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Chapter Twenty-Three
Joel
The second we reach the house, Gina sprints toward the kitchen. I offer to take care of breakfast, or at the very least help, but she shoos me away.
“You're a guest,” she says. “If you really want to help, go keep the puppies company.”
The way she says it, the way she offered me the pup, it’s like she knows about Red, about how much I miss her, how eaten up I’ve been since she died. That’s ridiculous, of course. She couldn’t know, which makes it that much more meaningful.
“Just hang tight,” she says as though I have any other option. “I hope you’re not starving.”
“I’m good,” I tell her.
Her father is not up yet, and I can tell she’s anxious about me meeting him. That or she’s anxious over my offer of marriage. “I’ve never been to Texas,” she says, cracking an egg over the frying pan. “What’s it like?”
“It’s perfect,” I say. “No other way to describe it.”
“You travel much?”
“A little here and there.”
“Oh, yeah?” She moves about the kitchen with the manner of a mad scientist, flinging stuff everywhere, clinking pots and pans together. “Where all have you been?”
“All over, really. But I try to stay south if I can help it.”
“Arizona?”
“Sure, a few times.”
She offers a tight smile and then drops a slice of bacon in a pan and watches it sizzle.
This is about the time her dad came stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen. He looks worn out, with deep circles under his eyes and a scruffy beard that looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in days. “Good morning,” he says, staring at me with a hint of disbelief, which is understandable. “I’m Ralph, Gina’s father.”
We shake hands. His grip is weak and his hand is swollen, probably from arthritis.
“You’re here a little early, aren’t you?”
“He has to get back on the road soon, Daddy,” Gina says. “He’s got work up in Willoughby, didn’t you say?”
“Oh,” her father remarks, moving to the counter. He looks me up and down a couple of times, and then he just turns and walks away. “Is that right?”
I study him as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He’s wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His gut hangs over the top of his pants, and his belly protrudes a little, like he’s had a few beers in his time. I remember Gina writing that her father was sick, and I wonder if that's the cause instead. Either way, he doesn't look well. Something about his appearance makes me think of Layla. She doesn’t take care of herself very well either. We need to have a talk when I get back.
Gina looks at me and smiles, a sad smile, as if she knows what I’m thinking. I have an urge. You know that urge you get when a girl is far out of your league? This is that predicament. She is way out of my league, and not for the usual reasons, but I want her. I want her in ways I’ve never wanted a woman before. I want her badly. Her father is standing at the counter, looking at us. He has a disgruntled smirk on his face, like he knows there is something going on between us. Gina is focused on her cooking. “Yeah,” I say. “I'm on the road a lot. I’m in town for a couple of days. I’m headed out to Willoughby in a couple of hours, but I'll be back tomorrow, late.”
Gina’s father smiles. It is a wicked smile, one that reminds me of a predator about to pounce. He walks over to me. Gina is too busy with the eggs to even notice. “You mind if I ask you something?” he says, almost conspiratorially.
I nod.
“Do you mind if I ask where you’re from?”
“I'm from Texas.”
“Just passing through then, I guess?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you do for a living?”
