through clenched teeth. “I would like to slap you silly about now.”
“Got that. And go ahead. Be my guest.”
She let her arm drop to her side. “And give you an excuse to make me the bad guy? No, thanks.” She turned away, went to the rocking chair and plunked down into it. “Listen,” she said, rocking furiously.
Like he had a choice. “What?”
She stopped in mid-rock. “You told me you were here to try and get to know Johnny, to be part of his life.”
“That’s right, but—”
She cut him off. “There are no buts when it comes to being a dad. No buts. You don’t get to just take off because you feel bad, Bowie. Things go wrong and you know it’s your fault, so what? You fix it the best you can and you work hard not to make the same mistake twice. And you keep on. Got it? You stick around, no matter what.”
“Glory, I—”
She rolled right over him again. “Refresh my memory for me, will you?”
“It’s just that—”
“I seem to recall that when I said you could stay here, you promised you wouldn’t go running off, no matter how tough things got. I seem to recall your swearing to me that you wouldn’t desert Johnny again, no matter what.”
“I know that. I—”
“Just tell me. Just say it. Did you make that promise or did you not?”
He sagged against the door. The woman exhausted him. She always had. “All right. Yeah, I made that promise.”
“And do you intend to keep that promise?”
“I do, yes.” He said it with feeling. Because it was true.
She scoffed and pointed. “That duffel bag over there tells me differently.”
He straightened from the door. He was taller than her by more than a foot. And he had at least a hundred pounds of muscle and sinew over her. Yet somehow, she always seemed to know how to make him feel like something small and slimy that had just slithered out from under the nearest rock.
So what if she happened to be absolutely right in what she’d just said to him? Her rightness didn’t take any of the sting out of her harsh words.
“Well,” she prodded, sitting forward in the rocker, gripping the arms. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He grunted. “You know, you always did have the knack of making me feel about two inches tall.”
“Are you leaving?”
“No, I’m not. I got out the bag and stuffed a few things in it. And then I just sat there, on the cot, thinking about how I despised myself, and knowing that I was going nowhere.”
“Good.” The rocker creaked as she let it roll back again.
“What’s good? That I despise myself for what happened tonight—or that I’m not going anywhere?”
“I think you can figure that out for yourself.”
He dared to take a step away from the door. She had rested her head against the rocker back, shut her eyes and started rocking again. The fire was getting low. Leaving her a wide berth, he got a log from the wood basket and put it in the stove, then took the poker and stirred the coals a bit. He shut the stove door, put the poker away and sat in the easy chair.
She opened her eyes and looked across at him. For once, she spoke softly. “He’s going to be fine. And he told me that you warned him not to touch the knife.”
He admitted gruffly, “I should have protected him, not set the knife where he could get at it.”
She laughed then. The soft sound reminded him painfully of the old days. Of the nights in his room up under the eaves at the Sierra Star, of how happy he’d been just to love her and to know that she loved him back. “Look at it this way,” she said, “that’s a mistake you’re unlikely to make again. But don’t worry, you’ll mess up in a thousand other ways you never imagined you could. It’s the nature of being a parent.”
“If you’re trying to reassure me, it’s not working.”
“Me? Reassure you? Hah, like that’s ever gonna happen.” She rose from the rocker.
He looked up at her, thinking that she was the most beautiful woman
“Got that. And go ahead. Be my guest.”
She let her arm drop to her side. “And give you an excuse to make me the bad guy? No, thanks.” She turned away, went to the rocking chair and plunked down into it. “Listen,” she said, rocking furiously.
Like he had a choice. “What?”
She stopped in mid-rock. “You told me you were here to try and get to know Johnny, to be part of his life.”
“That’s right, but—”
She cut him off. “There are no buts when it comes to being a dad. No buts. You don’t get to just take off because you feel bad, Bowie. Things go wrong and you know it’s your fault, so what? You fix it the best you can and you work hard not to make the same mistake twice. And you keep on. Got it? You stick around, no matter what.”
“Glory, I—”
She rolled right over him again. “Refresh my memory for me, will you?”
“It’s just that—”
“I seem to recall that when I said you could stay here, you promised you wouldn’t go running off, no matter how tough things got. I seem to recall your swearing to me that you wouldn’t desert Johnny again, no matter what.”
“I know that. I—”
“Just tell me. Just say it. Did you make that promise or did you not?”
He sagged against the door. The woman exhausted him. She always had. “All right. Yeah, I made that promise.”
“And do you intend to keep that promise?”
“I do, yes.” He said it with feeling. Because it was true.
She scoffed and pointed. “That duffel bag over there tells me differently.”
He straightened from the door. He was taller than her by more than a foot. And he had at least a hundred pounds of muscle and sinew over her. Yet somehow, she always seemed to know how to make him feel like something small and slimy that had just slithered out from under the nearest rock.
So what if she happened to be absolutely right in what she’d just said to him? Her rightness didn’t take any of the sting out of her harsh words.
“Well,” she prodded, sitting forward in the rocker, gripping the arms. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He grunted. “You know, you always did have the knack of making me feel about two inches tall.”
“Are you leaving?”
“No, I’m not. I got out the bag and stuffed a few things in it. And then I just sat there, on the cot, thinking about how I despised myself, and knowing that I was going nowhere.”
“Good.” The rocker creaked as she let it roll back again.
“What’s good? That I despise myself for what happened tonight—or that I’m not going anywhere?”
“I think you can figure that out for yourself.”
He dared to take a step away from the door. She had rested her head against the rocker back, shut her eyes and started rocking again. The fire was getting low. Leaving her a wide berth, he got a log from the wood basket and put it in the stove, then took the poker and stirred the coals a bit. He shut the stove door, put the poker away and sat in the easy chair.
She opened her eyes and looked across at him. For once, she spoke softly. “He’s going to be fine. And he told me that you warned him not to touch the knife.”
He admitted gruffly, “I should have protected him, not set the knife where he could get at it.”
She laughed then. The soft sound reminded him painfully of the old days. Of the nights in his room up under the eaves at the Sierra Star, of how happy he’d been just to love her and to know that she loved him back. “Look at it this way,” she said, “that’s a mistake you’re unlikely to make again. But don’t worry, you’ll mess up in a thousand other ways you never imagined you could. It’s the nature of being a parent.”
“If you’re trying to reassure me, it’s not working.”
“Me? Reassure you? Hah, like that’s ever gonna happen.” She rose from the rocker.
He looked up at her, thinking that she was the most beautiful woman
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