“You still smell like the lake,” I pointed out.
Dad grunted again.
“Dinner’s in a few minutes,” I went on.
“They’re having cocktails or something. And I can’t drink, so what’s the point?”
I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, Dad. To hang out with family, perhaps?”
“I was waiting for you,” he said. He reeled in his line slowly. There was nothing on the end of it. That was evident by the stillness of the water. He was just stalling.
“Dad? It’s not us against them, you know,” I said softly.
“Your mother won’t let me have any alcohol anymore on account of my liver. My liver is just fine, thank you very much,” he huffed.
“Well, Nicki thinks I live a pathetic life when my life’s just fine, thank you very much, so we can both sulk,” I replied. “Inside.”
He cracked a smile. “You gonna stay over tonight? I could use some help on my model boat.” He looked at me expectantly.
“Dad . . .”
“Just think about it,” he said. “Just think about it.”
I knew Dad was rather lonely. And fearful. He’d just recently retired from a management position at an engineering plant and had only my mother for companionship. And there was no security in a relationship with my mom. Considering she’d wanted to leave Dad at least twenty times during the course of their marriage, I could understand his trepidation. So he spent most of his time alone, fishing. I think it was a way for him to get accustomed to being by himself in the event that my mother actually acted on one of her threats of separation or divorce.
I helped him pack his tackle box then carried his chair up the hill to a shed near the sunroom. The petunias and bee balm surrounding the little structure were still holding out, though the seasons were starting to change. Fall was coming. Sticky, heavy summer air still blanketed the seaside town, but you could feel autumn from afar. Like a whisper. I’m coming, it breathed on the ocean breeze. A promise of change.
I broke out in goose bumps. I wasn’t willing to be so hopeful yet. But as Reece’s face flashed in my brain, I couldn’t suppress it. That’s the great thing about hope—no matter your past, no matter your mistakes, hope is the constant force in your heart driving you forward. You fall down. You cry about it for a little while. And then you stand up again. You push forward. You never give up because you believe something good will come. I’m lonely now, but something good will come.
Hope is my one healthy compulsion.
“Dad?” I said suddenly.
“Hmm?” He hung up his fishing rod and turned to me.
“There may be someone.”
He smiled.
“I don’t know if it’ll pan out. I mean, none of them have so far, but this guy seems different,” I said.
“Where did you meet him?”
I wanted to lie, but I’ve never lied to my dad. Ever. “At work.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “You think that’s smart?”
“No.”
“So then tell me why,” he said.
“Because he’s different.”
“Does he know about your . . .” Even after all these years, all my tests, all the therapy, all the coping mechanisms my father and I were supposed to practice together, he still couldn’t say it out loud.
“My OCD, Dad?” I helped him out.
He nodded.
“Doesn’t know yet. But I’m gonna tell him. I promise I will. It’s only fair. Like telling someone up front if you have a kid. Some people don’t wanna deal with that, you know?”
He chuckled. “I like how you compare OCD to having a child.”
“You know what I mean,” I said quickly.
“I have a feeling Nicki is going to share the news that she’s having a kid,” Dad said.
My eyes went wide. “You think? She’s only been dating Brad for eight months.”
“Who the hell knows, but she’s got stars in her eyes,” Dad replied.
“And how would you know that?” I asked. “You’ve been hiding by the lake all evening.”
“Fine. She’s got stars in her voice. I answered the phone a few days ago when she called about setting up dinner.”
I bristled. “She had this planned for a few days?”
Dad nodded and shooed me out of the shed. He closed and locked the door. “A week. Give or take a few days.”
“What the hell?”
“What?” he asked. We made our way to the backdoor.
“She just called me this afternoon,” I said.
Dad laughed. “That’s our Nicki.”
“It’s not funny, Dad. She has zero regard for me and my life! I should have told her no,” I griped.
“Honey, that’s not you to say no. And I’m glad for it,” Dad said. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “Please don’t make me go in there,” he pleaded, lips still pressed to my skin.
“Come on,” I said, pulling away and taking his hand. “We’ll survive together.”
Nicki’s boyfriend was there. I wasn’t expecting that. Dad and I walked into the kitchen and found Mom by the oven taking out the roast, Nicki by the sink tossing salad, and Brad by the cupboard grabbing plates.
“Samuel, go take a shower,” Mom ordered. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”
I nudged Dad encouragingly, and he disappeared up the stairs.
“You could have come inside to help,” Mom said to me.
“Well, I’m here now. What would you like me to do?” I asked.
“Set the table with Brad, please,” Mom replied.
Mom never said please first. It was never, “Bailey, will you please set the table?” Hear the difference? Her “pleases” always came at the end of her terse demands, like she tagged them on out of a sense of duty and not because she was actually trying to be nice.
“Right-o,” I said. I felt like she needed to be saluted like my boss. Some people just have those overbearing, choleric personalities that make you think they served as commanders in the military. During WWII.
I glimpsed Nicki observing my outfit.
“Yes?” I asked testily.
“Huh?” she replied.
“What are you looking at?”