The Last of the Stanfields(17)

Just then, a hand actually did land on Maggie’s shoulder, and she cried out with shock. She turned to find her father staring right back at her with wide eyes.

“Well, what in the world are you doing in here?” he asked. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

“I, uh . . . I . . .” she stammered.

“Yes, you . . . ?”

“I thought you were out to lunch with Elby.”

“I certainly was supposed to be, but wouldn’t you know it, the Austin is being finicky. The old girl just won’t start! I’ll have to go have a look under the bonnet, see where the trouble is . . .”

“She could have at least let me know,” Maggie growled under her breath.

“The Austin?”

“Elby!”

“Eleanor-Rigby should have at least let you know that my car broke down?” he asked with a kindhearted laugh. “Always picking fights with your sister. You know, I wish you two would cut it out. I can’t stand watching you squabble. I’ve been waiting thirty years for the pair of you to grow up and act like adults. And rest assured, this is the very same lecture I give her every time she, uh, well . . .”

“Every time she what?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ray sighed. “Would you please just tell me why you’re here in the first place, darling?”

“I came . . . looking for some papers.”

“Come along now, let’s continue this in the kitchen over sandwiches. See? Even after my day takes a sour turn, I still get to have lunch with one of my daughters, and everything’s right as rain in the end. Come to think of it, it’d be best if you don’t mention this to your sister. If she starts thinking I lied about the Austin so I could grab lunch with you instead of her . . . Well, then . . .” Ray cringed, as though the sky could fall at any moment. He clearly wanted to avoid causing the dramatic episode of the week. He then opened the fridge and took out ingredients for a bare-bones meal, recruiting his daughter to help set the table.

“So. What’s the matter, pet? Are you broke? If you need a bit of money, all you have to do is ask.”

“It’s nothing. Nothing’s the matter. I just need to get my hands on . . . my birth certificate,” Maggie improvised, without a clue where that idea had come from.

“Aha!” Ray exclaimed, face beaming.

“Aha what?” Maggie replied, trying to stay calm and act normal.

“Think about it. All of a sudden you show up, absolutely needing to get your hands on your birth certificate. I bet you figured I’d leave lunch with Elby around 2:30 p.m., knowing just how long it would take to get back home with all these damn traffic jams. To think that these politicians throw billions into the wind, decade upon decade, and they still haven’t found a way to fix the common traffic jam! And here we are in the twenty-first century. I say they should all be kicked to the curb, the good-for-nothings . . .”

“Dad? You’re rambling.”

“I am not! Just reiterating my point of view. Anyway, don’t change the subject. Clearly you deduced that lunch would give you enough time to get in and out well before 4 p.m. Come on, admit it!”

Without a clue to what he was driving at, Maggie chose to stay mum.

“Aha!” her father repeated with a hearty guffaw.

Maggie buried her face in her hands, with elbows planted on the table. “There are times when I talk to you and I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of a Monty Python sketch.”

“Well, if you’re trying to make fun of me, the joke’s on you, because I take that as a compliment. The only thing I find insulting is that you think I still don’t know what you came here for. Best hurry. Town hall closes at four o’clock, now doesn’t it?” Dad chuckled with a sly wink.

“Possibly. What would you have me doing at the town hall?”

“All right, it seems I’m to believe you’re redecorating your place, and you’re so very grateful to have come into this world that you’ve decided to hang your birth certificate on the living room wall? A ‘logical choice,’ Maggie, as Michel would say! Now, enough messing about. I’m sorry for being tactless, bringing up your engagement in front of your brother and sister. But now that we’re alone, you can tell me the truth.”

“The truth? I have zero interest in getting married, and the thought never even crossed my mind. I swear, Dad. There’s no wedding. Get the idea out of your head.”

Father observed daughter with quiet, wary eyes, then slid the plate of freshly made sandwiches her way. “Eat. You’re too skinny. You look like death warmed up.”

Maggie bit into the white bread, happy for an end to the conversation. Dad watched her chewing, then, proving once more that he couldn’t handle more than a millisecond of silence, said, “What’s so urgent that you need to get your hands on your birth certificate right now?”

“It was . . . my bank. They’re doing some kind of check on my account status or something,” Maggie improvised.

“So you need to take out a loan? Turns out I wasn’t so far off the mark after all—you do need money. It’s like a sixth sense with my daughters. If you were hard up for cash, why didn’t you come to me? Those banks will bleed you dry with interest rates, but if they owe you a single penny, suddenly money magically loses all value!”