Page 40
“The guy couldn’t make it today, I’ll be using the old woodstove in the living room to heat the house. Rick’s been chopping up the logs I sawed into pieces that’ll fit.”
“What do you mean, you sawed?”
I glance over at Dana and don’t miss the proud little smile pulling at her mouth.
“I went and saw Ginny yesterday, bought some tools and supplies off her, and she suggested I get a chainsaw. It was a breeze to cut through those logs.”
From the way her father’s mouth tightens, I gather he’s not a fan of his daughter wielding heavy machinery. But instead of tearing into her, he turns a scowl on me.
“You let her use a chainsaw?”
The gasp comes from Dana, who looks at her father with shock.
He’s a worried father, I get it. He just lost his wife and is probably still reeling from that. I don’t think he means to be insulting or belittling to his daughter, but grief makes us lash out at times, and on occasion at the people we care about most.
“First of all, it’s Dana’s chainsaw, she’s an adult and can do with it whatever she likes,” I return calmly as I go to grab another armload of logs from the wheelbarrow. “More importantly, I’m not in any position to even weigh in—not yet anyway—but even if I were, it would still be her call to make. But aside from all that, it looked like she was doing a fine job. Not that I’m an expert, having used one myself only once or twice.”
“What does that mean, not yet?”
It’s almost comical how he is able to zoom in on that detail, completely dismissing everything else I’ve said. But I put it out there, so I’m going to answer it, but I do it while locking eyes with Dana, who now looks mortified.
“It means I like your daughter, I’m hoping to spend some time with her, get to know her better, and see what might come of that. If she’s interested in finding out, of course.”
Then I turn to look at him. “But I’m forty-three-years-old, Dana is a few years behind me, and although I respect and even understand your concern for your daughter, she’s the only person I’ll be asking permission from or hold myself accountable to.”
Lifting the now empty wheelbarrow, I lean it up against the side of the porch. Then I wipe my hands on my jeans and grab my keys from my pocket as I take the few steps up to stop in front of Dana, who still looks a little shell-shocked. I’m ignoring her father, who hasn’t said a word, as I tag her behind the neck.
“I’m gonna give you some time to show your dad around while I stop off at home for a quick shower, but I’ll be back and I’ll be bringing dinner. Any preferences?”
She blinks her eyes a few times, sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and promptly answers, “Pulled pork loaded potato from Curbside Spuds.”
Curbside Spuds is a permanent food truck, parked on an empty lot a few doors down from The General Store on Elm Street. They serve double-baked potatoes you can top with just about everything under the sun. I’ve eaten from there a few times; it’s good. Just the kind of food you’d want after today’s workout.
“Good choice. And we’ll have a talk over dinner.”
A quick peck on her lips, a nod to her father—who doesn’t look too happy—and then I’m off.
As I’m heading back to town, it occurs to me Dana’s pick for dinner is a perfect choice, actually. While I was chopping wood earlier, I had this idea for her house I thought she might like, but I wasn’t sure if the hardware store would have it. But it might be worth checking The General Store. I’ve never been in there but have heard the place has everything.
I’m not in the habit of buying people housewarming gifts, or any gifts for that matter, other than perhaps Christmas for my family, but it’s not an exercise I particularly enjoy.
But for some reason I feel compelled to get Dana something. Maybe as an apology for having my head up my ass for so long.
I at least owe her an explanation.
Dana
* * *
“What’s gotten into you, Pops?”
I pin my father with an angry look after Rick drives off.
His mouth is set stubbornly and he tries to match my glare, but his eyes just look tired. Worn out.
“Are you doing okay?” I follow up with.
Suddenly he shakes his head, and it’s like the anger melts from his expression, leaving stress and fatigue and grief exposed on his face.
