He’d really done it this time.
After staring into the trees long enough for Daisy to grow restless and abandon him, he turned back toward the house. Evi and Noah stood at the end of the deck, watching him. From the looks on their faces, they must’ve heard everything.
“That was Morgan?” Noah asked.
He didn’t need to answer.
Evi rubbed her bare arms as the wind blew harder, chilling the air. “He was early.”
Gerrit hung his head.
Noah glanced at the woods. “Maybe you should call him or something.”
“Can’t,” Gerrit grunted. “Don’t have his number.”
He hadn’t seen the look on Morgan’s face, but he had a feeling he knew it all too well. Had seen it a hundred times on Noah’s and Evi’s faces. On Hannie’s. He lifted his own face to the sky, now gray and ominous.
“We better go inside.”
Evi and Noah filed into the house, silent and solemn. Gerrit stepped in and closed the sliding door behind them.
Hannie met them in the living room with a bright smile. “Hey, guys. I was just on the phone with Luisa. She says she’s going to be a little late, but . . .” Her smile faded as she noticed their expressions. “What’s going on?”
Evi looked at Gerrit, but when he didn’t respond, she sighed. “Morgan was here.”
“What do you mean was?”
“I feel kind of bad,” Noah said.
Hannie’s crow’s feet appeared as she looked at Gerrit. He looked back. She would think this was all his fault. And she wouldn’t be wrong.
A knock sounded at the front of the house.
Evi perked up. “That must be Travis.”
She scurried to answer the door. Gerrit’s frown deepened. Bad to worse. That’s how this day was going.
Hannie and Noah followed close behind Evi, eager to greet their guest. The sounds of a door opening and closing, shuffling feet, and happy voices snaked around the corner to where Gerrit stood. He frowned. If he saw Travis getting familiar with Evi, he’d need a blunt object to deal with the problem. He scanned the room for possibilities but nothing stood out.
“And here’s my dad.” Evi came back to the living room dragging a young man behind her. “Dad, this is Travis.”
Travis was unimpressive. Barely taller than Evi, he looked like he’d never done a day’s hard labor in his life. He held out a smooth, unconvincing hand, and Gerrit squinted at it. Looked like he wouldn’t need a blunt object after all. His fists would be more than enough.
“Dad.” Evi gave him a look.
He shook the scrawny hand. “Travis.”
“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Laninga. This is a great place you’ve got here.”
Nice try, kid.
“And what do you do for a living, Travis?”
“Dad.” This time Evi’s voice held a warning. He wrestled with himself. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to grill Evi’s—ugh—boyfriend. She hadn’t even wanted to come, but she was here, and he didn’t want to totally blow it.
Gerritt held up his hands. “I made strawberry lemonade.”
Hannie put on a making-the-most-of-it smile. “I tried it this morning. It’s delicious. Who wants some?”
Travis put his hand on the small of Evi’s back as they followed Hannie to the kitchen. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. She wasn’t a little kid anymore, Gerrit knew that, but he wasn’t ready for this. It was like she’d grown up overnight when he wasn’t looking. Which was exactly what had happened. He hadn’t been looking.
His neck muscles constricted as Travis and Evi stood close to each other, sharing a glass. Gazing into each other’s eyes. But he kept his mouth shut. He’d told Evi things were going to be different.
She poured more lemonade. “This is really good, Dad.”
He caught her eye. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look away.
He would take it.
A gust of wind struck the house, and the plop-plop of heavy raindrops hit the roof.
“Looks like we’ll be eating inside.” Hannie peeked out the window. “That blew in fast. Is the grill going to be okay?”
“Hope so,” Noah said. “I’m starving.”
Gerrit blinked. He’d forgotten all about the ribs. The grill was on the leeward side, tucked close to the house, so it shouldn’t be affected by the wind. But he hadn’t flipped the meat. Hadn’t brushed it with sauce every thirty minutes. Hadn’t checked the temperature.
He shuffled to the sliding door and stepped outside. Fat drops hit the deck rail with a splat, like water balloons dropping from the roof.
“You couldn’t give me one sunny day, huh?” Gerrit scowled at the sky. “I go to church for the first time in twenty-five years, and this is the thanks I get?”
A headache began to grow. His back spasmed. With a growl, he snatched the meat tongs hanging from the side of the grill and threw open the lid.
“What the . . . ?”
The meat lay only half cooked on the rack, looking like a giant centipede that had been rolled over by a truck. The flame was out.
He checked the propane tank. Empty? He’d bought a new tank last week and hadn’t used it once. How could it be empty?
He squeezed his eyes shut and saw red. Opened them and felt it. George. It had to be him. He couldn’t leave Gerrit in peace, could he? He was still sore about Bernard. Still mad about the mailbox.
It was the final straw.
He slammed the lid shut and charged down the back steps. Into the shed. He reached for the chainsaw on the shelf. The stepladder by the door.
Wind buffeted him as he stalked down the driveway toward the tree with the dead branches.
“Don’t know why you never took care of that tree, George,” he mumbled to himself, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. “I always knew a storm was going to knock those branches down one day.”
He reached the fence and set the chainsaw down so he could open the ladder. Then he grabbed the chainsaw and peered up into the tree. “It’s a shame about your RV.”
The
