Reluctant Reunion Page 4

  I didn’t get too close to the pen. There was no desire to touch them, and the smell… let’s just say it was all I could do to breathe through my mouth, not my nose. Unfortunately, it was all coming back about the true unpleasantness of Dad’s precious creatures.

  A headache eased in around my temples. I was tired, cranky, hungry, dirty, and now was faced with the stinky alpacas.

  And I hadn’t even seen my dad yet. In my present frame of mind, I couldn’t imagine that going well at all.

  Chapter Six

  I knew Dad was nearby but not because I saw him. That same tune he always whistled when working in the barn floated out to me. It wasn’t even a real song. Just a bunch of notes he whistled over and over. Was it stuck in his head? Or had he done it so long now that he didn’t even realize he was whistling? It bugged me. A lot. I’d forgotten all about it. Until now. Suddenly I was a kid again, forced to help him in the repugnant barn with those obnoxious beasts I detested. Great.

  I must have leaned closer to the fence without realizing. When I looked down, both arms were propped on the top. The alpacas became more animated. Squawking and pawing at the dirt. Did they think I was going to feed them?

  “Be quiet.” I kept my voice low, but it didn’t do any good. They warbled right over any attempts to calm them down. Stupid animals were worse than howling watchdogs.

  “Somebody out there?” my dad called from inside.

  Perfect. Now what?

  You did come home, Kennedy. Did you think Dad wouldn’t notice you were here? I had two choices, seeking Dad out or waiting. And the first one wasn’t gonna happen. So, instead of going to him, I stood right where I was. No way was I going to climb the fence and get any closer to the alpacas. No. Way.

  A creak of the partially open barn door sounded as it opened wide. And there he was. He seemed… smaller. Grayer. Or was it my imagination?

  He stared at me and then blinked, once, twice. With a tilt of his head, he finally said, “Kennedy?”

  I bit my lip. Why hadn’t I thought this through? Have a plan for what I would say when I finally got here? The whole bus ride, I could have been coming up with something. Instead, I’d fumed in my seat, thinking of all the reasons I didn’t want to go. I tried to speak. Nothing happened. After swallowing, hard, I finally forced out, “Hey… Dad.”

  He propped his pitchfork against the side of the barn and studied me. Why didn’t he come closer?

  Wait, did I really want him to?

  You could go to him.

  No… I was embarrassed enough just to have slunk home after hardly communicating with him for several years. I had no right to assume he’d want to see me.

  His hands hung at his sides, fingers flexing open and closed. Open and closed. Like they were unsure what to do, how to act. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to stop myself from shaking. Why was I shaking? Nervous? Scared?

  Not scared. I’d never been scared of my dad. He was too good a man for that. I’d left partly because I’d wanted something different in life. Something better, exciting, an experience that would give me a rush.

  Well I’d gotten that, hadn’t I? Nothing said let’s live by the seats of our pants like nearly starving and getting kicked out of the rathole that I’d called home for several years.

  Yeah, it had been a rush all right. Of sleepless nights wondering if I’d eat the next day or the landlord would catch me at home to collect my past-due rent.

  I’d had enough of that kind of excitement. Forever.

  Dad was still watching, but he had taken a couple of hesitant steps in my direction.

  My feet refused to budge. I glanced down. Nope, not because they were stuck in mud. There wasn’t any. Just dry, crusty dirt.

  Slowly, I raised my head and watched him again. So, if I didn’t want the kind of life I’d just left, what did I want? To be here?

  No.

  Then what?

  Maybe, if I was lucky, Dad would let me stay for a little while until I figured that out.

  Dad’s brow lowered into a deep crease. That was something I remembered. He did it when he was trying to make up his mind about something. Was it about whether or not to come over and talk to me? Or just turn around and act like I’d never shown up?

  “Surprised to see you, kid. Been awhile.”

  “Yeah. It has.”

  “You… you doing okay?”

  I twisted my hands together. What could I say? No, I’m not okay. I’m broke. Hungry. Humiliated. I gave a shrug.

  Dad took another few steps until he stood very close. He’d changed since I’d been gone. More gray hair. More lines around his eyes, his mouth. What had I expected? That he’d look exactly like the man I’d turned my back on and stormed away from? Thinking about that now, about how I’d acted, what I’d said to him, burned a hole in my gut. I’d said some terrible things to him. Things he didn’t deserve.

  He reached out his arms toward me. To hug me? I tensed, not sure if I wanted that. Not sure I deserved it. But his arms lowered, leaving me feeling foolish for even thinking he’d show me affection. Not after what I’d done.

  My dad ran his hand down his chin, another thing he’d always done often. Like he was perplexed and not sure what his next move should be.

  Well, join the club.

  He blinked and looked at me, really looked. As if he could find all the answers to all the questions he’d had about me, about us since I’d left. “Do you…” He glanced down at my bags. “Would you like to come in? Have something to drink? I mean, it’s really hot out here.”

  As if his words gave me permission to experience the heat, a small trickle of perspiration ran down from beneath my hair into my collar. I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out. I cleared my throat, tried again. “Sure.”

  He gave a sharp nod, picked up my bags — Was that an invitation for me to stay? — and headed toward the house. I hurried to keep up.

  Behind me, the alpacas mouthed off in protest. Why did they act disappointed that I stepped away when I’d made it obvious I hadn’t wanted to be near them?

  As I followed him to the old house, I studied it again. Same weathered appearance. Same aw-shucks I live in the country charm. I’d been so eager to run to the big city, I’d forgotten what an attractive place it was. Or was it that I was a little older now and could appreciate it better?

  More than likely, it just looked better now because I was homeless, jobless, and hungry.

  The back door to the kitchen screeched as it was opened. So, he’d never oiled the hinges like he’d always talked about doing. Maybe it had done it so long he didn’t even notice anymore.

  When I stepped inside, it was like a time capsule. Same lace curtains. Same three canisters for sugar, flour, and tea bags. Same wooden kitchen table. If I got down on my knees and peeked on the underneath side, I’d see where I’d scratched my name with what had been my mom’s best kitchen knife.

  That hadn’t turned out to be such a good day.

  Why did merely entering the old house bring back all my old insecurities? Make me feel eight again, all pigtails, skinned knees, and crooked teeth?

  Dad came back into the room without my bags. I hadn’t even noticed he’d left. Did the fact that he’d taken them further into the house mean I was welcome to stay?

  He washed his hands at the sink then got a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade from the fridge. Same old pitcher mom always used. It had been my favorite too. Clear glass but three bright stripes circling the top: pink, lavender, mint green.

  After pouring two glasses, he put them on the table, edging one toward me a few inches. “Have a seat.”

  My head snapped up, and I eyed him sharply. Had he meant that as an order? But when I studied the tired eyes, the drooping shoulders, I changed my mind. Maybe he just wanted to take a break from his work.

  I nodded and sat, waiting until he did the same. It seemed to be taking him longer than it used to, to get settled on the chair. Was that because he
was getting older? Still, he wasn’t that old. I’d met lots of people in New York who were his age or older, and they didn’t move and groan like they were in their nineties.

  He let out a sigh. A deep, long one, like he was happy just to get off his feet. He used to have so much energy. Even as a kid, sometimes I had trouble keeping up with his pace. What was different? Had something changed?

  Not wanting to get caught staring at him, I focused on my lemonade and took a big gulp. My dry throat cheered as the cold liquid relief slid down. Before I realized it, I’d emptied the glass.

  “Here, let me get you some more.” Dad pressed his hands on the table like he was going to rise, but I stood first.

  I didn’t want him to make that noise again, the one that said he was overly tired. Wait, it seemed more than that. Like he was in pain? “No, I’ll get it.” I hurried across the room, returning with the pitcher. I filled mine then topped his off before setting the lemonade on the table. After I sat down, I was once again at a loss as to what to say.

  He took a sip of his drink. Did he not know what to say either?

  I was the one who rarely called. And I’d just shown up unexpectedly. Guess it was up to me to break the ice. I swallowed hard. “Um… I… things have sort of… well…”

  “Kennedy.” His voice was soft, kind. “Did something happen? Are you all right?”

  I blinked. How did parents always seem to know? “You could say that.”

  “Tell me. You know I’ll listen.”

  Did I know that? I gave a small head shake. No, if I’d felt that to be true, wouldn’t I have kept in touch with him? Or have some understanding of why he’d ended up with Laurie? My skin bristled just thinking of that woman. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. But I wouldn’t cry. I would not.

  It was obvious Dad wanted to know what was up now. And since I needed a place to land temporarily, maybe I owed him at least an explanation. I blew out a breath. “Okay… In New York, things didn’t go as I’d hoped.”

  He nodded like he’d expected that. But he didn’t say anything.

  “I…” I bit my lip. Admitting all the crap that had gone on was like accepting defeat. Saying the words out loud, especially to Dad, made it all the more real.

  He leaned forward, his tan forearms on the table. He seemed thinner than when I’d last seen him. “Like I said, you can tell me anything and I’ll listen.”

  Just do it. Get the words out. Then you won’t have to say them again. At least I hoped that was true. Once would be terrible enough. “Things… my acting, didn’t pan out as I’d hoped. I went to lots of auditions, all that I could find, and even got a few bit parts in commercials, but…”

  “But it wasn’t what you’d envisioned when you left here?”

  “Right.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Honey, that’s life, I’m afraid. You make plans, think things will go a certain way, but sometimes…”

  I watched him for a few seconds. His mouth turned down at the corners, his whole body seemed to sag. Was he sad for me or someone else? Or… himself? “I guess that’s what happened to me, then. My acting didn’t work out. I lost a part time job I’d had at a shoe store. And my boyfriend, he—” A breath caught in my throat and I held in a sob. I will not cry. Not now.

  Dad reached over and patted my hand. “I’m sorry things didn’t go as you’d wanted.”

  I tilted my head. He wasn’t angry? Didn’t want to toss me out the door yelling, “I told you so?” But then, he wouldn’t, would he? That wasn’t his style. Even though I hadn’t wanted to keep the lines of communication open, or confide in him sooner what had been going on with me, I couldn’t deny that my father was a quiet, gentle man. Why did I have to travel all the way back before I remembered that?

  He tilted his head as he studied me. “There are lots of changes around here. Like… Nickie.”

  “Who?”

  “It came as a surprise to me too, but your brother fathered a child. A girl. Nickie. He never met her, though. She wasn’t born until after he was killed in the car accident.”

  My mouth dropped open. Dad was a grandpa? I was an aunt? And how tragic that Michael never even got a chance to meet his daughter. “Wow.”

  My dad gave a half-smile. “Yeah. It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it? I was shocked, I can tell you that. Nickie is at school right now. But she’s living here.”

  And right there, I had my perfect opening. “Is it all right if I stay here? ’Til I find another job?”

  “Of course you can stay. Although I can’t guarantee for how long.”

  So, he was going to kick me out at some point?

  “Didn’t you listen to my voicemail?”

  “Something about a reunion.”

  “Yes. But the reason for that.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I take it you haven’t talked to your siblings, then.”

  Heat crawled up my cheeks. No need to answer him, he’d see my blush and know.

  He clasped his hands together. “Kennedy, it’s like this — I’m selling the alpaca farm.”

  “What? But you love it. You’ve always loved it. Why would you—”

  “I have to sell. Have no choice.”

  “It must be something serious. Can you tell me now? Why you’re selling?”

  He swallowed hard, glanced toward the dining room, then looked me straight in the eyes. “I’ve been diagnosed with MS.”

  My stomach dropped to my feet. “Oh no.” Once I saw him, I’d been able to accept his getting older, a little slower. But ill?

  “I’m being treated by a doctor, of course, and I can still handle the farm. For now. But not long term.”

  My father loved those crazy animals nearly as much as his family. How sad for him. I’d never thought there’d be any way he’d sell them as long as he was drawing breath. I hadn’t seen him this sad since Mom died. Guilt, hot and fierce, encased me. He’d lost two very important aspects of his life. And I sure hadn’t helped matters by barely communicating.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to me before now how my leaving so abruptly would have affected him? I’d never seen him so down, so defeated. Something inside my chest shifted, moved over to make a tiny space for compassion for the man I’d barely acknowledged in years. What would happen to him now? How would he take care of things as his illness progressed? “Maybe while I’m here, I can help you out with the alpacas.”

  What? Had I just said that? Uttered a phrase I’d never thought would pass my lips?

  His smile lit up the room. “That would be a great big load off me, Kennedy. It really would.”

  What had I done? I forced a smile. No taking it back now. How could I, when my dad was sick?

  Footsteps sounded from the dining room then stopped. “Oh… Kennedy?”

  My heart sank. You idiot, did you really think you’d stay at the house and not run into Laurie?

  We’d never met, but with pictures around the house of all of us kids, she must have figured out which one I was. Dad was watching me, like he expected something. Was his love interest one of those touchy-feely people? I had no desire for her to hug me. But the way my dad was still sitting there, waiting for something to happen, spurred me into action. Obviously, he wasn’t going to introduce us. Maybe he felt she and I should have already known each other, if only I’d been a better correspondent. I stood but didn’t approach her. “Hi, Laurie.”

  She stepped toward me, hesitatingly, as if wondering what my reaction would be. I had no doubt she and my dad had talked about me before, about the black sheep, the one who didn’t stay in contact. “What a nice surprise, Kennedy. I’ve seen so many pictures of you and have heard stories from Tom, I feel like we’ve already met.” One hand reached out, touched my arm. But that was it. No hug.

  Glad that was over. The initial face-to-face after so long. She tilted her head and waited. Oh, my turn again. “I… came home. For a visit.”

  Laurie smiled. “I’m so glad.” Her smile appeared sincere. But was i
t?

  Chapter Seven

  I met Ernesto the next morning. When he introduced himself, I found out that at least Dad wasn’t doing everything alone. He helped Dad out on the farm when he could. Really nice man. Had a big smile when he met me and seemed genuinely fond of my father.

  It had been a surprise to find someone other than my dad when I’d entered the barn. Dad hadn’t been at breakfast either. Maybe he slept in on the days Ernesto worked, his MS tiring him out. He’d been haggard-looking the night before, heading to bed early. I really did need to read up on the disease, find out what he was up against.

  Ernesto wiped his brow with a crumpled handkerchief. “You here to stay, Kennedy? Or just visiting?”

  What to say when I didn’t know myself. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Not sure. Um, of my plans.”

  He nodded and stuffed the handkerchief into his shirt pocket. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what the future might hold. To decide what to do.”

  I blinked. He sounded like he knew what had been going on with me, but that was impossible. Even Dad didn’t know much except what I’d told him yesterday. Had he called Ernesto and filled him in?

  “So, I could use some help feeding the furry charges. Are you game to help?” He gave me a one-sided grin, like he knew I would do it but wanted to give me the courtesy to say so on my own.

  “Sure.” I stood there, waiting. It had been a long time since I’d done the job. Would it all come back? Or did they have a different routine now with Ernesto working here?

  He waved his hand in a follow-me gesture. Once inside the barn, the terrible smell of manure was worse, snaking into my nostrils without my permission. I clenched my teeth together, hoping I didn’t lose my hearty breakfast of sausage and eggs. Alpacas, large and small, brown, tan and white, and a combination of all three, lifted their heads as I walked by. Hopeful. Anxious. Desperately wanting fed now.

  A metallic clank startled me, dragging my attention away from the staring eyes of the alpacas. Ernesto stood, arm outstretched toward me, a large bucket in his hand. I took it quickly, hoping he hadn’t caught me. Because, though I hadn’t intended it, I’d been staring back at the animals.