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But I’d given Los Angeles a solid shot when Rosie’s health started to fade. I tried for twelve long, arduous months, visiting specialist after specialist, trying any and every new drug promised to work wonders against the plagues of asthma. But none of it had made a difference, so I’d moved back home, and this was my life now. Cooking and being the best damn dad I could.
Every sacrifice was well worth it to see my little girl so happy and so full of life. It was better than catching her wheezing on the sofa, struggling to breathe. And being surrounded by my three brothers and my sister Teddy, meant she had plenty of adults who thought she was just as wonderful as I did, something every kid should have in their lives. Lots of love and attention.
“Daddy’s daydreaming again!” Rosie’s words pulled me from thoughts of the past, from my nonstop, dissatisfied career musings. “Are you listening, Daddy?”
I blinked away the image of Rosie struggling for breath when I walked into my ex-wife’s apartment more than two years ago. Her face was a terrifying mix of pale white and sickly green, her brown eyes filled with fear and hope that I would be able to ease her pain, stop her fear. I turned with a smile towards Rosie.
“Of course I am. Don’t you recognize my listening face?” My brows dipped low and I put my chin on top of my fist, leaning forward until she giggled.
That sound, it was the sound of a happy child, a little girl who knew she was loved. And each time I heard it, I knew moving back home had been the right choice.
Gus
“Put those wine bottles in the canvas bag, please.” The bag boy pretended not to hear me, but the way he grunted told me he’d heard me just fine, that and the overly dramatic way he removed all three bottles from the bags and put them in one bag. “Thank you.”
“Whatever,” he practically growled at me.
“Nice manners,” I shot back and pushed my cart away, deciding that his snotty attitude did not warrant the tip he would have gotten for helping me load the bags into the trunk. I was an able-bodied woman, sure my able body had a little too much cushion in certain spots, but I was working on it, and I was perfectly capable of loading my own groceries. And unloading them.
For the past few months I was doing double shopping duty on my days off, picking up enough food for me and for my father to last at least a few days, if not a full week. One of my biggest victories of the past year was convincing him to move to Jackson’s Ridge so we could work on our strained relationship. Even though he had given up the bottle more than a decade ago, we were both too stubborn to let go of the past before now.
You’re probably asking yourself what in the hell he had to be upset about, well that was my question at first too. It turns out that being a self-sufficient daughter of an alcoholic made one insufferable. That’s right, he was upset with me for taking care of him and myself when I was just a kid. It had taken a few months to get used to being in each other’s lives again, but now we could at least be in the same room without fighting.
Bickering, yes. Fighting, no.
“Who told you it was all right to just walk inside my house?” Dad’s voice rang out with the crystal clarity I’d never heard in my childhood, but the grumpy tone I remembered well. “What if I was entertaining a woman in here?”
I stood between his oversized recliner and his oversized television, blocking his early afternoon entertainment, arms full of groceries for him.
“Then I would have gotten quite an eyeful, but you know Dad, it wouldn’t be the first time I caught you having sex.” It happened on a regular basis after Mom split, a revolving door of drunken bar bunnies who didn’t care who they took home or went home with, as long as they didn’t end the night alone. Dad was happy to oblige, because it gave him a drinking and sex partner for the night. And me, well I was just happy he made it home safely every night. “I’ve caught more than my fair share of older couples getting it on in the hospital. Must be something about dodging death that gets them all hot and bothered.”
Dad’s lips twitched even as he tried to narrow his gaze for another glare. Eventually, the smile came, slow and wide. “Who you callin’ old?” He pushed his lanky frame up from the recliner and took the bags from my hand.
“If the grey fits, old man.” He barked out a laugh and set the bags down on the kitchen table with a fake grunt. “Do you even know any ladies to entertain?” As far as I knew, he hadn’t dated since moving to Jackson’s Ridge nearly a year ago.
