Texas Dad (Fatherhood)

by Roz Denny Fox

  J.J. felt weighed down and alone. Her life spun along a fast track in a business where it was difficult to make and keep friends, who often sped in opposite directions. What would it be like to settle down? She shouldn’t envy women with loving husbands, who carpooled their kids around suburbia or lived in small towns like this one where the pace was way slower. But she did envy them.

  Shaking herself out of her doldrums, J.J. pocketed her phone, rose and, out of habit, straightened the bedspread. She had to face hard truths when it came to her life. She didn’t stay in one place long enough to develop a romantic relationship, and her ability to have children wouldn’t last forever.

  She went to the lobby and checked out, then stowed her bags in the SUV. She still wasn’t sure bunking at Turkey Creek Ranch was a good idea. Her history with Mack left her on edge. Earlier when she’d driven down the ranch road for the first time in over thirteen years, she’d been assailed by memories. She’d once dreamed of becoming his wife. She’d thought they would be partners in every way. They’d made plans, ones that evaporated in the blink of an eye that horrible evening she found out Mack had betrayed her—by getting his former girlfriend pregnant. In fact, the blow had nearly crushed J.J. Her mother had urged her to put Mack behind her, insisting she focus on her future.

  Now, retracing the route to the ranch, she couldn’t stop wondering if he had made similar plans with Faith. Mack had always said he wanted three children. Meeting Zoey was maybe what hurt the most. J.J. had imagined having Mack’s children. All at once she found herself gripping the steering wheel too hard.

  Relaxing her fingers, she forced her attention back to the road. Covering old ground was pointless and unhealthy. She should get rid of those old feelings. So what if her life hadn’t ended up the way she’d envisioned at twenty? She’d traveled to places others longed to visit and met many interesting people. She made an above-average living. She’d dated handsome, well-connected men. Lamentably none ever measured up to the high bar she had set for a husband. Only Mackenzie Bannerman had reached that bar, and then he crashed into it.

  Darn! There he was, screwing with her mind again. And he’d made it clear that he wasn’t happy to see her. She deliberately turned her thoughts away from him to his daughter, and Zoey’s poignant wish for her dad to meet a woman and get married.

  As if that thought was going to drag her out of the dumps.

  If she was honest, she’d admit that the very idea of playing any part in helping find Mack a wife was painful. She absolutely could not come back here in August to photograph him on his date with the magazine reader. She had to make Donna understand that.

  The ranch house came into sight. J.J. reclaimed her spot between the house and barn. And she made herself a promise. She would get on with this assignment, treating it no differently than any of the others she’d handled over the years. Mack would be her job and nothing more.

  Resolute, she hauled her suitcases up the makeshift ramp. She knocked, pushed open the door and called out. There had been a time she’d entered the house as if she belonged. This time she hesitated inside the foyer and called again, “Zoey? It’s J.J. I’m back.”

  The girl bounded out of the kitchen. “Yay! Erma’s still sleeping, but she usually fixes supper around now. What are we gonna do?”

  “If you’ll show me to my room, I’ll drop my bags and go wake Erma.”

  “Okay.” Zoey stepped through the archway. “This is the room I told you is directly across the patio from Erma’s.”

  The room had white antique furniture, and the generous bed was covered with a dark blue spread. The thick pile carpet was gray. She had expected the same hardwood floors she remembered. The hardwood was still in Erma’s room, thankfully, which made rolling her wheelchair easier.

  “I wonder if Erma’s doctor said anything to your dad about getting her a walker. She can’t bear weight on her right leg, but in a few days she might be able to navigate better with a walker. They have front wheels that lock down. Erma could brace herself against the bathroom or kitchen cabinets, and probably wouldn’t feel as helpless as she does relying on a wheelchair.”

  Zoey shrugged. “Dunno. But Benny and my dad fixed the back step while you were gone. Benny feels awful that he didn’t do it the day Erma told him it was loose.”

  “I could tell he felt responsible. Zoey, can you set the table while I wake Erma and help her dress?”

  Nodding, Zoey went to a freestanding buffet and hutch. J.J. entered Erma’s room through the alcove and snapped on a lamp. The room flooded with light, but the woman on the bed didn’t stir.

  J.J. touched her shoulder. “Erma, I’m back.” Erma’s eyes flickered opened, but barely.

  “We need to find you something comfortable to wear. Oh, a robe will work,” J.J. said, spotting a cotton one looped over one bedpost.

  Erma gazed vacantly at J.J., then closed her eyes again. J.J. tried a second time, but no luck. However much painkiller the doctor had prescribed, Erma seemed down for the immediate future.

  Leaving the room, she propped the door ajar so they could hear Erma if she awakened.

  “Where’s Erma?” Zoey asked, rushing up to J.J.

  “I’m afraid we’re on our own fixing supper. Those pills zonked Erma out.”

  “Hoo boy!”

  “Do you have any idea what she planned to cook this evening?”

  “We bought stuff for a salad from Brandy’s mom. My dad put it in the fridge. Oh, I remember Erma said she thawed hamburger to make meat loaf. Do you know what else goes in meat loaf?”

  “No, but I can read a cookbook.” She would normally look recipes up on her smartphone, but her data coverage was spotty in La Mesa.

  Zoey nodded. “Erma has a whole shelf full of cookbooks.” She pointed to a row of books standing upright between bookends made from horseshoes.

  J.J. smiled at that as she did a quick reconnaissance of the kitchen. She realized she’d been wrong earlier. Mack’s kitchen had been renovated. The cabinets were the same, but the appliances were new, stainless steel and big. The stove had six burners with a huge griddle in the center. The burners sat above double ovens. The refrigerator also looked industrial-size. It had side-by-side doors with a deep drawer at the bottom. An equally big upright freezer flanked the fridge on the other side.

  “My dad loves chocolate cake,” Zoey announced as she dogged J.J.’s footsteps. “He told Erma one time he’d be happy to eat cattle feed if he had chocolate cake for dessert.”

  “Then by all means, let’s bake a cake. Uh, I hope Erma has cake mixes and doesn’t whip hers up from scratch.”

  Zoey laughed and led J.J. across the room to a pantry that could pass for a mom-and-pop grocery store in New York City. Everything was lined up in order. J.J. selected a chocolate-chocolate cake mix, and a box of powdered sugar and dark cocoa for frosting.

  “I’ll get bowls,” Zoey said, and ran to another cupboard. She pulled out two bowls and two round cake tins.

  “Great, I’ll mix this and put it in to bake if you’ll set out salad stuff. And we need to find a meat loaf recipe.” J.J. figured out how to preheat both ovens before she retrieved eggs from the fridge. She and Zoey worked in companionable silence for a while.

  “Coffee,” Zoey blurted as J.J. slid two cake pans into the oven. “My dad and the men drink gallons of coffee at every meal.”

  “No problem. I’ll start coffee brewing and then tackle the meat loaf if you rinse the vegetables.” She pulled carrots out of the fridge and a red onion. “We’ll add these and our salad will be complete.”

  Zoey took the veggies to the sink. “Erma also does mashed potatoes and gravy whenever we have meat loaf.”

  J.J. closed her eyes and pressed the heel of one hand against her forehead. “That’s a lot of food, but I suppose the men burn tons of calories chasing cows or whatever
they do on the ranch. I think good gravy is an art.”

  Zoey didn’t say anything.

  “I know. I’ll bake potatoes in the oven with the meat loaf. Will you scrub a dozen potatoes while I mix the meat loaf?”

  “Sure. Cooking is hard, isn’t it, J.J.? Erma makes it seem easy.”

  “It’s probably like any job, Zoey. If you do something often enough it becomes second nature.” J.J. cracked a few eggs over the ground beef. The oven timer dinged. She rinsed her hands, found mitts and removed two perfect-looking pans of chocolate cake—if she did say so herself. Sighing with relief she set them aside to cool.

  “Oh, no! Zoey, you opened two cookbooks to meat loaf recipes but they’re not alike at all. One calls for cracker crumbs, the other oatmeal. One uses tomato soup, the other tomato sauce. Any idea which Erma prefers?”

  “I dunno.” Zoey shook her head.

  “I saw oatmeal in the pantry.” J.J. hurried across the room. From the depths of the pantry she called, “I see canned tomatoes and salsa, but no tomato sauce or soup.”

  “Erma puts salsa on our enchiladas, and Benny pours it over his breakfast eggs. Soup isn’t in the pantry. It’s in the top cupboard next to the stove.”

  J.J. brought out oatmeal and the other ingredients. She lined them up on the counter, and took the time to look in on Erma again.

  After she came back into the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher, she dried her hands and said, “I think the cake is cool enough to turn out and frost. I’ll do that now and finish the salad while the meat loaf cooks. By the way, the table looks perfect. But do you ever put candles on the table for ambience?”

  “Erma has mason jars of candles we burn if we lose power and my dad is out with the cattle. When he gets home he starts the generator. What’s ambience?” Zoey leaned her elbows on the counter.

  J.J. laughed as she stirred up frosting from powdered sugar, cocoa and butter, and spread it over the bottom cake layer she’d turned onto a crystal platter she’d found in the hutch. “Ambience is creating a pleasant mood. If we put the men in a good mood they won’t notice a few imperfections with the meal.”

  “That’s smart. I’ll get the candles. The potatoes are scrubbed.”

  Giving the top layer of the cake a final swipe with the spatula, J.J. smiled with satisfaction and rinsed the empty frosting bowl. She poked holes in the potatoes before putting them in to bake, a trick she learned from her mom. She actually hummed while she measured dry ingredients to mix with the hamburger. “Where did you say I’d find tomato soup, Zoey?”

  “The upper cupboard to the left of the stove.”

  J.J. pulled open the door and a can fell out. She grabbed for it, but missed. “Oh, no! No, no!” she yelped. “I can’t believe it. My cake!”

  Zoey ran out of the dining room. “What happened?”

  “A can of chicken noodle soup fell out of the cupboard and made a huge crater in my beautiful cake.” Gingerly, J.J. tugged out the buried can. The bottom was covered in frosting and cake crumbs. “I should have moved the cake to the center island.”

  “What a mess,” Zoey said. It was obvious she was holding back a laugh. “Can you fix it?”

  J.J. rinsed the can and set it on a paper towel. “I’m not sure.” She moved the cake before another teetering can could fall and do more damage.

  “You could fill the hole with frosting,” Zoey suggested, rising on tiptoe to inspect the damage.

  “That would be a sickening amount of chocolate even for a chocolate lover. I need to finish the meat loaf and get it in to cook, then toss the salad so at least the main meal will be done by the time your dad and the others come in. I’ll try to repair the cake after.”

  “I’m sorry, J.J.” Zoey gave her an impulsive hug.

  “Thanks. I hope Erma feels well enough to supervise tomorrow. I’m out of my element, and I wanted this meal to be good to show your dad I’m not helpless.” For a moment she rested her cheek atop Zoey’s hair.

  “You’re great, J.J. I put four jar candles down the center of the table. Maybe I’ll take away two. If it’s darker in the dining room and if you cut the cake in here, I bet no one will notice. It’ll still taste yummy.”

  J.J. laughed. “That’s an excellent suggestion, kiddo. Just keep your fingers crossed that nothing else goes wrong.”

  Zoey grinned back. “I can’t tear lettuce with my fingers crossed.”

  “Me, neither—I need two hands to work the soup and oatmeal into the hamburger.”

  “I liked meat loaf better before I found out what goes into it,” Zoey said as they both returned to their chores.

  A few minutes later, J.J. looked up. “This recipe calls for a whole can of tomato soup. I’ve poured in half a can and the mixture seems really juicy. I wonder how much hamburger Erma thawed. Maybe it wasn’t as much as this recipe calls for. It says it serves a dozen.”

  “Counting you and me, there’s only gonna be six of us. Seven if Erma wakes up.”

  J.J. studied the mixture. “We’re short on time. The recipe suggests dividing the meat loaf into two pans for faster cooking.” She shook her loose watch around her wrist to read it. “Erma said you eat at six-thirty. If I put this in the oven in two pans, it’ll be done on time. So will the potatoes.”

  “Are you gonna make gravy?”

  “No. I saw butter and sour cream in the fridge. That’s better on baked potatoes.” J.J. divided the meat mixture into two glass loaf pans and slid them into the oven. She poured the remaining soup down the drain.

  “The lettuce is ready to go. Want me to put the dressing and stuff on the table?” Zoey asked.

  “Please. And salt and pepper. Men love to pepper everything on their plates black and then turn it all white with salt.”

  “Benny does that. Daddy nags him.”

  “Hmm. Your dad’s father died of a stroke. Salt drives up the blood pressure, and high blood pressure can lead to a stroke.”

  “I forgot until Erma and Daddy were talking about it today that his mom died of cancer when he was eight. I wish people didn’t die.”

  J.J. glanced up from rinsing utensils. “It’s hard for those left behind to make sense of death, Zoey. I lost a best girlfriend in high school. Gina Mahoney. She died in a water skiing accident. And in college a good friend, Tom Corbin, was killed on his motorcycle. We all had a hard time with his loss. He was your dad’s friend, too.”

  “Erma said all living things have a season. And with people, some have short seasons and some have long ones. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  J.J. didn’t want to get into a deep philosophical discussion with Mack’s daughter. She covered the salad. “The meat loaf is already starting to smell good. Listen, I’ll go check on Erma, then we can see if any of those cookbooks have tips on repairing unplanned holes in layer cakes.”

  “It’s kinda funny when you think about it,” Zoey said, grinning.

  “To you. But I was probably feeling too smug about how nice it turned out,” J.J. agreed, sounding wry. “My mom always says pride goes before a fall.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means don’t get too full of yourself. Be right back.” J.J. set the salad in the fridge as she headed for Erma’s room.

  “Erma.” Bending down, J.J. shook the woman gently by the shoulder. “Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes. I doubt the doctor wants you to miss eating. Let me help you into the bathroom. You can wear your robe to supper.”

  Erma roused minimally. “I feel wrung out,” she mumbled. “Give me ten more minutes to gather myself. Oh, mercy...did you cook?”

  “With Zoey’s help. Will you promise not to go back to sleep if I give you ten minutes? I baked a cake, but a soup can fell out of the cupboard and landed in the middle of it. I’ll try to camouflage the damage, then I’ll come back f
or you.”

  Erma eased up on one elbow. At the end of a long groan, she said, “The men like fruit. There are sliced strawberries in a green container in the fridge.”

  “Perfect. See you soon,” J.J. said from the doorway.

  “Is Erma okay?” Zoey asked.

  “She needs ten minutes to pull herself together. She offered a solution for our cake problem.” J.J. explained about the berries. “There’s a lot you can learn from Erma, Zoey.”

  “About cooking.” Zoey handed J.J. the berry container. “At school almost all the girls in my class have pierced ears,” she said out of the blue. “In seventh grade girls wear skirts or dresses...and makeup. Erma only ever buys me jeans and plaid shirts. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. That’s a big reason why I sent your magazine that letter. I want my dad to meet and marry somebody who’ll do mom stuff with me.”

  While she mixed strawberries with some ready-whipped cream she found in the fridge, J.J. considered Zoey’s hazel eyes and reddish braids—totally unlike Mack’s nearly black hair and smoky eyes. As she’d done earlier at the library, J.J. tried to picture Faith, whom she hadn’t known well. She thought Faith had blue eyes and ash-toned hair. But either parent could certainly have had red hair in their backgrounds.

  “What about your grandmother Adams?” J.J. asked. “Is she still around?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t see them much. They don’t believe girls should ever cut their hair, or wear skirts that show their knees. I wore jeggings at Christmas, and Grandpa called them sinful.” Zoey licked the spoon J.J. had set aside. “All my friends at school wear jeggings. I don’t see what’s sinful about them.”

  More memories came back to J.J. Faith’s dad was a preacher of a very conservative church. Faith had defied them to attend Tech on a scholarship. Her parents had ordered her to turn it down to attend a bible college. Her refusal caused a huge rift. J.J. knew Mack had encouraged Faith’s rebellion. Maybe he’d had an ulterior motive. But she couldn’t think about that when, clearly, Zoey was asking her advice.