Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [25]
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice not a little ungracious. Then our other guest popped into my mind. I turned back to Gabe. “Gabe, there’s something else—”
The front door opened again. We all turned and watched Sam step out on the front porch.
“Hi, Dad,” he said, his face as calm and casual as if he’d just seen his father ten minutes before. “Catch any bad guys today?”
Gabe’s face shifted into that blank, absolutely still expression that always reminded me of those dogs who don’t give any warning before they bite. His eyes turned from an amused blue gray to hard flint. Even Rita had the good sense to step back and clamp her mouth shut. He looked down at me and asked in a frosty voice, “How long has he been here?”
“A couple of hours, but—”
He strode past me toward his son. I held my breath, not sure what he would do when he reached the front porch. Without a word, he walked right by Sam, through the front door, and slammed it behind him.
“My, my,” Rita said. “I bet if I’d’ve touched him right then, he’d’ve just burned my little fingertips right to the bone.” Her thin eyebrows shot up. “Repressed passion. I like that in a man.”
Ignoring her, I walked over to Sam. His big hand rested on the adobe arch, a blank expression similar to Gabe’s on his face. He’d gotten what I think he wanted, surprising his father, but I wasn’t sure the result was what he’d anticipated.
“Sam,” I said. “You and Rita put the groceries away. I’ll talk to your father and see if we can’t get this straightened out.” Though how I was going to do that was a mystery to me.
Sam gave a sharp sarcastic laugh. “Don’t sweat it, Benni. Believe me, he’s happiest when he’s pissed at me.”
“Sam, that’s not true.”
He ignored my reply and went out to the truck. He picked up the bags, making a low comment to Rita that caused her to erupt with a squeaky giggle.
Inside, I stood in front of our closed bedroom door for a moment, thinking, This is all I need this week, then chided myself for being so self-centered. This had to be tough on Gabe. Maybe I made the wrong decision in not calling him immediately about Sam, but the scenario hadn’t worked out quite the way I planned. Who would have ever expected Rita to show up? Why was she here, and what in the world was I going to do with her? Well, that little problem was going to have to wait. I straightened my shoulders and opened the door.
Gabe stood next to the bedroom window looking out at the yellow rosebushes along the side fence. His hands were relaxed at his side, but the stiffness of his posture said his anger was still in full bloom. He turned and faced me. “How long has he been here?” he asked again.
“Only a couple of hours—”
“Why didn’t you call me? I don’t appreciate—”
I held up my hand to silence him. “I made the decision not to call because I figured it would be even harder if you heard it over the phone. I was certain I’d get home first and catch you before you saw him.”
His bottom lip disappeared under his mustache. “I don’t appreciate being humiliated by my own wife in my own home in front of strangers.”
“No one was trying to humiliate you, Gabe. And Rita is, unfortunately, not a stranger, but a relative. Believe me, I had no idea she was here. I still have to find out the story behind that. But let’s get back to the real issue here, and that’s you and Sam.”
“There’s no issue. He’s here because his money ran out.”
“That may be so,” I said carefully. “We honestly didn’t talk long enough for me to find out. I had to go to a meeting about the storytelling festival right after he showed up. But I’m sure—”
“He won’t be staying long. He made his bed and he can sleep in it.”
I went over and slipped my arms around his waist. His body was stiff and unyielding. “Gabe, why don’t you just hear him out? He is your son.”
He pulled away from my embrace and started for the door. “He can stay for a couple of days, and that’s it. I’m sick of bailing him out because he’s too irresponsible