truck.
“So, explain to me again the purpose of this collage,” Libby said, taking a sip from her straw.
He stalled, drinking from his own cup, trying to decide how much he was prepared to share. “Well, you’ve met my daughter, right?”
Libby nodded.
“Do you know anything about… our situation?”
Libby glanced down at the table but then quickly back at him. There wasn’t any judgment there, or pity either. Only calm regard. “My sister told me Rachel’s mother died in a car accident about a year and a half ago.”
Tom set down his drink. “Did she tell you I was driving?”
“Yes, she told me that, too. And that Rachel lives with her grandparents. Why is that?”
He looked out the window and watched cars drive by, people going on their way, never thinking how that turn in the road might be their last. “She moved in with them while I was recuperating. It was supposed to be temporary. Now it’s going on a year and a half, and I can’t seem to get my daughter back.” He looked back at Libby.
She straightened in her seat. “That doesn’t make sense. They can’t just keep her there. I mean, she’s your daughter. They don’t have custody, do they?”
Tom felt a brief moment of gratitude that it hadn’t come to that. “No, there is nothing legally binding her to stay there. I just… I want her to come home because she wants to. Forcing her would just make her dislike me even more.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t dislike you.”
“I’m pretty sure she does. I was kind of… useless for a while after her mother died.”
“Useless?”
He didn’t want to tell her the details. She didn’t need to know about the pills and the booze. Not because she’d judge him, but because she might not. And if she looked at him with any kind of tenderness in those pretty blue eyes, he’d be lost.
“Rumor has it I was a little unpleasant to be around,” he murmured.
“And that’s why you’re going to a counselor together?”
The yellow-smocked waitress set red plastic baskets full of chili dogs and French fries in front of them. “Here you go.”
Tom waited until she was gone before answering Libby.
“Yes, that’s the reason for the counselor. And why I’m doing this art project with paste and scissors. Dr. Brandt says I need to meet Rachel at her level, and try to communicate in a method she can relate to, which leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.”
“How so?” She took a bite of her chili dog.
“Because I don’t understand high school girls any better now than when I was in high school. Maybe it’s just my opinion, but she seems a little touchy.”
Libby smiled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t recall being particularly rational during high school.”
“So it’s not just her, then?” He took a bite from his own chili dog.
“No, it’s pretty much a universal phenomenon, crazy-girl syndrome. She can’t really help it—raging hormones, peer pressure, schoolwork, stupid boys.”
“Are you referring to me?” He took another bite. This was a damn good hot dog.
“No.” She chuckled, wiping mustard off her finger. “I’m referring to the boys at Monroe High School.”
He dropped the remaining half of his chili dog into the basket. “Please don’t remind me that my daughter is surrounded by high school boys.” This topic he was completely too familiar with and yet entirely ill-equipped to handle.
Libby shook her head and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. She doesn’t seem like the very flirty type.”
“Does she make eye contact?”
“I assume so.”
“Then she’s flirty enough.”
Libby laughed, but he didn’t. Something deep inside pulled at him to tell her the truth. All of it. “I met Rachel’s mother when she was just seventeen.” He paused for a breath. “And she was pregnant pretty soon after that.”
Libby felt her smile freeze. “You did? She was?” Ginny must
“So, explain to me again the purpose of this collage,” Libby said, taking a sip from her straw.
He stalled, drinking from his own cup, trying to decide how much he was prepared to share. “Well, you’ve met my daughter, right?”
Libby nodded.
“Do you know anything about… our situation?”
Libby glanced down at the table but then quickly back at him. There wasn’t any judgment there, or pity either. Only calm regard. “My sister told me Rachel’s mother died in a car accident about a year and a half ago.”
Tom set down his drink. “Did she tell you I was driving?”
“Yes, she told me that, too. And that Rachel lives with her grandparents. Why is that?”
He looked out the window and watched cars drive by, people going on their way, never thinking how that turn in the road might be their last. “She moved in with them while I was recuperating. It was supposed to be temporary. Now it’s going on a year and a half, and I can’t seem to get my daughter back.” He looked back at Libby.
She straightened in her seat. “That doesn’t make sense. They can’t just keep her there. I mean, she’s your daughter. They don’t have custody, do they?”
Tom felt a brief moment of gratitude that it hadn’t come to that. “No, there is nothing legally binding her to stay there. I just… I want her to come home because she wants to. Forcing her would just make her dislike me even more.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t dislike you.”
“I’m pretty sure she does. I was kind of… useless for a while after her mother died.”
“Useless?”
He didn’t want to tell her the details. She didn’t need to know about the pills and the booze. Not because she’d judge him, but because she might not. And if she looked at him with any kind of tenderness in those pretty blue eyes, he’d be lost.
“Rumor has it I was a little unpleasant to be around,” he murmured.
“And that’s why you’re going to a counselor together?”
The yellow-smocked waitress set red plastic baskets full of chili dogs and French fries in front of them. “Here you go.”
Tom waited until she was gone before answering Libby.
“Yes, that’s the reason for the counselor. And why I’m doing this art project with paste and scissors. Dr. Brandt says I need to meet Rachel at her level, and try to communicate in a method she can relate to, which leaves me at a distinct disadvantage.”
“How so?” She took a bite of her chili dog.
“Because I don’t understand high school girls any better now than when I was in high school. Maybe it’s just my opinion, but she seems a little touchy.”
Libby smiled, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t recall being particularly rational during high school.”
“So it’s not just her, then?” He took a bite from his own chili dog.
“No, it’s pretty much a universal phenomenon, crazy-girl syndrome. She can’t really help it—raging hormones, peer pressure, schoolwork, stupid boys.”
“Are you referring to me?” He took another bite. This was a damn good hot dog.
“No.” She chuckled, wiping mustard off her finger. “I’m referring to the boys at Monroe High School.”
He dropped the remaining half of his chili dog into the basket. “Please don’t remind me that my daughter is surrounded by high school boys.” This topic he was completely too familiar with and yet entirely ill-equipped to handle.
Libby shook her head and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. She doesn’t seem like the very flirty type.”
“Does she make eye contact?”
“I assume so.”
“Then she’s flirty enough.”
Libby laughed, but he didn’t. Something deep inside pulled at him to tell her the truth. All of it. “I met Rachel’s mother when she was just seventeen.” He paused for a breath. “And she was pregnant pretty soon after that.”
Libby felt her smile freeze. “You did? She was?” Ginny must
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