Page 71 of A Class of Her Own

He turned, not bothering to lift the protective eye gear. “Willow?”

“No, Dad, it’s Meredith. I just fell through the back steps. When was the last time you checked them?”

He smiled a soft, dazed smile that told me he was only half listening. Home repair was lower on his list than almost anything else. “Oh, Evergreen, don’t fuss.”

I swallowed hard. I was going to get called Evergreen all day, and I hated it when he told me not to fuss. I clamped down on heated words as I watched him continue to run his hands over whatever he was working on.

Then, with no warning whatsoever, they leaked out. “Guess what, Forest Atwood? Somebody has to fuss, and that somebody has always been me.”

He stopped, and his head raised. “Nobody asked you to do that.”

My jaw tensed, and I folded my arms. “Nobody had to. I did it to keep my sisters from suffering because you couldn’t be bothered to care.”

His eyes sharpened, and I watched as his face crumpled. Regret and recrimination passed across his expression and were mirrored in mine. I’d tried to talk to him several times over the years, and when nothing had changed I’d stopped. Today, of all days, was not the time to resurrect this issue. It was Christmas, and this was pointless.

I cleared my throat. “Well, it’s Christmas morning. Time to come inside and have some food and exchange gifts.”

He looked down at the object in his hand, and my eyes followed. “I thought I had a few more weeks.” He held it up, and I could see that it was a cutting board with the beginnings of a beautiful tree etched into it. “I was going to give each of you girls one of these. See the tree? It represents our family. The Atwoods. All my girls have tree names.”

Mixed feelings rushed to the forefront. Tenderness for his attempt to do something thoughtful for us. Annoyance at the fact that it was always too late and usually too little. Chances were that was the first one he’d even started. I watched as he stood there, his hair gray and his hands scarred from the life he’d chosen. Did he realize how alone that life had made him? Was he like this when Mom was alive? I fell into the comfortable pattern of gruffness to hide the range of emotions I was experiencing.

“I’m sorry, but you’re too late. Maybe next year?” I stated.

His nod was slow. “I guess so.”

“Why don’t you set it down and come inside to clean up?” I gestured outside as I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. “Willow’s here. And she’s brought someone special for you to meet.”

Dad set the cutting board down on the workbench and tugged off his goggles, making his hair stand on end. “I met him, but I don’t remember his name.”

“It’s Steve. What did you think of him?”

Dad shrugged and dusted off his shirt and pants. “Don’t remember that either.”

Had I grown up with a father who remembered things, I may have found this conversation troubling and wondered if he needed to be checked for dementia. As it stood this was nothing more than a regular morning, trying to get Dad to tune into the world around him.

I led the way out of the shed and waved at Willow as she got out of the driver’s side of her vehicle. She waved back, and I watched as the passenger door opened and the mysterious Steve climbed out. He was average height, not much taller than Willow, with dark hair and a mustache that made me think of Tom Selleck in his glory days. Thinking of Tom Selleck made a forgotten image of Mom pop into my head. She was a fan of his showMagnum P.I.and watched reruns at night. She’d given me a bath and then combed my hair while we watched the show. She’d joked about how if she ever left my father, it would be for him. How ironic that this look-alike was who Willow had manifested into her life.

“You must be Steve,” I said as I closed the distance and held out my hand. “I’m Meredith.”

Steve smiled, making his mustache lift in a way I found incredibly entertaining. I was going to get to watch it all day. “Hi Meredith. Willow has told me a lot about you. I’m happy to meet you.”

Willow came around and gave me a hug, and I was enveloped in her special Christmas scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. “Happy Christmas, Sis.”

When she straightened I pointed to the back steps. “So, yeah, fell through the steps this morning. There’s now a missing one we’ll have to hop over as we go in and out. Try not to break something.”

“By ‘something’ she means any food items and gifts.” Willow winked at Steve. “She’s not that worried about our limbs.”

I grinned. “Your limbs are always at risk here. Seems redundant to keep mentioning it.”

Willow and Steve laughed, and I moved to my car to gather the remaining items. Dad was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, while I’d been meeting Steve, he’d slipped away. The back door was open, so I hoped he’d gone that way and hadn’t meandered back into the shop. I watched Willow and Steve go ahead of me into the house, stretching out to miss the hole. As my turn came I felt a drop of something cold and wet splat on the top of my head just as I leaned forward to bridge the gap. I looked up in time to catch another drop on my cheek. The rain gutter dangled above me, dripping melting snow as the morning warmed up.

Another day in Paradise.

My legs dangled off my bed as I lay on my back looking up at my ceiling later that night. My belly hurt from laughing as I regaled Ash with tales from family Christmas.

“First, Dad wouldn’t stop calling Steve by the wrong name. It was always something that started with an S, but never the right name. ‘Stan, can you pass the butter? Stuart, can you hand me the juice? What do you do for a living, Simon?’ By the end of the day, Steve had stopped trying to correct him, and Willow was shooting death laser beams out of her eyes at Dad,” I giggled. “It was actually truly funny for once.”

“He didn’t do that to Jake,” Ash chuckled.

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