Stella could still see her mother’s happy dance through the living room after Stella was accepted into Cornell like it was yesterday. Stella joined Sarah, laughing and dancing around the house while Hank and Jase popped the champagne. It was one of those never forget moments, like when Sawyer kissed her for the first time under the bleachers during a Friday night game. Taking a tight turn, the tires cried out, protesting the abrupt change in direction. Her heart sank at the sight of her old street. It was time. This was another never forget moment, one Sarah would be so disappointed to witness. In a perverse sort of way, Stella was glad she wasn’t around to see how things turned out, to see how Stella failed.
Hank’s house was dark when she pulled into the drive. Not even the porch light was on. She wasn’t expecting balloons but a little light would be nice. Taking a steadying breath, she got out of the car and stretched, her body sore from the road and the motel’s hard-as-a-rock excuse for a mattress.
And from Roman.
Shuffling her turquoise Nikes – that would now have to last for the rest of her broke-ass life – up the driveway, Stella prepared her mind and tongue for battle. Her exhaustion, however, made that a feeble endeavor. A loon called out from somewhere in the distance, the lake beyond the house as black as the night itself. Stopping on the front porch, she stared at the red front door, guilt hunching her shoulders. The thought of even looking at her father, let alone talking to him, drained what little energy she had left and the decision to leave came easy. She could use a drink, or three, before this went any further. By then, Hank would be fast asleep and they could put this ugly mess off for one more day. What could it hurt? She turned for her car and the porch light flipped on, gluing her shoes to the white planks. The front door cracked open and Stella turned to see her father’s massive frame fill the doorway.
Hank took her in for a second or two, a warm smile pulling into his cheeks. “There she is!” he said, stepping aside.
“Hi Daddy.” Stella stepped inside like it might be a trap, like the entire town might be waiting to throw her one hell of a surprise intervention.
“Sorry, I forgot to turn on the light,” he said, shutting the door and turning to face her. “I just got home a little while ago myself.” They held each other’s gaze while the TV splashed a blue hue across the living room walls.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” His smile made his thin eyes shine like jewels.
A tension-filled silence stood between them, keeping them apart. Stella broke through it and rushed into his arms. Hank lifted her off her feet and wrapped her in his famous bear hug, his cologne making her feel right at home. Stella choked out a laugh when he cut the airflow to her lungs. He set her down and she drew back, gazing up into those narrow eyes that always made him look like he was on the verge of smiling.
“I’m glad you made it okay,” he said, pulling his big and tall Dallas Cowboys t-shirt down. “That drive makes me nervous.”
Stella played with the car keys in her hands. “It’s not that bad,” she lied.
“Oh, those came for you today.”
She followed his nod to the pink carnations resting on a sofa table against the wall. Her brow folded as she walked over.
Hank scratched his head, watching her pluck the card from the flowers. “Are you…seeing someone?”
“No.” Pulling the card from the tiny envelope, her pulse quickened with the handwritten words.
Can’t wait to see you again!
It’s been too long and lonely without you.
Frowning, she read it again, trying to imagine who in the world would send flowers to her father’s house like a total idiot. Talk about a dick move. Whoever it was, it left a bad taste in her mouth.
Hank stood with his hands planted on his wide hips. “Well?”
Stella slipped the card back into the envelope and tucked it into her purse, promising herself to burn it later. “My roommates,” she replied, forcing a smile. “They’re so sweet.”
Hank wagged a finger at her, the ghost of a grin tugging on his lips.
“What?”
“Haven’t even been home ten minutes and they’re already knocking down the door.” He sighed. “Some things never change.”
“I’d hardly say they’re knocking down the door,” she said, nervously toying with her hair.
He laughed and wrapped an arm around her. “You hungry?”
“Not really,” she replied, letting him escort her through the living room and into the kitchen. She stopped on a dime and shook his heavy arm from her shoulders. Stark horror pressed against the back of her eyes. “Oh my God.”
Hank followed her unnerved gaze around the room and shifted his weight. “Remodeled it last month,” he said, pouring some plain Pringles into two bowls like he used to do when she was little. He slid one across the granite and lifted his brow. “You like it?”
Like it? She hated it. All traces of her mother were completely gone. The thin island they prepared peanut butter cookies on was now a massive slab of granite with four tall chairs bordering its curved edges. Her wary gaze stopped on the powder blue oven her mother cooked her annual Thanksgiving turkey in that was no longer powder blue. In its stead, sat a stainless steel six-burner with a range hood hovering above it like an alien mother ship.
“I hate it, and thanks for asking for my help.” She took in the dark cabinetry setting off the cookies and cream granite with her mouth hanging open. “I know I didn’t finish, but I was going to school for interior design.”
“Sorry, it couldn’t wait,” he said, pulling two bottles of beer from the fridge. “I’ve got another project for you.”
Stella slumped into one of the chairs and searched the modern space for a piece of her traditional mother, who would forever be stuck in the past. Even her prized collection of coffee grinders was gone. It wasn’t right. How could the man who still visited his wife’s grave once a week do this? It didn’t make sense. Stella thought this house would fall to pieces with her mother’s things but now a side-by-side refrigerator matched the new oven. And where was the picture of them smiling beneath the hot Florida sun attached by a magnet in the shape of the Eiffel Tower? Did he throw those away too?
“A big project,” Hank added, pulling her from memory lane.
Her eyes got round. “The craft room?”
“Already did that. It’s a game room now.” He handed her a beer and sat down next to her.
“Game room?”
“Mainly poker.” He scooted to the edge of his seat, holding a hand up to stop her from going any further. “Now, this is big and I want you to oversee the entire operation.”
Her face stiffened, the seriousness in his voice peaking her curiosity. “Like what?”
He raised his bushy brown eyebrows, studying her under the dim kitchen lights. “The bar,” he whispered.
She leaned back and clapped a hand over her chest, jaw smacking the granite. “Are you serious?” she asked, chomping at the bit. She had been riding him for years to remodel that cabin in the woods Hank called a restaurant and now it was finally here. And whether out of pity or just something to keep her out of trouble, Stella didn’t care. The future flashed before her eyes – picking out furnishings, directing a crew of skilled workers (some hot and shirtless), and changing the entire menu and uniforms from top to bottom. It might just be the distraction she was looking for. Plus, it would strengthen her flimsy portfolio and give her a shot at a real job in the city. Her bowled over reaction brought a glimmer to Hank’s eyes. He knew how much this meant to her.
“It’s one of the first things I want you to get started on next week. As soon as the boating season ends, I want to start moving on this before it gets too cold.”
“Oh my God,” she said, taking a quick breath. “We can play off a modern lake house theme with clean lines, sea foam colored walls, soft jazz, a sleek new menu, porcelain dinnerware…”
He held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa…a sleek new menu?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Daddy, do you want to do this right or not? Not changing the menu is like not changing the motor on those car shows you watch and you know it.”
He ran a hand down his face, signaling his surrender. “To be honest, I don’t really care; I’m ready to retire. This place is for you kids but I want it to work. Don’t half-ass it.”
“I won’t,” she replied, already picking out the silk curtains in her mind.
“Relax for a few days and get your head on straight, you’ve had a rough go. Just make sure you get with Jase before doing anything.”
A slow frown dug into her face. “But I have the lead on this, right?”
“You have the lead,” he said with a slow chuckle. “Just keep the summer people in mind; they pay the bills. Oh, and there’s a new grill going up on the other side of the lake – The Paddle or something stupid like that. There will be some extra competition coming so keep that in mind as well.”
She nodded rapidly. “I’ll start drawing up some designs tomorrow.”
Hank pressed his lips together, mulling something over in his head. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Her budding joy lost some pressure. “Jase already told me.”
“About Debbie?”
She nodded and took a drink of her cold beer, afraid to ask what Hank did with her mother’s French café themed pictures.
Hank sighed. “I told him not to tell you until…” he trailed off and rubbed his tired eyes. “Hell of a thing.”
Stella’s stomach turned. It felt wrong to even ask but she needed to know. “Was it really suicide?”
Hank blew out a long stream, chest sinking into the beer gut hiding beneath the bar. “I hope not. She just got back from visiting Sawyer up in the city and had a great time. Ran into her at the bar and she went on and on about how well he’s doing.” Hank slid a magazine across the granite. “Brought me a copy of his first comic book.”
Stella instantly recognized Sawyer’s distinct artwork, which was more breathtaking than anything she’d seen before. Crisp lines softened around the edges while vibrant colors rose and fell into shades of gray and black. She picked it up for a closer inspection of the cover. Silhouetted against a harvest moon, Bigfoot stood atop a pine laden hill, watching over a sleepy town below. Stella smoothed her fingers over the glossy image, recalling Sawyer spinning his tales around the fire pit when they were young, cooking s’mores and hearing things in the dark that weren’t really there.
“It’s beautiful,” Stella murmured, smiling at the winged creature hanging limply in Bigfoot’s massive hand. Thanks to the miles of wooded hills surrounding the lake, and an influx of city dwellers during the summer months, Cottage Grove has the third highest number of Bigfoot sightings in the nation. As a boy, Sawyer imagined Bigfoot as a protective creature watching over them as they slept, there to stop the boogeyman before he could come out from under the bed. Despite that wishful thinking, Sawyer still wouldn’t step foot into Mortimer Woods at night. No one would.
Stella looked up with surprise in her eyes. “He got published?”
Hank nodded proudly. “I guess the next two editions are printing as we speak. I’m going to order some to sell at the bar. Tourists will eat that stuff up with the legends running rampant around here.”
“That’s a great idea.” She leafed through the pages. “And it’s a graphic novel, not a comic book. Get it straight, Dad.”
He fanned a hand through the air. “Graphic novel is just a fancy term for a comic book.”
“Try telling that to Sawyer.” She stopped on a snapshot of a pretty damsel in distress, eyes thinning. Tabitha had the same long blonde hair and running shoes as Stella, and pointed a small thing of mace at two knife-wielding homeless people inching closer on a lonely lakeside trail. The next panel showed a hulking figure watching from inside the trees, eyes glowing green in the dense forest shade.
“Look like anyone you know?” Hank tipped his beer back, watching her out the corner of his eye.
She shut the book with a loud slap and slid it back across the island. “A blonde Courtney Kardashian?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“No, it’s you.”
“No, it’s not.” Stella turned from her father’s proud smile to the cabinets she could no longer see through. Her mother loved those glass fronts with her pretty dishes stacked neatly inside. What had he done? “Did you go to the funeral?”
He flipped through some pages, stopping on a picture of Bigfoot throwing the two hobos into the lake and, simultaneously, scaring off the pretty girl. “It was a small service, but nice. She would’ve liked it.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “I heard they found pills next to her bed.”
He took another swig and hid behind the bottle for a moment or two.
Stella turned her bottle in her hands. Some psychologists say it takes ten years to even begin getting over a traumatic event and it hadn’t yet been four.
“Don’t go rushing to judgments.” Hank slipped a Pringle into his mouth and crunched down. “Like the rest of us, she couldn’t sleep from time to time. We’ll wait for the toxicology report like everyone else.”
Stella buried her face in her hands, hiding the tears building behind her eyes, wondering what would happen next. It obviously wasn’t finished with them yet and that thought alone struck a chord of fear into her soul.
“Sawyer looks good.”
She looked up and her father nodded.
“Asked about you.”
“What’d he say?”
Hank shrugged loosely and ate another Pringle. “Wanted to know how you were doing.”
“And what’d you tell him?”
“Just that you were coming back and…”
“You told him I was coming back?”
He frowned. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Did you tell him about school?”
“Didn’t get that far.” He brushed a hand through his thinning sandy brown hair. “Poor kid. He and Jase were so close growing up, always felt like a son to me.”
Stella shivered with a case of the creeps. “What else did you tell him?”
He took her hand and peered at her over a pair of imaginary reading glasses. “Nothing.” A thin smile compressed his lips. “Said he’s going to stick around for a bit and fix up the house before selling it. Jase is going to help him out so I may need you running lead at the bar here and there over the next few weeks.”
Stella took a long drink, wishing she’d known all of this before driving a bazillion miles back here for the last two days. She would’ve rather lived in her car than get thrown back onto this emotional rollercoaster.
“How about you? You plan on sticking around for awhile?”
She lifted a shoulder to an ear. “Not much choice.”
“Well, I for one hope you do. I have missed you so much and I’m really looking forward to us catching up.”
Stella took a deep breath and held it, finding solace in her father’s warm eyes. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. The last thing I ever wanted to do was embarrass you.”
His Adam’s apple went up and down. “You could never embarrass me. You are a smart and beautiful woman and college isn’t for everyone.”
Her heart sputtered in her chest, threatening to roll over and die on the spot.
He patted her hand. “We will find something that is for you, okay?”
“So, you’re not mad?”
His bellowing laughter filled the kitchen. “I didn’t say that! You’ll be working at the bar for the rest of your life to pay me back, but on the bright side...you get one free meal per shift.”
“Great,” she muttered, coiling a lock of hair around her finger.
Hank’s face sobered. He pushed his bowl of chips back, signaling it was time to have the talk – the one about life and managing responsibilities and taking charge of it all. She knew she was getting off too easily. “Listen, honey,”
he said, filling his lungs, “I know things will always be…a struggle. There isn’t a day that goes by I don’t wrestle with thoughts of your mother, but at some point there comes a time when we have to move on.”
Stella grimaced. “You don’t have to bring mom into the conversation every time I have a setback. I get it.”
“I’m not bringing your mom into it; I’m just saying I understand how difficult…”
“We’ve had this conversation a hundred times.” Her hands curled into fists. “Mom is gone, Dad! I get it!”
Hank took a moment to keep his cool, eyes hardening. “I know your mother is gone, Stella.”
“Then quit using her as a crutch! Be your own parent, because you’re the only one left. Come up with something new for once!”
He stared at her for a few nonplussed seconds in the thunderstruck silence that followed, his mouth slowly shutting. Faintly, he nodded an understanding he clearly didn’t understand. The central air kicked on, seeming much louder than usual while Stella’s stomach twisted into ropes beneath her father’s heavy gaze. She cut him deeper than intended. Regret rained down, making her head drop.
Shit.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, a cold finger running down her back.
Hank got up and took her into his arms, pulling her against his warm chest. “Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”
Forgive & Regret Page 3