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Rapp got a few brief waves as he walked onto the lawn. People had separated into groups, speaking quietly and drinking copiously—both habits of people in their business. Irene Kennedy was near the south wall talking with a couple of the Nash kids. Apparently, Claudia had taken them in while Maggie was in Los Angeles on business.
“Dad!”
Rapp jumped as though someone had jabbed him with an electrical cable. Claudia’s seven-year-old daughter had spotted him and was sprinting in his direction. She normally called him Mitch, but every once in a while, usually after he’d been away, the D-word slipped out. Why was it so panic-inducing? The problem wasn’t her—she was a great kid. It was him. To say he wasn’t father material would be a fairly epic understatement.
“I thought you were never coming back!” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. The fact that everyone in the yard was now staring silently at him wasn’t helpful.
“Let’s not make a spectacle, okay, Oompa Loompa?”
“A what?”
Admitting defeat, he scooped her up and carried her toward the grill.
“The animals are all good,” she reported. “But you need to start helping with them. Scott said so. Because he’s got that big tractor now and he’s doing the corn and stuff.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“And Mom won’t let me ride my bike except on the streets around the neighborhood. You said you’d take me on trails.”
“I feel like we have this conversation every time I come home. You’re like a broken record.”
“Because it’s not fair! What’s a record?”
“I think you might still be a little unsteady.”
“Steadier than you!”
“Okay, maybe so. But I’m not sure your bike is going to work off-road. Why don’t you let me do a little shopping and see if we can find you something better.”
“Really? Like with shock absorbers and stuff like you got?”
“I don’t know. They make bikes in extra small. But I’m not sure they come in Oompa Loompa.”
She punched him in the chest.
“Go start the grill,” he said, dropping her.
“Can I?”
“Do you remember how?”
“Open it. Turn the knob to the little lightning bolt thingy and push the red button.”
“If you set your hair on fire, use the extinguisher.”
She darted off just as someone slammed their hand down on his shoulder from behind. Undoubtedly Joe Maslick, because the force of it was nearly enough to buckle his knees. The former Delta operator was an inch taller than Rapp at six foot one and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds.
“I gotta do some work on Maggie’s deck tomorrow,” he boomed. “Build a door so Chucky doesn’t fall down the stairs. I need an assistant and Claudia says your dance card is open.”
“Sounds right up Scott’s alley.”
“Nope. He’s in Estonia looking at a contract. The world gets crazier, we get busier. You want in on the action?”
“I don’t know. What—”
“He does not!” Claudia called as she appeared with a tray ofsteaks. “It’s a two-man job. Three at the most. Mitch needs some downtime.”
“All right. As long as that downtime involves Maggie’s deck.”
