She smiled and backed out of the minuscule bathroom.
Her father stood in the living room. As always, he dwarfed the small space. Big and broad-shouldered, he made every room seem smaller by comparison. But it was his personality that was truly oversize.
She’d first met him when she was nine years old. She’d been small for her age, and so shy she only spoke to Meghann in those days. Dad had seemed larger than life when he stepped into their travel trailer. Well, he’d said as he looked down at her, you must be my daughter, Claire. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Let’s go home.
Home.
It was the word she’d waited for, dreamed of. It had taken her years—and more than a few tears—to realize that he hadn’t offered the same welcome to Meghann. By then, of course, by the time Claire understood the mistake, it was well past the time to rectify it.
“Hey, Dad. I was making sure everything was ready for you to move in.”
His grin showed a row of Chiclet-white dentures. “You know damn well I ain’t moving in here. I like my mobile home. A man doesn’t need this much room. I got my fridge and my satellite TV. That’s all I need.”
They’d been having this discussion ever since Claire had moved back to the property and Dad had given her use of the house. He swore up and down that the mobile home hidden in the trees was more than room enough for a fifty-six-year-old single man.
“But, Dad—”
“Don’t talk about my butt. I know it’s getting bigger. Now, dance on over here and give your old man a hug.”
Claire did as she was told.
His big, strong arms enfolded her, made her feel safe and adored. He smelled faintly of disinfectant today. That was when she remembered the bathroom that needed fixing.
“I’ll leave in an hour,” she said. “The toilet in cabin—”
He spun her around and pushed her gently toward the door. “Get going. This place isn’t going to fall apart without you. I’ll fix the damn toilet. And I’ll remember to pick up the PVC pipe you ordered and to stack the wood under cover. If you remind me again, I’ll have to hurt you. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
Claire couldn’t help smiling. She’d reminded him about the pipe at least six times. “Okay.”
He touched her shoulders, forced her to stop long enough to look at him. “Take as long as you want. Really. Take three weeks. I can handle this place alone. You deserve a break.”
“You never take one.”
“I’m on the down side of my life, and I don’t want to get out much. You’re only thirty-five. You and Alison should kick up your heels a bit. You’re too damn responsible.”
“I’m a thirty-five-year-old single mother who has never been married. That’s not too responsible, and I will kick up my heels in Chelan. But I’ll be home in a week. In time to check the Jefferson party into their cabins.”
He thumped her shoulder. “You’ve always done exactly what you wanted, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. Have fun.”
“You, too, Dad. And take Thelma out for dinner while I’m gone. Quit all that skulking around.”
He looked genuinely nonplussed. “What—”
She laughed. “Come on, Dad. The whole town knows you’re dating.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Okay. Sleeping together.” In the silence that followed that remark, Claire walked out of the house and into the steely gray day. A drizzling rain fell like a beaded curtain in front of the trees. Crows sat on fence posts and phone wires, cawing loudly to one another.
“Come on, Mommy!” Alison’s small face poked through the car’s open window.
Dad hurried ahead of her and kissed his granddaughter’s cheek.
Claire checked the trunk—again—then got into the car and started the engine. “Are we ready, Ali Kat? Do you have everything?”
Alison bounced in her seat, clinging to her Mary-Kate-and-Ashley lunch box. “I’m ready!” Her stuffed orca—Bluebell—was strapped into the seat with her.
“We’re off to see the Wizard, then,” Claire said, shifting into drive as she yelled a final good-bye to her father.
Alison immediately started singing the Barney theme song: “I love you, you love me.” Her voice was high and strong, so loud that poodles all across the valley were probably hurling themselves to the ground and whining pitifully. “Come on, Mommy, sing.”
By the time they reached the top of Stevens Pass, they’d sung forty-two Barney theme songs—in a row—and seventeen Froggy-Went-A-Courtings. When Alison opened her lunch box, Claire rammed a Disney audiotape into the cassette player. The theme music to The Little Mermaid started.
“I wish I was like Ariel. I want flippers,” Alison said.
“How could you be a ballerina then?”
Alison looked at her, clearly disgusted. “She has feet on land, Mommy.” Then she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, listening to the story of the mermaid princess.