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He was still looking up at her. “Becca?”
“I’m busy today,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“I need to go to the mall. My cell phone broke, so I need a new one.”
He was looking at the door again, brushing slowly. The door had been green, but he must not have had enough paint. Now it was going to be beige like the back door. It looked unnaturally bright against the brown siding.
“Well, why don’t you go get dressed.” He glanced up. “Maybe I could go with you. We could get lunch.”
She snorted. “Yeah. Okay, Dad. Like Mom is going to let me go off with you.”
“I already talked to her.” When Becca couldn’t think of anything to say to that, he glanced up. “I’ve been here for two hours. We had coffee.”
Becca fidgeted with the edge of her pajamas. Her mom was okay with this? “I was kidding about the cell phone. I don’t have money for a new one. Yet.”
“I can take care of it,” he said.
“Oh, you’re going to buy me off?”
“Is that possible?”
She took a breath and fidgeted again. He sure had a cache of retorts. “I don’t want you to,” she said after a moment.
“Sometimes it’s not about what you want, Becca.”
“Clearly.”
He swung his head around, and she saw the first flash of irritation in his eyes. “All right, maybe we can cut the attitude.”
“Sometimes it’s not about what you want, Dad.”
He stared right at her. “Clearly.”
That made her flinch.
He didn’t hold her there too long. He looked back at the door, and his voice dropped. “I’m serious. Go get dressed. I’m not on the clock until one.”
Great.
But now he was looking at her again, and she felt his uncertainty. That meant he cared. She could refuse right now, and there really wasn’t a whole lot he could do about it. But she got the distinct impression it would hurt him if she did.
She shouldn’t care. He didn’t deserve it.
But she did care. “All right.” She paused. “I have to take a shower first.”
“Take your time. I still have to do the molding.” He shifted so she could get back through the door.
But halfway through, she paused. “What did it say, anyway?”
He was already reloading his brush. “What did what say?”
“The door.”
“It didn’t say anything. Just some stupid kid’s idea of art.”
It didn’t say anything. Relief shoved some of the guilt out of the way. Regardless of how she felt about her dad, she didn’t want him reading that some “stupid kid” thought his little girl was a whore.
