“I sent him a picture while you were in the house. He sent me back a picture of him doing a fist pump. He said he owes you a beer when he gets back. I promised I’d pass the message along.”
“I would be honored to share a beer with him,” he said, tipping his at me. “He raised a brilliant woman. I know that doesn’t happen if you’re a slouch.”
“Is that what people say about you?” I asked, sipping my lager. It was hoppy, thick, and glorious on a warm, sticky night like tonight. The humidity had increased considerably, so I kept my eye to the sky to make sure a storm didn’t take us by surprise.
“That I’m a brilliant woman or a slouch?” he asked, confused.
“As a father. That you raised a brilliant daughter, so you aren’t a slouch.”
He shrugged, but his eyes remained on the fire, which was unusual for him. He rarely broke eye contact during discussions. “Her mother does, but not too many other people know that I’m a father—those who do haven’t even met Athena. As much as I hate to say it, she’s in the periphery of my life now. She doesn’t need me as much as she used to. Now that she’s in college, I rarely see her.”
“Sort of out of sight, out of mind.” I waved my hand in the air while I swallowed the sip of beer I’d taken after uttering the words. “I didn’t mean that in the literal sense.”
He chuckled and leaned forward, setting his empty bottle under his chair. “I know what you meant. Athena is never out of my mind, but she is out of sight. There is nothing I can do for her when she’s across the country. I’m geographically closer to her than her mother is at this point. It’s new. It’s foreign. I still struggle with it, but I know she needs her space and independence. She’s a smart girl, and I have confidence she can take care of herself. She only lived with me during the summer, so I guess we have always had that independence from each other.”
“Versus me who can’t take care of myself, isn’t independent, and still lives with my parents.”
He swung his body toward me and lifted a brow. “Is that what you got from that whole statement? I wasn’t implying that. Not even a little bit.”
I finished my beer, setting the bottle down next to my cane, which I glared at with hatred. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. I can’t take care of myself. That’s how I got here.”
He tipped his head at me. “I’m confused.”
I waved my hand at my throat to indicate he should forget it. “And I’ve had too much to drink.”
We stared at the fire for several minutes, the uncomfortable silence stretching out before us. A flash of light caught my eye, and I glanced up at the sky sharply.
“Just heat lightning,” he assured me almost like he knew my secret, which I was sure he didn’t. I couldn’t say for sure, since everyone else in town knew, but what were the chances that someone had told him? It’s not likely that came up in general conversation.
I settled back against the chair and watched the last of the wooden posts burn down to ash. “Wow, there goes a piece of my childhood right there,” I whispered, the red coals bright as they burned down to nothing. “I don’t remember a time that fence wasn’t a constant marker for every season of my life. If the grass grew past the first wire, it was time to cut it. The snow piling up along it marked how many feet fell throughout the winter. In the fall, the leaves would get caught in the wires, and we’d have to rake them out without damaging the fence. The crocus always sprouted in the spring to make it festive at Easter. The burning of the fence feels like an end of an era. Maybe it’s time I accept it.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, poking at the fire until it sparked to life again to throw more light on the yard.
“The end of my childhood. It’s time to move out and get my own place. I know I should, but I also have my reasons for staying. I’m warring with it right now.”
He leaned back against his chair and nodded. “And I don’t think you need to explain those reasons to anyone, Amber. You can live wherever you want to live without justifying it. I haven’t lived here long, but I can tell that your parents rely on you to take care of the place when they’re gone, too.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “The question is, what do I do when I’m starting to justify it to myself? I’ll tell you what the therapist told me as a kid.”
He rubbed his hands on his thighs until he grasped his knees. Almost as if he was trying to keep his hands to himself. “The therapist doesn’t have to live your life or war with your emotions. They can say what they want, but that doesn’t mean you can implement it into your life just because they say it should be so.”
I nodded and kept my eyes focused on the fire rather than him. “You make a good point. It’s a lot to think about for me right now. I’m sorry for being a Debbie Downer. Alcohol does that to me, I guess. I’m questioning a lot of things in my life, probably spurred by almost losing Haylee last summer and now with her being married.”
He swung his head back and forth. “You aren’t a Debbie Downer. I
