Page 56 of Hiss and Make Up
“Marc? I don’t remember a Marc.”
“Oh,” she chewed and swallowed. “Scott. He goes by Marc now for work. Sportswriter.”
“Ah, yes. I remember him.” He cleared his throat. Subtle. Real subtle. “And?”
“And someone’s messing with his family.”
“And you had to save them?”
“I’m not saving them.”
“Sure you are.”
“No, I’m not.” She stabbed at her omelet.
“It’s what you do. People aren’t so different from stray dogs or a lizard in the house or a turtle in the middle of the road.”
“And what about you? Still trying tosavethis place?” She gestured at the peeling paint around them.
He flipped his omelet and slid it onto his own plate. “I’m not judging. Everything needs a little help now and then. People, animals, houses. I’m proud of you.”
Sierra rolled her eyes and took another bite. “This is really good,” she said with her mouth full.
“Thank you. I know,” he said. “Now how’s Marc?”
“Marc’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yes, Dad,” she said. “Do you really want more details?”
“Probably not.”
They stood facing each other while they ate their omelets in silence, sizing each other up. Finally, her dad’s curiosity won out.
“So…Marc, is it?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Why not?”
Sierra shrugged and set her empty plate on the table. After the last sip from her mug mimosa, she said, “It just isn’t.”
He finished his own drink and stared at his daughter. “You can’t blame your mom for everything, you know.”
“I’m not blaming her for anything,” Sierra said. “She doesn’t get that kind of credit.”
“Fine, then you’re using her as an excuse to not take a chance.”
“No, I’m just not hurting myself a second time.”
He set his own plate in the sink. “Maybe no one gets hurt this time.”
How many second and third and tenth chances had he given her mom? Where did that get him?
“My choice.” She put her plate in the sink and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to cut this short today.”
“Marc?” His voice lifted with the question.
