
Dreamboat: You can’t avoid me forever, Sprinkles.
I started to reply but it was then my father slid into the booth across from me.
“Well, look who I found,” Dale Sampson said. He smiled his charming smile. My stomach rolled.
“What do you want?” I asked.
My father ran a hand through his hair and leaned back. He’d aged in the three years since I’d seen him, but he’d been blessed with the sort of face that looked good young or old. His blond hair may have faded to gray, but it only made his blue eyes more noticeable.
“That’s not the greeting I expected from my daughter.”
I shrugged. “You’re not the father I expected, so I guess we’re even.”
A waitress stopped at the table, a middle-aged woman who looked tired.
He smiled. “Well, hello there, pretty lady.”
She blushed. “What can I get you?”
My father ordered a full steak dinner. I ordered nothing.
After the server left, I asked, “What do you need to talk about?”
He wasn’t here for a friendly catch-up, I knew that. There had to be a reason he’d only wanted to meet with me.
“Is it such a bad thing I wanted to see how my girl was doing?”
I shifted in my seat. “You haven’t bothered to see how I was doing in three years. Why the sudden change?”
“Just thought it was about time,” he said, his voice jovial, but his eyes were hard. “Besides, you were the one contacting me.”
“Mama and Iris also tried to contact you. I didn’t see you calling them back.” I took a sip of my tea. “What do you want?”
The waitress stopped and dropped off a cup of coffee. My father added cream and sugar and stirred it slowly before taking a sip. He stared at me over the rim.
“I’ve heard congratulations are in order.”
My breath caught. Of course, he would have heard about the engagement.
“Thanks,” I said, going for nonchalant. “You’re not invited to the wedding.”
He smirked, added a bit more cream to his coffee and stirred. The tinkling of the spoon sounded impossibly loud. “Who’s going to give you away? That’s my job, after all.”
“Mama will. Or hell, the mail carrier. He’s way more reliable than you ever were.”
His mouth tightened at the corners but otherwise he seemed unaffected. “I’d sure like to meet this fiancé of yours.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” I pushed my glass away and took a deep breath.
“I have this opportunity to invest in some condos in Florida he might be interested in, you know.”
“No.”
“What about—?”
“No. You’re not meeting Chris and you’re definitely not talking to him about any of your scams.”
The thought of Dale Sampson going anywhere near Chris gave me hives. My father would work any angle he could to get money out of Chris, and Chris… he liked to help people. No, he was too good to be in the same room as my father.
“We can cut the niceties. The truth is that I don’t want you anywhere near me or Mama or Iris. But Iris wants you at her graduation. That is the only reason I called.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “She’s already graduating?”
“She’ll be eighteen in a couple of months.” I shook my head. “I guess I shouldn’t expect you to know that. But for some reason, she has it in her head you aren’t all that bad. She’s wrong, of course.”
“So that’s the reason for all the phone calls?” His eyes drifted to a spot over my shoulder.
“Yes. She has her heart set on you being there.”
He smiled. I turned and saw a pretty, older woman with big blonde hair blushing at his attention. Ugh. “I could probably make it.”
“That’s the thing, Dad. If you aren’t going to come, don’t bother saying you will. I’m tired of covering for you. I’ve run out of excuses. You can only have so many aunts die. I think you’re up to eight now.”
“She is my kid.”
“So am I. I’m okay never seeing you again.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You remember when we’d go play miniature golf, just the two of us?”
There had been moments, although few and far between, when my father had almost been a dad. Our miniature golf adventures had been a sort of tradition. As we moved from town to town when I was a kid, one of the first things he’d do is find a nearby course and take me. And we did have fun.
I frowned. “Where did that come from?”
“I was thinking about it the other day.” His gaze was intense. “I wasn’t all bad, you know.”
Those miniature golf trips were perhaps the only memories of my father that had not been tarnished by all the other things he’d done. Evidence that a tiny piece of him had at least tried.
“You had your moments,” I admitted reluctantly. “Iris is still willing to give you a chance. I don’t know why but she is. If you say you’re coming and don’t show up, you might blow it with her forever. Maybe you should leave things the way they are. I’ll tell her I couldn’t get ahold of you. She doesn’t need to know any differently.”
The blonde strolled by our table, boldly trailing the tips of her fingers on my father’s shoulder.
“You know what?” He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “I forgot I have an appointment in half an hour, but tell Iris I’ll be there.”
“You don’t even know what day it’s on.”
But he was already gone. From the window, I watched him catch up to the blonde in the parking lot.
