My One and Only(108)

AN HOUR LATER, AFTER a cup of tea and a quart of tears, I hugged BeverLee once more. It was a little awkward, all this physical affection…but it was worth it. I could get used to it. I wanted to get used to it.

With a promise to call tomorrow, I went out the back to my father’s workshop, a place that smelled of wood and oiled power tools. He was talking to Willa in a low voice, arms folded, face serious. I felt a little pang of envy—Dad had always gotten on better with Willa. She was, of course, much more likable than yours truly, but still.

At the sight of his biological child, Dad broke off, and both of them looked at me.

“Can I have a word?” I asked.

“With me?” Dad asked.

“Um…actually, with both of you,” I said, taking a breath. “Okay. Um, Willa. Listen.” I bit my lip. “I’m not going to handle your divorce this time. In fact, uh, I don’t mean to sound too harsh here, but I can’t really bail you out on anything anymore. You’re twenty-seven, not seventeen. No more loans, no more credit cards. And I’ll just…shut up on the advice front, how’s that? You never take it anyway.”

“Well, I—” Willa began.

“Actually, one more bit of advice,” I interrupted. “Commit to something. Whether it’s Christopher or a job or a place or school…stick to it, Wills. You don’t want to end up just drifting around like milkweed seed, with a bunch of stupid relationships behind you and a whole lot of nothing in front of you. That’s what my mother did, and now she’s a waitress in South Dakota, with nothing and no one. You don’t want that, Willa. Trust me.”

There was a heavy silence. My father had frozen at the mention of my mother. Willa just looked at me for a long second. Then she smiled.

“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Chris and I are back together. He’s gonna work for Dad. So…we’re moving here.”

My mouth opened. “Really? What about the… Thumbie?”

She shrugged. “I called him that day…the day Nick showed up. He’s not going to give up on his inventing, but he sees the upside of regular work, too.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…great. Good for you, Willa.”

She raised a silky eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t need your advice quite as much as you think.”

I took a breath, then nodded. “Maybe not. Which is a really good thing, Willa. Sorry if I sounded like a pompous ass.”

“Why would today be any different?” she asked, mugging to our dad.

“Very funny. Cut me some slack,” I muttered. “I’ve had a rough week.”

With that, Willa bounded over and wrapped her arms around me. “So I hear. If you want to talk, I’m around.” She smooched my cheek. “Thanks for all the loans and advice and free divorces. I hope I’ll never need any again.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“Gotta run! Thanks, Dad!” Willa blew him a kiss, which he dutifully pretended to catch, and bounded out the door, leaving my father and me alone, twenty feet of wood and machinery between us, the smell of sawdust thick in the air. Rain pattered on the tin roof and the wind gusted outside.

“Crazy weather, huh?” I said, though it was nothing more than a typical rainstorm. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched between us. Now or never, Harper. “I saw Linda last week,” I said.

“So you said. How was that?”

“It wasn’t good, Dad. Not good.” I took a deep breath. “She pretended not to recognize me, and I let her.”

Dad looked at the floor and said nothing.

“Dad,” I said slowly, “listen. I—I always blamed you for not keeping Mom happy enough to stay, or not fighting to get her back when she left. And I hated that you married BeverLee and just stuck her in my life.”

Dad nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes still on the sawdust-covered floor.

“I want to thank you for that now.”

He looked up.

“My mother is obviously a self-centered, shallow, heartless person. And BeverLee is not.”

“No,” he said. The wind gusted, rattling a shop window.

“I’ve never asked you for much, have I, Dad?” I asked gently. “Never asked for money, went through college and law school on scholarships and student loans. Never lived with you after college, never asked for advice.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’ve never asked for a thing.” A flash of regret crossed his perpetually neutral face.

“I’m asking for something now, Daddy. Don’t leave BeverLee. Get some counseling and figure things out. You’ve got twenty years invested here, and Dad…She loves you. And she…believes in you. I don’t think it gets better than that.”

He didn’t move or say anything for a long moment. “You know BeverLee’s fifteen years younger than I am, of course,” he said slowly. I nodded.

He paused, weighing his next words. “Harper, I had a heart attack in July.”

My knees gave a dangerous buckle. “What?” I squeaked.

He shrugged. “Doctor said it was minor. But it got me thinking about…the future. I don’t want Bev to have to take care of me.”

“She doesn’t know, Dad?”