you’d be hungry.”
And because you didn’t want me too close. Matt’s chest tightened. Despite what the map said, the real distance between him and his daughter was a lot farther than 1,700 miles. How did he begin to close that now?
“It’s a great spot.” Matt glanced around the bustling patio of Shady Grove. Green umbrellas, stonework, wagon wheels, huge pecan trees strung with lights, and that “hippie trailer” in the parking lot, a vintage aluminum Airstream surrounded by a garish picket fence and tacky clutter, used for overflow waiting. Jukebox music blended with laughter on air spiced with fried onions and jalapeños. He met Kate’s gaze again. “And I am hungry. Good plan.”
Kate was quiet for a moment. “A road trip? I wouldn’t have pegged you for that. Taking all the time away from work, I mean.”
“I . . .” Was downsized after nearly thirty years with my engineering firm. Laid off. Matt still couldn’t say the words out loud. He wasn’t even close to a solution for dealing with it. Except for the Sold sign pounded into his lawn—a transaction that put a huge crack in his already-fragile nest egg. After forking over thousandson unexpected repairs, he’d finally sold it for a net loss. But that was over, and right now all that mattered was Kate. “I wanted to see you. Talk. Most of the time it’s like we’re playing phone tag. And the other night, your voice . . .” Matt sensed he was about to make a mistake. “You sounded like you’d been crying. So I—”
“Start you off with margaritas?” the Shady Grove waiter interrupted, arriving beside them.
“Iced tea for me,” Matt said in a hurry, reading the anxiety on Kate’s face. She was worried he’d order beer. And follow that beer with three more . . . then back the car over her cat. But the medallion in Matt’s pocket said it all: One day at a time. Twelve steps and now 1,700 miles. He had to do it. All of it.
“Tea for me as well,” she told the waiter. “Not sweet.”
They added their food orders—his catfish and her campfire veggie plate—and Matt weighed the wisdom of broaching the subject of the phone call again. But Kate beat him to it.
“I wasn’t crying,” she said, lifting her chin. “It was . . .” Her lashes fluttered in the same tell he’d read all her life. When she’d denied bending the brass angels on the Christmas tree or taking her mother’s lipstick to school . . . Had he missed some signs that she was planning to leave home? “Allergies,” she explained. “Cedar fever. Another Texas thing I have to get used to.”
Matt nodded. Kate had her mother’s looks, but that stubborn streak was 100 percent paternal. He wasn’t wrong that she was in trouble. One way or another, he was going to do something about it. Matt wasn’t going to let her run away this time.
- + -
How soon could she get out of here? And more importantly . . .
Kate took a sip of her iced tea, tried to make her voice casual.“How long can you stay, Dad? In Austin, I mean. This is such a surprise.”
Which put it mildly. Her father’s call had kept Kate awake half the night, wondering what she’d say, where they should meet, and what on earth she could do to entertain him. How can I keep him from seeing what a wreck I’m becoming? I can’t do this.
Now panic was giving way to a growing sense of irritation. Since when had her father ever taken time off to talk? Even in those final days with her mother—her last precious, lucid moments—he’d buried himself in work.
“I have that college buddy in Fort Worth,” he said, flipping the corner of his napkin between his fingertips. “You met Phil. Way back.”
His eyes connected with Kate’s, and she noticed small signs of aging that had appeared since she saw him last. He was still handsome, compelling even. But there were new lines around the hazel eyes, more gray in his hair. And something different in his expression. What do you want
And because you didn’t want me too close. Matt’s chest tightened. Despite what the map said, the real distance between him and his daughter was a lot farther than 1,700 miles. How did he begin to close that now?
“It’s a great spot.” Matt glanced around the bustling patio of Shady Grove. Green umbrellas, stonework, wagon wheels, huge pecan trees strung with lights, and that “hippie trailer” in the parking lot, a vintage aluminum Airstream surrounded by a garish picket fence and tacky clutter, used for overflow waiting. Jukebox music blended with laughter on air spiced with fried onions and jalapeños. He met Kate’s gaze again. “And I am hungry. Good plan.”
Kate was quiet for a moment. “A road trip? I wouldn’t have pegged you for that. Taking all the time away from work, I mean.”
“I . . .” Was downsized after nearly thirty years with my engineering firm. Laid off. Matt still couldn’t say the words out loud. He wasn’t even close to a solution for dealing with it. Except for the Sold sign pounded into his lawn—a transaction that put a huge crack in his already-fragile nest egg. After forking over thousandson unexpected repairs, he’d finally sold it for a net loss. But that was over, and right now all that mattered was Kate. “I wanted to see you. Talk. Most of the time it’s like we’re playing phone tag. And the other night, your voice . . .” Matt sensed he was about to make a mistake. “You sounded like you’d been crying. So I—”
“Start you off with margaritas?” the Shady Grove waiter interrupted, arriving beside them.
“Iced tea for me,” Matt said in a hurry, reading the anxiety on Kate’s face. She was worried he’d order beer. And follow that beer with three more . . . then back the car over her cat. But the medallion in Matt’s pocket said it all: One day at a time. Twelve steps and now 1,700 miles. He had to do it. All of it.
“Tea for me as well,” she told the waiter. “Not sweet.”
They added their food orders—his catfish and her campfire veggie plate—and Matt weighed the wisdom of broaching the subject of the phone call again. But Kate beat him to it.
“I wasn’t crying,” she said, lifting her chin. “It was . . .” Her lashes fluttered in the same tell he’d read all her life. When she’d denied bending the brass angels on the Christmas tree or taking her mother’s lipstick to school . . . Had he missed some signs that she was planning to leave home? “Allergies,” she explained. “Cedar fever. Another Texas thing I have to get used to.”
Matt nodded. Kate had her mother’s looks, but that stubborn streak was 100 percent paternal. He wasn’t wrong that she was in trouble. One way or another, he was going to do something about it. Matt wasn’t going to let her run away this time.
- + -
How soon could she get out of here? And more importantly . . .
Kate took a sip of her iced tea, tried to make her voice casual.“How long can you stay, Dad? In Austin, I mean. This is such a surprise.”
Which put it mildly. Her father’s call had kept Kate awake half the night, wondering what she’d say, where they should meet, and what on earth she could do to entertain him. How can I keep him from seeing what a wreck I’m becoming? I can’t do this.
Now panic was giving way to a growing sense of irritation. Since when had her father ever taken time off to talk? Even in those final days with her mother—her last precious, lucid moments—he’d buried himself in work.
“I have that college buddy in Fort Worth,” he said, flipping the corner of his napkin between his fingertips. “You met Phil. Way back.”
His eyes connected with Kate’s, and she noticed small signs of aging that had appeared since she saw him last. He was still handsome, compelling even. But there were new lines around the hazel eyes, more gray in his hair. And something different in his expression. What do you want
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