A Mother's Homecoming(26)
“Busted. It hasn’t been all rose petals,” she confirmed. “Although, for a while, I did try to find rainbows at the bottom of beer steins and shot glasses. I’m an alcoholic.”
He nodded. “Runs in your family. Your great-grandfather and great-uncle both were.”
“I didn’t know that.” She’d grown up painfully aware that her mother had a problem—the entire town had known Mae had a problem—but she’d never questioned whether previous relatives had shared the same vices.
“You got it under control?” he asked.
“For now.” To assume that she had it under control permanently, or to pretend there weren’t days she struggled, would be worse than arrogance; it would be stupidity.
“You planning to tell your aunt?”
With Aunt Julia being a devout teetotaler—literally—the subject might never occur naturally in her house. “Eventually, I guess. It’s not that I’m trying to lie to her, it’s just difficult.”
Ed patted her shoulder. “Let me know what I can do to help. Now, about the hinges on these cabinets …”
Having dispensed with personal conversation, they spent the next forty minutes cataloguing and discussing the house’s many flaws and few attributes—the wiring was in good shape, and both the bedrooms had ceiling fans.
“If you didn’t want to sell the house outright,” Ed began as she locked the front door, “you could always rent it to someone. That would keep it in the family. And if you wanted to partially furnish it, I know someone who could get you some great discounts.” He winked.
She smiled fondly at him, knowing that his owning a furniture warehouse was how Julia had managed to afford many of her favorite pieces. “Thank you. It’s a generous offer, but I don’t think I’m landlord material.” If she rented out the house, it would become an ongoing responsibility, a tether to a place she didn’t want to be. “No, I’m going to fix it up, then sell.”
“Either way, we get to enjoy your company for a while.” Ed glanced from her to the house. “Repairs of this magnitude could take weeks. Months, depending on how much you tackle yourself and how much we delegate. Why don’t you spend the next day or so putting together a list of what you want to accomplish? Then I can recommend places or people to use. I’d offer to roll up my sleeves and help you get started this weekend, but I promised to drive your aunt up to Rowlett for a jewelry expo on Saturday. You’re welcome to come with us.”
“Thanks, but I have a previous engagement. Dawn offered to do my hair at the salon.” Which was entirely true. But there was also the far scarier appointment to meet Faith on Saturday. Nick had insisted they wait until the weekend, instead of throwing something potentially upsetting at his daughter in the midst of her school week. Far from resenting the delay, Pam applauded his paternal vigilance. Maybe, given the extra time, he’d come to his senses and cancel the meeting altogether.
But she rather doubted it.
“HOW DO I LOOK, DAD?”
Nick raised his eyes from his laptop and the monthly bills he’d been paying to find his daughter in the doorway. She’d braided her hair and was wearing a baggy T-shirt printed with the logo of one of her favorite bands over a pair of black jeans. Before he had a chance to say anything, Faith sighed.
“Too teenager, right? Jeans and a T-shirt, ultimate cliché. I have a pair of capris clean, but they were eulcgh.” She demonstrated her distaste for said capris with a derisive, phlegmy sound. She blushed, adding quickly, “Not that I’m worried about impressing her! I don’t care what her opinion is. You think a skirt? Yeah, probably a skirt.”
Despite any momentary bravado about “not caring,” Nick knew Faith was far too emotionally invested in a single milk shake date. He hoped she had realistic expectations about the outcome. He forced himself to keep a light tone rather than reissue any of the cautionary reminders he’d been giving since she’d learned her mother was in town. “Fashion advice from the old man, huh? So I’m like your Michael Garcia now.”
Judging from her vacant stare, his analogy hadn’t been as fitting as he’d hoped. “Isn’t he one of the judges from that runway show you watched over the summer?” He’d come home from work a couple of times to find her and Morgan engrossed in a marathon of repeats.
She threw him a pitying look. “Close, but no. Do I have time to go change?”