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"Don't care what you say, he stepped out," her father said before glancing her way. "What?"
"Can I speak to you for a minute?"
"Sure," he said, his eyes returning to the big screen momentarily. He nodded his head and slapped his hands together. ''Told you. He stepped out."
"Dad?"
"I'm coming," her father said, lowering the foot rest of his recliner. When her father stood, slightly stooped with a groan, Abigail's heart skipped. Her father was getting older. . .even if he still could hang with his younger sons. "What do you need, hon?"
"Can we go out back?" she asked, darting a glance at Cal, who watched her and not the game. He looked uncomfortable.
"Sure, but I want to see the fourth quarter so if it's something that can wait-"
"It can't," she said, walking toward the door. Shelby and Birdie were helping Fancy make cookies to take to Aunt Reva in the nursing home so no one was around when Abigail stepped into her mother's faded garden. The screen door slammed behind her father.
"What's wrong, honey?" His gaze moved over her face with concern.
"Why is Cal here?"
"Oh, that."
"Yeah, that. We're divorced, Daddy. He left me and Birdie, remember?"
"I know he did, but..." Her father looked out at the bedrock of the empty creek bordering the backyard of the big house. "You should know that Calhoun is coming to me for counseling."
"Counseling?"
"He's requested my guidance as he seeks to repair his spiritual life and make amends for his past transgressions.”
"Wait. Counseling? Cal?"
"I'm still his pastor, honey. I can't deny him when he needs me."
"What about when I needed him? Did you forget what it was like for me when he hightailed it out of Magnolia Bend with a virtual teenager beside him and our life savings in his suitcase? We ate Spam, Dad."
Dan looked guilty for a few seconds. "I don't condone what he did, honey, and even though I'm a man of God, I'm still a daddy. Daddies don't forget."
"But pastors do?"
Her father frowned. "You know being a pastor is sometimes like being a defense attorney. There are things you don't like about your clients, or congregation, but you're still obligated to do your job. My job is to counsel even those whose actions I dislike. No matter my personal opinion, Cal is still a child of God... and will be connected to our family through Birdie."
"Brigitte."
"What?"
"Never mind. So how does counseling Cal earn him a spot at the Sunday table?"
Her father seemed to think about this for a moment. "He's family.”
"No, he's not."
"He's Bird- uh, Brigitte's father. I don't approve of what he did, but I won't be bitter. Maybe you need to let go of some of that bitterness yourself.”
“And maybe you should know that my bitterness gives me comfort," she said, wanting to stamp her foot like a child but refusing to be juvenile. She couldn't believe her father had let go of the hate so easily. But then again, hate wasn't something her father felt for anyone. He'd been disappointed in Cal. Perhaps even disgusted by a man who left his family for a selfish dream and a younger woman, but he never hated. That's why people trusted Dan Beauchamp and the reason he'd stayed the pastor at First Presbyterian for so many years.
"Honey, don't hold on to your anger. It serves no purpose and it makes you brittle. Your mother says holding on to hate makes wrinkles."
“You saying I'm wrinkled?" Her shoulders sank as she accepted her father would not be moved on this. And maybe he had a point. Anger and loneliness had been the cloak she pulled around herself, and they'd left their marks-those damn lines on her forehead that resisted every retinol A product on the market. Maybe she should loosen her hold a little. Perhaps it was time to let go of some of the hate.
