Page 26 of Take Me
Spinning his wheelchair around, my father studies me.“You look like an angel.”
Of course he’d say that.“I wish I knew more about clothes.”
“And most people wish they knew more about auto repair.”He winks.“Which one would you say comes in handier?”
“Depends on who you are, I guess.”My dad has a point, though.I wouldn’t trade my mechanical knowledge for all the clothes in the world.
It’s what helps me make sure other families won’t end up like mine.The accident that claimed Mom’s life and left Dad in a chair could have been prevented.Itshouldhave been prevented, if the lazy mechanic who rotated their tires had managed to tighten the lug nuts.Driving sixty on a curved, rainy highway is not the best time to have your tire fly off.
I shake off the memory and remove Hazel’s boots.“Did you really make shrimp tacos?”
“Yep!And I already set the table, so come out when you’re ready.”
“You’re the best.”
“See you in a sec.”He wheels toward the doorway, then pauses.“And you really do look like a million bucks.Your mom would be proud.”
“Thanks.”Blinking back tears, I tap the door shut and take off the clothes Hazel lent me.The wedding is tomorrow, and I’m still not sure what to wear.I might need another opinion.One that doesn’t come from a fifty-eight-year-old construction consultant or a well-heeled fashionista who wears eight-thousand-dollar boots to the library.
But I’m grateful for both of them, and feeling better about this weekend’s plans.I don’t ditch my dad very often.We share the same house, though his section is separate from mine.The one good thing to come out of the accident was an insurance settlement that helped us build on and make everything wheelchair accessible.The money took for freakin’ ever to come through, so Dad and I got tons of help from his construction buddies.
Two locking doors link us—one on each side of the house—and we flow back and forth to share meals and movie marathons.
“Dinner smells delicious,” I say as I stride into the dining room.I’ve changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, though I’m not sure I’m in for the evening.“Want me to make margaritas?”
“Nah,” he says, pouring two tall pints of beer.“I grabbed some of Mason’s new key lime Kolsch.”
“You stopped by Big One’s?”I try to keep my voice even, wondering what my father might have heard.
“Mason wasn’t there.Guess he stayed home to help his new dog adjust.”
“That’s nice.”
“It sure is.”My dad looks thoughtful.“Been thinking about getting a dog again.Something small and low maintenance, like Zippy.”
“God, I miss Zippy.”My dad’s little yorkie passed away five years ago, and I’ve wondered if Dad’s ready for another pet.“You’ll love Mason’s dog.He’s super cute and well-mannered.”
“What’s his name?”
“Scrumpy.”
My dad chuckles.“I look forward to meeting him.”He wheels to his spot at the head of the table.“You know, it’s funny.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, it seems like Mason’s girlfriend might’ve offered to help get the dog settled.How come you’re not over there now?”
“Jeez.”Groaning, I whip my napkin into my lap.“I hate small towns.”
My father laughs and sets two crispy shrimp tacos in front of me.“You do not.Come on, kiddo—spill it.”
One look at his face and I’m sure my dad guessed it already.“You know it’s fake, right?Mason and me?”
He shrugs and digs into his tacos.“Kinda figured I would have noticed if you’d suddenly gone all moony-eyed for the kid who crashed his scooter into the side of our house.”
I bite into a taco and swoon for my dad’s mango salsa.“To be fair, he’s grown up since then.”
“It was two years ago.”
