"But I know which Dave..."
"There are many Daves in Harbor Hill, Will!"
"But only one who wanted a table."
Lily catches my eye like she needs a witness. Her face isso genuinely horrified that I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling.
I hold up both hands. "I'm not getting involved."
"Smart man," Dad says.
"Coward," Lily counters.
She turns back to the invoices, muttering something under her breath about receipt retention and tax liability. I sit there on my couch watching her argue with my father about inventory tracking, and I think I can't let this get comfortable.
I'd spent two weeks out of work, stuck in this house and barely sleeping, burning off the rest every afternoon with runs that left me gasping just to keep myself level. I thought I'd feel normal once I was back on shift. I don't.
Most days, I walk into my own living room and find her there, and each day it feels less and less wrong. She's stopped coming every day. Dad's better now, moving around on his own more, and her visits have thinned to three or four times a week. Still enough that I've started noticing the days she doesn't come. Which is worse than noticing the days she does.
Rome told me to stay away from his sister. He'd meant it, and I'd respected it. God knows how much I keep respecting it. But how the hell am I supposed to stay away from her when she's in my house more often than not?
He hasn't said a word about it, which means he doesn't know. Or she just hasn't mentioned it because it doesn't mean anything to her. Because she's friendly. Because she's visiting an injured man she feels guilty about and there's nothing more to it. That's the simpler explanation. The smarter one.
The invoices are in organized piles now and color-coded. Lily has highlighters in four colors and is explaining her system to Dad like she's defending a doctoral thesis. Dad is listening with complete focus, nodding along like he's absorbing every word. He has absolutely no intention of following through. She hasn't figured that out yet.
"Green is completed and paid," she says, tapping the first stack. "Yellow is completed, but outstanding. Pink is in progress. Orange is quotes."
"What about the ones that are gifts?" Dad asks, and I can already see where this is going.
"Gifts?" Lily's highlighter stops mid-stroke.
"Sometimes I build things for people and don't charge them when they can't afford it."
She stares at him, sets the highlighter down slowly, like she needs both hands free to process what she's just heard.
"Will…"
"What?" He blinks at her, completely unbothered.
"You can't just build furniture for free."
"I can if I want to."
She presses her fingers to her temples.
"You're running a business."
"I'm running a workshop." He shrugs like this is obvious. "There's a difference."
She drops her head into her hand, and Dad catches my eye across the room and grins. He's having the time of his life.
That's the thing about Lily. She doesn't half-ass anything. If the problem is a stubborn man who's been writing "some wood" on invoices for three decades, she's going to fix it whether he cooperates or not.
"Anna would've liked you," Dad says, studying Lily with pride. "She liked people who showed up," he adds.
Lily's hands still on the papers."Thank you, Will." She reaches over and puts her hand on top of his. "I like her too. Very much."
I like her. Present tense, like my mother is still here, still someone worth knowing. Lily never met her, but she says it like she did. Like the stories were enough. Dad doesn't say anything for a moment, then nods slowly.
