Page 7 of Tempting the Heart

My father’s dark eyes flashed to mine. “No.”

I refused to lose my patience with them. I wasn’t going to slide back into the cycle from my childhood.

“Then why did you ask me to come?” The question was for either of them, and they both remained silent. “If I remember correctly, you had both Paul and me on the phone and saidyou would feel more comfortable if one of us drove you to the sessions. Correct?”

“I don’t remember saying that,” my dad mumbled.

My brows rose. “Mom?”

“I don’t remember what we talked about.”

“Well, forget the change of clothes.” I reached for his walker, opened it, and wheeled it in front of his chair. Paul and I bought this electric recliner when my mom had her knee surgery, and it proved to be very useful. I grabbed the button to raise his recliner slowly. It could go two ways. He could either use the walker or tumble to the ground. I knew my father had the will of self-preservation in him, so I was willing to take the risk.

He grabbed at the walker.

“I’ll buy lunch after you finish physical therapy.”

“A cheeseburger and fries.”

“That’s fine.” I nodded, helping him to the door.

He knocked his elbow into my ribcage. “Don’t help me.”

“What about the stairs?”

“I’m fine.”

I nodded as I opened the door and watched him trip over the threshold. I hated to see anyone struggle. It didn’t matter whether they were good people or not. It wasn’t pleasant.

I instinctively reached for my father’s waist and helped him down the stairs with the walker, and he didn’t say a word.

Thankfully, the truck wasn’t too tall, and he grabbed the bar and pulled himself in as I helped with his leg.

So far, so good.

I put his walker in the truck bed, climbed into the cab, and started the engine. I glanced at my dad, noticing how angry he looked. He’d always been angry.

“This woman had better know what she’s doing,” he grumbled. “I don’t want any of these local hacks to screw me up more.”

“No one is going to screw you up. It’s very difficult to get into school for this profession. She’ll do the best she can, but a lot of it rests on your shoulders and how much therapy you do at home.”

I could feel his eyes on me as he let out a huff and started up again. “I can’t stand this God-forsaken place. You’re lucky you got out when you did.”

“The island seems to have grown a lot,” I said, trying to keep the conversation positive. “Lots of great-looking restaurants and shops.”

“It’s all ridiculous. Nobody needs to come to Marigold Island.”

“Dad, it’s actually a beautiful place.”

“Then why’d you and your brother leave if it’s so great?” His eyes narrowed on me as I drove back into town.

Now wasn’t the time to explain that it had nothing to do with the island and everything to do with him and my mother. There was no point in bringing it up. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

My job was to get my father to physical therapy three times this week so that he could do the exercises at home, and I could get out of here.

Simple as that.

I spotted the bungalow that had been painted a bright blue with even brighter white trim and turned into the physical therapy office. The little sign hung from the awning. A ramp went along the side filled with flower baskets with trailing purple and white petunias.

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