Page 26 of In Safe Hands
“Training?”
“Lou Sparks asked if she could train with me and Chris, and then it kind of snowballed. Five or six people are coming over on Saturday afternoon.”
“Let me get this straight.” He glowered from under his bushy, light-colored brows. “Chris sent me tearing all the way over here because you’re throwing a party?”
It was on the tip of Daisy’s tongue to remind him that Connor Springs was only twenty miles away, but she swallowed the words. Gabe was building up to one of his rages, and she’d rather not have to clean up broken coffee mugs or explain new dents in the walls to her guests the next day.
“I’m not sure why he asked you to come here,” she said instead. “Did you want this coffee in a travel mug?”
His hand slapped the counter, the sound making her jump. “What do you think?” He stomped over to where he’d just left his boots. Daisy poured the French roast into a travel cup and secured the lid tightly. Her dad did not need to spill hot liquid on his lap. His head was already too close to spinning around, Exorcist-style.
As she waited for him to finish yanking on his coat, she debated whether she should ask him to pick up a few things before he left town again. When he turned toward her and she met his still-furious eyes, she silently held out his coffee instead. He snatched the cup and used his other hand to undo the locks, his abrupt movements testifying to his irritation. As soon as he was through the interior door, she hurried to close and relock it, knowing that he wouldn’t hesitate to slam through the outer door in his current mood.
Once the locks were secured, she moved to the living room window, opening the blinds so she could watch his older blue pickup as it accelerated away from the house. He turned onto the cross street, and she gave a humorless snort of laughter. Even the jerky way he steered his truck showed his annoyance.
Heading back into the kitchen, she debated whether she wanted a cup of coffee. The caffeine would be welcome, but her stomach was churning from her dad’s visit, and she didn’t think acidic coffee would go down too well. Setting aside the mental debate, she called Chris.
“Daisy. What’s up?”
She was a little disappointed that he sounded wide awake. It would’ve served him right if she’d jerked him out of a deep sleep. “Why exactly did you call my dad and tell him I needed him here?”
“Because you do.”
“I do? Why?”
“You need groceries, for one.”
“Seriously?” She groaned. “I make a throw-away comment about giving my training guests some munchies, and you have my dad drive all the way from Connor Springs?” Great, now she’d started with the “all the way” nonsense. It must’ve been catching. “That’s not a necessity. I’ll just tell everyone that it’s BYOSD.”
“Connor Springs is not that far. Also…wait. BYO-what-now?”
“Bring Your Own Sports Drink,” she translated. “And I know it’s not far. My dad was annoyed about losing half a day of work, though.”
After a short silence, Chris spoke in a dark voice that gave her the shivers for reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely. “How annoyed?”
“No crockery was broken.” She tried to keep her tone light, even faintly amused. “He wasn’t here long.”
“He left?” Again with the growly voice. “Why’d he even come back if he wasn’t going to stay?”
“After talking to you, I think he was convinced that I was dying. Once he saw that I was fine, he headed back to Connor Springs.”
“Why doesn’t he stay at home and commute to the job site every day? It’s Connor Springs, not Alaska.”
The answer to his question was something Daisy tried very hard not to think about, so she decided it was time to redirect the conversation. “Chris, I’m fine. Try to reserve the emergency calls to Dad for when I’m dying and/or dead, okay?”
“You’re not fine,” Chris said flatly. “Ever since you saw Macavoy moving that junk, you’ve been sleeping even less than usual, haven’t you?”
“No.” It was a lie. “In fact, Dad woke me up when he got here.”
“After what? An hour of sleep? Maybe two? You can’t do that to your body, Dais. You’ll go nuts.”
In a flare of defensive irritation, she snapped, “What does it matter, since I’m already crazy?”
There was another silence, which was finally broken by Chris’s sigh. “No, you’re not.”
She rubbed her forehead with a hand that shook. “What do you call not being able to leave the house? I’m not exactly rational.” Although she didn’t mention it, it didn’t seem exactly stable to mentally turn a pile of junk into a dead body, either. Maybe she was getting worse.
Instead of countering her argument, Chris suggested, “Why don’t you think about starting therapy again?”
