Page 22 of Meet Me in the Valley
But playing pretend police lost its magic as the years went on, and I traded plastic handcuffs for sketch pads. I loved to take what was in my head and put it all down on paper. Random things at first. Doodles.
My favorite cartoon characters I’d sketch from memory. Still-life was fun too, like Dad’s favorite coffee mug or the police badge that he hung with pride in his office.
Dad wasn’t disappointed when my dreams shifted. He’d always supported me. He never expected me to follow in hisfootsteps with law enforcement, even if everyone else in this town did.
But then I had this fascination with houses.
“One day, I’ll have my dream house, baby. I’ll finally have that wraparound porch with the swing to match so you and me can drink sour lemonade together. And forget the stairs. No one wants to deal with stairs when you get older. It can be bad for the knees—you know that right, baby?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, but the living room needs to be wide open so we can play games and watch movies together. I can watch you sketch new dreams from the kitchen while I make your favorite foods like spaghetti with meat sauce and?—”
“Sloppy Joes!”
“Yes, of course! How could I forget? And I want a large bay window looking out to my garden in the backyard. We can plant all sorts of things together and play in the dirt. How does that all sound?”
“Good. I’ll make it for you.”
“My house?”
“Mhmm. I’ll make it the best because I’m going to build houses. Will that make you happy?”
“Youmake me happy, Logan. Justyou.”
I used to draw houses. All kinds—big, small, modern, classic. I got so good at it, I ended up going to school for it. Even after she left us, the dream of designing homes never left me.
Not even when she walked away from ours.
“Son? Did you hear what I said?” Dad’s voice rips me away from my thoughts. He’s looking at me from over the laptop that sits between us. His eyes flit back to the road as we drive toward Main Street.
“Sorry, Dad. What did you say?”
“I said I have a date tonight.”
I grin and reach over, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder. My dad hasn’t been on a date in years. I’ve encouraged him on more than one occasion to get back on the horse, but this man was always so hung up on my mom. She didn’t deserve his pining.
“No shit? That’s awesome, Dad! Who’s the lucky lady?”
For someone who has a date tonight, he looks like he’s got a stick up his ass. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter with one hand while the other rubs nervously up and down his thigh.
My dad is a good-looking guy. He keeps himself fit by working out multiple times a week. Running, lifting weights. He’s even picked up boxing. The age lines on his face are there, but they make him look mature. Well respected. We share the same sandy blond hair, and I’m grateful he gave me his hairline. He’s a total catch. Any woman would be lucky to have his attention.
But the way his face twists with uncertainty has me ready to give him a man-to-man pep talk.
“Why are you nervous, Chief? You know you’ve got every woman in this town in the palm of your hand, right?”
“I don’t care about all of that,” he says softly. There’s a distance in his gaze, a look I know all too well. One I’d hope would fade with time. One I can’t bear witness to anymore, because for the hundredth time—shedoesn’t fucking deserve it.
“Oh, come on,” I sigh. “Listen, Dad. You deserve to be happy. When are you going to let go? She’s not coming back.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face,” I clip back, scrubbing a frustrated hand over my jaw.
How many times am I going to have this conversation with him? Anytime my mother is concerned, the parental roles reverse. I shouldn’t have to be talking my dad off the ledge because he isn’t over his ex-wife.
“You’re one to talk, Son. Do you think I’m dumb enough not to see the women you keep at arm’s length? Are you ever going to settle down one day instead of playing these games?”
