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“Becca. Wait.”
She stopped short, afraid to look at him, terrified of what he might say.
“I’ll get them.” Then he was on his feet, stepping around her, his movement brisk. “Don’t want to trap you here too long.”
And before she could think of a retort, he was through the doorway, leaving her in silence, with nothing but second thoughts for company.
CHAPTER 17
Becca woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of pots clanging. Dishes clinking. Then water running, followed by more pots.
Her mother was scrubbing the kitchen.
That meant something had happened. Maybe the car broke down, or an unexpected bill had appeared in the mailbox, or maybe they were cutting her hours at the hospital again.
Becca rubbed at her eyes and wished she had to work today. She knew from experience that she’d be better served to just go downstairs and deal with her mother’s manic behavior right up front.
“Such a freak,” Becca muttered. She dragged herself out of bed, wondering if this was her penance for getting away with last night’s adventure.
She discovered her mom surrounded by a dozen boxes of cupcake mix and Shake ’n Bake, scrubbing the shelf liner with a rasp-back sponge.
Becca sighed and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “Really, Mom? The shelf liner?”
“This is filthy. It’s crazy.”
Becca spooned three heaping tablespoons of sugar into her mug. “Right. That’s what’s crazy.”
“Did you know your dad was in town?”
Becca almost spilled creamer all over the counter, but she saved it at the last second. “Oh?”
Her mother was scrubbing with a vengeance. “He said he left a message for you.”
Busted. “Maybe Quinn took it. You know how she is. You talked to him?”
Her mother glanced up. “Obviously, Becca.”
Becca poured coffee into the remaining two inches of space. “And you ... aren’t surprised he’s in town?”
“Well, I suppose I should have figured he’d show up eventually.” Her mother started slamming the boxes back onto the pristine shelf, punctuating every other word of her sentence. “I just would have appreciated a little forewarning that he’d called you, you know, so when he confronted me and asked if I’ve, you know, poisoned your opinion of him—”
“Mom.” Normally her mother wasn’t quite this keyed up. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right.” Her mom flung pasta boxes into the cabinet. “First, a man I haven’t seen in years shows up on the doorstep, and then I discover that kids spray painted all over the front of the house.”
The coffee was burning her hands through the sides of the mug, but Becca kept a death grip on the ceramic. She’d been stuck on her mom’s comment about her father showing up, but now her thoughts went in a new direction. Was this retaliation for showing up at Drew’s party?
Her mom was still ranting, snapping yellow vinyl gloves onto her hands before grabbing a can of EASY-OFF. “I don’t know why these people think I have time to deal with the front of the house being treated like a highway overpass.”
Becca carefully set her coffee on the counter and turned for the kitchen doorway. She would just go see for herself.
She was almost running by the time her hand seized on the doorknob. She yanked at the door, ready to throw herself onto the porch to see the damage.
So she almost fell on top of her father, kneeling there with a paintbrush in his hand.
He looked the same, but sort of different, which was surprising enough. It was like looking at her mom’s old yearbook photos—still clearly the same person, just ... not. He was a good-looking guy, she guessed, with sandy brown hair that had yet to turn gray, though a few gray whiskers had crept into his goatee. His eyes were a steely gray she’d inherited, though his were deep-set over solid cheekbones. He was wearing some kind of uniform, khaki pants and a button-down shirt with patches on the sleeves, alternately reading Department of Natural Resources and Wildlife Control Division. A green truck sat in the driveway, a matching logo on the door.
“Easy,” he said. “The door’s wet.”
