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6
Gretchen looked up from her phone, the distinct feeling that she hadn’t been paying attention racing through her. “Daddy,” she said.
“I’m gettin’ it myself,” he grumped at her. “You’re obviously busy with something.”
She hurried to pocket her phone and fly after her father as he went into the back of the house, where the kitchen sat. “I can do it. You need to rest. The doctor said no more up and down. You sit for an hour, you get up for ten minutes.”
“I’ve been sittin’ for an hour.”
He hadn’t been, but Gretchen didn’t argue with him. She hadn’t been listening, and guilt cut through her like a hot, serrated knife. She watched as her dad got out the leftovers from last night and started to fork some pasta into a bowl.
“It’ll split if you use the microwave,” she said. “Do you want me to mix in some milk or cream?”
“I’m not going to heat it up.” Her dad gave her a slitted-eyed look at took his bowl of macaroni toward the door he’d just come through.
Gretchen sighed and waited for him to be out of earshot. For a while there, he hadn’t been able to hear anything she said. She, Cory, and Max had begged him to get hearing aids, something she regretted in this moment.
“Gross,” she said under her breath. Who wanted to eat white macaroni and cheese cold? All congealed into a glob? Just gross.
“Do you want more coffee?” she called. “Tea?”
“Chicken broth,” he yelled at her, and Gretchen filled a couple of mugs from the cupboard with the hot water from the electric kettle. She dropped in cubes of chicken bouillon and took them back into the living room.
She still wore her church dress, but Daddy hadn’t gone to services today. She handed him a cup and sank back into her mother’s recliner. “Max called this morning,” she said. “He thinks he’s going to come with the kids on the long weekend.”
Her father’s face frowned momentarily. “That’s fine.”
Gretchen waited, because Daddy had more to say. He always did when he started a conversation with a frown like that. “No Joan?”
“Daddy, Joan and Max have been separated for six months now.” She sipped her broth while she gave her father some time to compute. He knew this, but he didn’t understand it. He and Mother hadn’t always agreed on everything—Gretchen knew no couple did—but he didn’t understand a man splitting from his family.
“He’ll bring the kids?”
Gretchen looked down into her lap, wishing her brother had told their dad all of this already. “He won full custody of the kids,” she said quietly. “So yes.”
“Full custody?”
“I told you there was a reason he split with Joan,” Gretchen said. “It’s not all his fault, and you’d do well to work on keeping your mouth shut while he’s here.” She gave her father a stern look, one she’d seen Mother give him a few times over the years. “He’s already hurting, and he’s doing the very best he can.”
“Three kids, all alone.”
“Yeah,” Gretchen said, trying not to let her own displeasure and sadness enter her voice. She didn’t have any children, as focused as she’d been on her chocolate-creation career. “They’re doing okay. All of them. But it’s a lot to handle, and they just need our love and support.”
“I know that,” Daddy said, and he put one of those gross globs of pasta in his mouth.
“I don’t think you do,” Gretchen said, taking the opportunity to talk while he couldn’t. “You’ve been very critical of Max. Why do you think he didn’t come home for Christmas?”
Her dad’s eyes bugged, and he chewed at the speed of light. After he swallowed, he said, “He said he wanted a quiet few days at home with the kids. To give them stability.”
Gretchen sighed, reaching way down deep for every ounce of patience she possessed. “I know what he said.” She gave her father a smile, and when her phone buzzed in her pocket, her heart hammered out an extra blip. Perhaps that was Will. She worked hard not to pull out her phone immediately to check. “But Daddy, sometimes you judge just with your eyes.”
Her daddy blinked at her. “I do?”
“Yes,” she said. “Now, I’m going to check my phone, because it might be Will. I was texting him earlier, because remember he asked me out?”
“How can I forget?” Daddy asked dryly. He rolled those eyes—totally judging her—and added, “You talk about him every dang day.”
“He’s good-looking,” Gretchen said in her defense. “And I haven’t been out with anyone in a long time. You should be happy I’m going to start seeing someone.” He was so different than Mother. Her mom had hounded her through her twenties to find a “nice man” and settle down. She’d been proud of Gretchen’s accomplishments in kitchens and bakeries too, but she wanted more grandchildren.
