Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [112]
“Can you believe a father would leave like that?” Dad asked. “What’d he do, honey, oh, just not come home one night? It's a shame, that's what it is. A shame.”
She nodded, then patted his hand. “Have you told Leah about your fishing trips with the boys and the deck they’re planning for your backyard?”
A smart woman, indeed. She knew that to brag on her own sons would’ve been cloying. Dad bragging on them let me know how much time they’ve all spent together and how proud he was to have done so.
He smiled. She smiled. They both smiled.
Right again, Peter.
Dad and Dani split a large fried oyster po-boy and a basket of sweet potato fries because “Dani's system can’t tolerate too much fried food.” Dad insisted we try the bread pudding, and Dani graciously allowed him to scoot out of the booth to order it. She did, though, smile sweetly and tell him she wouldn’t mind at all “taking care of dessert,” which gave him an opportunity to, once again, crow about her generosity and kindness.
She eyed Dad as he excused himself through a mixed bag of construction workers, suits, and soccer dads, then she turned and made dead-on eye contact. “Your father is won-der-ful. One of the nicest men in the world (which sounded like “whirled”). Of course, you know that already.”
Her cell phone jingled, and I was treated to a mother-son bonding moment. “Hi, sweetie. No, I’m not at work. Remember I asked for the day off so I could meet Mr. Bob's daughter? (smile) No, no, I’ve been working so many hours, they were happy to let me go for a day. (eye roll) Um. No. I don’t think we’re going to be long. (eyebrows raise questioningly) Well, okay, but you know you don’t have to do that. (unabashed pride) Sure, sweetie, I’ll tell Mr. Bob you said you can’t wait to go fishing. Bye, Sam-Sam. Talk to you later.”
Dani snapped her phone closed. “Sam called to ask if he could go to Home Depot and buy a book of deck plans. Those boys just adore your father. They’ve been such company for him. You know how lonely he must be, poor man. I’m so glad he's had some time to enjoy himself. He certainly deserves it.” She must have spotted Dad headed back to the table because she leaned my way, and said, “Sometimes it's just hard for men to do what they need for themselves. Your dad deserves to be happy, and he seems to be really happy since we met.”
I sat back and waited for the credits to roll.
“Dani made Gloria Thornton's performances look like Scout Finch's ham acting in the county play.”
Peter and I shared his backyard swing. Since my feet couldn’t reach the ground, Peter pushed us back and forth.
“Can you stop with the literary references already?” He looked up, then back at me, “Wait. I’ve got this one. To Kill a Mockingbird. Atticus Finch. He was a lawyer I remember.”
“You did read in school,” I teased.
The sultry quiet erupted. A trio of white-faced squirrels on a feeding frenzy, pecans clutched between their tiny paws, chased one another up, down, and around the trees. The neighbor's orange cat watched in bemusement from its perch on top of the fence post. It had jumped down once already, sending the squirrels into a manic run to the tree's top branches. I watched their crazed but amusing behavior, and knew I’d felt that same frenetic lunacy. I knew, too, that wasn’t the life I wanted.
“I forgot to mention Dani figured out Dad's hot spot—”
“Yuck, Leah, what—”
“I meant she's all over the ‘I love to garden and plant flowers and play in the dirt thing.’”
“Didn’t I tell you?”
“Stop. You’re almost sounding like him. Do you want to be the cat or the squirrel?” I pointed to the nature drama in front of us. “I’ve been watching them, thinking how I’ve been like those squirrels, running all over the place trying to get what I need. Sometimes I do. But I’m always at the mercy of that thing hanging over my head or scaring me away from what I need to do. You can’t let his problem become your problem.”
“Might be too late for that.”
“I hope not,” I said, and hopped