Marrying the Single Dad

by Melinda Curtis

  Reggie didn’t deny it. “Dad wanted this. And do you know what else?” Reggie’s voice had turned rough, as if she was forcing her words past jagged glass. “The night before he died, he asked me to take care of you.”

  Brit’s fingers clutched a wad of napkins, curling them into an unusable ball.

  “Dad said, ‘Brit’s going to struggle to make ends meet unless you help her.’”

  Brit’s eyes burned with tears.

  Not Dad. He always believed in me. He was the only person who believed in me.

  She didn’t realize she’d said the words out loud until Reggie replied.

  “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. I believe in you.” Reggie faltered and shook Phil’s chair. “But I made Dad a promise and I quit my job for this. For you. You can’t let this be a waste of my time.”

  Frustration left a sour taste at the back of her throat. “I didn’t ask you to quit your job.” And Brit doubted Dad had either. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

  “You do. I can see this place is wearing you down.” Oh, her sister was good. Perceptive. Persuasive. “I know you’re afraid you’re never going to create anything as good as Keira again.”

  Deep down, where she was the most vulnerable, a small voice whispered, Never again. She swallowed, refusing to be diverted by artistic doubt. “I won’t lie to Leona about what I want and who I am.” Brit moved to stand beneath Keira. “I’m busy, Reggie. You need to go.”

  “I’ll leave the contract with you.” Reggie tossed her hair. “I’ll come by again tomorrow and see what you think. You don’t need to be afraid anymore, Brit. Not when you run the B and B.”

  Brit didn’t have time to consider Reggie’s misplaced sense of protection, much less the contract or Brit’s own fears. She shoved the thick stack of papers into the back of the supply cupboard and went to clean yesterday’s coffee cups, which had been soaking all night in the bathroom sink.

  There were things that needed her immediate attention. If she didn’t spend more time with clients, she’d never have enough money to do anything artistic.

  The trouble with being able to spot a liar was you could too easily spot the lies you told yourself.

  * * *

  “SLOW DAY TODAY,” Irwin noted midmorning on Thursday. He’d shown up every day since Joe restarted the business.

  “Slow week,” his sidekick Rex said. He’d driven them to the garage in his golf cart, which allowed them to pack a cooler with food and bring reading material.

  Joe couldn’t believe he’d had no customers all week. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen Brittany around either. He’d almost run out of things to do around the place that didn’t cost money. Among other chores, he’d patched the hole in the wall the snake had been using and fixed the soft stair tread. “What did you two do before I opened?”

  “I sold insurance.” The sun through the window glinted off Irwin’s scalp between the thin strands of his gray hair. “And after I retired, my wife and I took vacations. I laid her to rest last year.” He blinked watery eyes.

  “I was a golf pro.” Rex glanced out the window at his main method of transportation. “Been hanging out with Irwin since I got laid off in ’05. Lost my Amelia two years ago.”

  Great. Three widowers marking time by shooting the breeze.

  But they hadn’t answered the real meaning of his question. Joe tried again. “What did you two do during the day before I opened?”

  “Oh. We watched game shows,” Rex said. “There’s a whole network that shows them, hour after hour.”

  “And we played cards,” Irwin pointed out.

  “March Madness.” Rex sighed. “That was something.”

  Basically, they’d done the same thing they were doing here, except for watching television. “Well, if you’re going to use this as your second home, you need to do me a solid.”

  Irwin leaned forward, suddenly eager. “What?”

  “Recommend me to your friends.”

  Irwin gave a sarcastic snort. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you. Because of my street cred. I want Rose to think I can chill with the toughest of dudes.”

  “I can’t recommend you.” At least Rex looked sorry. “I don’t own a car.”

  Joe’s eye twitched. “You both need to leave.”

  “But...” Irwin pointed with his thumb toward the highway. “Your gang hasn’t come by yet.”

  “I’m not in a gang.” He didn’t care that he was using his outdoor voice. “The only group I belong to is the parent-teacher association.”

  “The PTA?” Rex tossed the back of his big hand against Irwin’s chest. “Come on, Irwin. We’re missing an Oprah rerun marathon for this.”

  Irwin’s face flushed red. “I do not watch Oprah.”

  “I watch Oprah,” Joe lied with a straight face.

  “This is wrong.” Irwin stumbled to his feet. “You’re supposed to be hard-core. You’re supposed to be living on the edge. You’re supposed to be villainous.” He struggled to get the door open.

  “Rose doesn’t want any of that,” Joe called after him.

  “Don’t worry, Joe,” Rex said with that slow, friendly smile of his. “He’ll get over it. We’ll be back.”

  Joe wondered if he and Sam were too old to run away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SHOW ME A bored man, and I’ll show you a slacker, Uncle Turo used to say.

  Joe wasn’t a slacker. The garage tools gleamed. The tow truck gleamed. The waiting room floor gleamed. Not because Joe wanted to spend his time scrubbing and waxing and washing, but because he had no customers.

  Agent Haas had returned Joe’s call last night. “I need your cooperation,” he’d said with unsettling heat, and then hung up. That destroyed what might have been a good night’s sleep.

  And then there was Sam. She’d slicked her hair back and worn a hoodie to school every day this week, changing back to coveralls and a ball cap when she got home. She alternated between the sweet daughter he loved and the sulky teenager he was dreading her becoming.

  Joe dropped Sam off at school on Friday and opted for his usual route back down Main Street. He needed something to take his mind off things. He needed a car to work on. He was wound up tighter than a bandage in a first-timers first-aid class.

  Once again, he passed Will and the mayor standing in front of El Rosal. Will’s golden hair looked as if Brittany had just given him a trim.

  The barbershop pole was spinning. That meant Brit was at work early. He hadn’t seen her in days.

  On impulse, Joe angled his truck into a parking space and went inside, sitting in the chair at Brit’s station. “Cut my hair like that millionaire’s.” If he had to go shorter to achieve respectability like Will Jackson, so be it.

  Brittany emerged from the bathroom wearing plastic gloves and holding a toilet scrub brush. She’d tinged the tips of her brown hair orange. She wore a shiny red blouse over a short denim skirt and black cable knit stockings. Just the sight of her made Joe feel better.

  “Joe.” She lowered the brush. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “No.” It struck him that he’d thought theirs was a relationship without need for appointments. He’d trimmed back brambles for her and saved her from drowning.

  “Huh.” She disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of an actively used scrub brush drifted to him, followed by a loud flush. Brittany reappeared without gloves or brush. “I’m not cutting your hair. I told you, that won’t make you respectable.”

  His frustration multiplied by ten. “Where have you been all week? The vines are beginning to come back.” Not as urgently as his tone implied, but he hadn’t seen her since they’d discovered the Volkswagen.

  “Ther
e are legalities involved with the car and I wanted to get them cleared up.”

  “Since when do you care about the law?”

  “Since...” She glanced up at the mermaid.

  The sculpture’s flowing hair reminded him of Brittany underwater, before the light went out of her eyes, before hope dimmed in her body.

  “Since...” she tried again, “you threatened to call the sheriff on me?”

  He liked that she hadn’t said it with certainty. “I wouldn’t have done that.”

  She arched a brow.

  He’d missed sparring with her. “Okay, I would have done that. But now...” His gaze drifted to the short ends of her hair where he’d cut her free. She’d turned that lemon of near death into lemonade. Why couldn’t he do the same with the mess Uncle Turo had made?

  The mayor and Will entered the shop, nodding a greeting to Joe. The pair was the ultimate odd couple. Will with his classic good looks and red polo. The mayor with his boho chic throwback ponytail and purple tie-dyed T-shirt.

  Mayor Larry flopped into Phil’s chair, next to Joe. “Brittany, this place is becoming the most popular destination in town. I’ve had several shut-ins call me for a ride here over the past few days.”

  “Me, too.” Will took up a position by the door, his expression inscrutable.

  “I’m glad you two are together, since we’ve got business with both.” The mayor leaned back in the chair, tilting his face to the ceiling. “Joe, don’t bother having Brit cut your hair. No matter what you do, it’ll still be thick and black, the mark of the Messinas for those who remember.”

  The sudden pressure to Joe’s chest made it hard to breathe. For years, he’d been grateful that Uncle Turo had come to town. That he and his brothers made it through high school with a roof over their heads. How ironic that Uncle Turo was the biggest obstacle to his making a living now that he was back.

  “Let’s be honest,” Mayor Larry said with an easy smile that didn’t fool Joe. “Your dad and uncle were a caution.”

  Joe tensed. Were they throwing him out of town? Could they do that? He wouldn’t let them do that.

  Brittany’s light touch on Joe’s shoulder kept him from leaping out of the chair and leaving.

  “Let’s not hold Joe responsible for the sins of his father.” Brittany’s voice was a quiet shelter in the storm that was Joe’s life. “Or those of his uncle.”

  Will refused to meet Joe’s gaze.

  There’d been a time that summer after Joe’s uncle had arrived when Turo was the pied piper for the boys, Will among them. They’d all hung out at the garage, soaking up Turo’s unlikely brand of rebellion. Don’t pay for that—if they aren’t looking, it’s their loss. Don’t cut your hair—what, you want to be like your parents? Do you always do what someone tells you to do? Like that’ll get you ahead.

  Will had walked out after a week.

  Joe followed him down to the river. Most kids traversed the town along the river. It was quicker than taking the streets. “Will, where are you going?”

  “Away from that.” Will gestured back to the garage. “He wants us to steal and lie.”

  Joe couldn’t quite refute that statement, seeing as it was true. “At least he tries to spend time with us. Dad doesn’t do anything.”

  “My mom says your dad is mentally ill. My mom says your uncle is a crook. My mom says you’re halfway to being a crook, too.”

  His friend’s words hit harder than any punch. “Shut up!”

  “Come home with me, Joe. You can stay at our house.”

  Joe shook his head. He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave his brothers. Even back then, he’d known about loyalty and family. Maybe he’d even understood that by going to the Jackson house he’d be ruining Will, future millionaire.

  A car backfired as it passed, returning Joe to the pretty crappy here and now. Anger strained against his chest. “You’re talking about my family.” His hands fisted on his knees.

  Brittany laid her warm palm over his clenched fingers.

  “I’m talking about a family led by a violent father and an uncle who was a petty thief,” Mayor Larry went on before Joe could. “They didn’t do you boys any favors.”

  “I’m not like my father or my uncle.” This comment Joe directed at Will, who stared at Joe with a neutral expression. So much for childhood ties. “I’m here for my daughter.” Only Sam kept him from bolting out the door.

  “Maybe you are different,” the mayor allowed. “I’d like to think so. I’d like for you to succeed here.”

  Joe felt numb. In the mirror, the mermaid went with the flow, a talent Joe didn’t have. But he did have Brittany’s hand on his, her strength at his disposal should he need it.

  “The majority of our populace is frail,” the mayor went on. “They don’t want to give you the benefit of the doubt like we’re going to do.” Mayor Larry gestured to himself and Will.

  “We?” Joe couldn’t believe Will was part of this.

  The mayor nodded. “Will and I have been talking. We might be able to help you. Can you bring your tow truck to my house first thing tomorrow morning? I finish yoga around seven. We can talk more then.”

  Joe was desperate enough to try anything. For Sam.

  He glanced up at Brittany once before leaving.

  For Sam.

  * * *

  “BRIT, WE’VE STUDIED your proposal regarding the art display by the river.” The mayor spun in Phil’s chair after Joe left.

  “And?” Brit was almost afraid to hear what the mayor thought after how stern he’d been with Joe. It’d been hard not to follow Joe out the door. Her heart was pounding. What if they refused her proposal? Should she argue? She pulled her sketchbook from a drawer, but was too nervous to open it.

  The mayor stopped spinning. “The property is mine and I have no immediate plans for it.” Mayor Larry’s grin was layer upon layer of thin wrinkles, which made it hard to tell if he was being sincere or not. “I’m willing to write up an agreement for free use of the land.”

  Brit couldn’t move. There was no but in his speech. No catch. No price tag. “You don’t want to see my sketches?”

  “If your ideas are anything like that mermaid, I’ll be happy.” The mayor kept on grinning.

  Brit experienced a twinge of disappointment. She didn’t plan on incorporating mermaids into her feature.

  “Can we help with anything?” Will was smiling, his demeanor ten times warmer than it’d been when Joe was in the room.

  “I still haven’t confirmed the use of river rock, other than being allowed to remove fourteen rocks a day from shoals and banks that aren’t part of the public park system.”

  “I’ll have my lawyer look into it.” Will tapped something in his phone.

  “I’m glad my art will help the community.” Brittany was. Harmony Valley was a nice place. “And with exposure like that, I’ll be getting something out of it, as well.” If her vision of the Volkswagen could be executed. If she could create other pieces to sell.

  The mayor stood and looked at Keira. “Your mermaid is special. We’re happy to have more.”

  Brittany felt the need to control expectations, but couldn’t quite say no more mermaids! “I want to work on things I’m passionate about.” If only she had the time and energy to be passionate. “I’ll start with the Beetle and see where it takes me.”

  Will nodded. “My winery would be willing to pay you for a mermaid sculpture. Perhaps even the rights to use her image on a wine label.” He stared at Keira the way Brit did when no one was looking—awestruck. “Our logo is a running horse on a weathervane. Maybe you could consider incorporating your mermaid into our logo.”

  “Commissioned sculptures and licensing images is a big deal,” the mayor said, as if she’d be foolish to consider turning them down
. “What do you say?”

  “I’m not ready,” Brit blurted. “I mean, I’m so busy with the shop, I need time to slow down and think about what to work on and when.” She needed to recapture the leap-off-the-edge courage that had guided her hand when she’d created Keira. She hadn’t feared failure back then.

  “Take as much time as you need.” Will gave Keira one last look before heading toward the door. “We can talk numbers if you’re interested.”

  “Don’t wait too long,” the mayor warned, rising from the chair. “That’s how opportunities pass you by.”

  Brit sank into her chair.

  The mayor was wrong. Opportunities weren’t lost when you didn’t pounce on them. They were also lost when your creative juices were constipated.

  * * *

  OUT OF NECESSITY Joe walked into town to pick up Sam from school. He needed to conserve gas in both the truck and tow truck. He had no idea what the mayor wanted with the latter, but he didn’t want to lose out because he couldn’t afford to fill up the tank.

  He came around the corner in time to see two younger girls skip out the school door. And then a boy about Sam’s age exited the building, got into a car and left.

  Sam ran out with her hood up and her eyes red. “Where’s the truck?”

  “It’s a beautiful day. I thought we’d walk.” He shouldered her backpack.

  She grunted and hurried along the way he’d come.

  “I thought there were only girls at school. Who’s that boy?”

  “Brad Hendricks. He’s a sixth grader. His first day was today.” Sam shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets.

  “What’s wrong?” Joe slung his arm over her shoulders.

  She shrugged him off. “Nothing.”

  He let her cling to that belief, but his mind was racing. Was Brad a bully? Had Sam failed a test? Was she feeling sick? Fighting a fever?

  When they finally finished walking the length of the vineyard and turned down their street, Joe said, “You know you can tell me anything.”