The Last Goodbye by Sarah Mayberry

face.
    Some lessons were impossible to unlearn.
    “You Adamson blokes don’t muck about, do you? I didn’t think you’d be home until the afternoon.”
    It was Ally, standing on the pavement, smiling through the open window.
    His father made a disgruntled sound. “Did you see what they’ve done to my place? Put a bunch of ugly metal all over it. Looks like an old people’s home.”
    Ally pulled a comically concerned face. “Oh, dear. If you don’t like those I don’t want to be around when you see what they’ve done to the bathroom.”
    “The bathroom?” his father said.
    “Oh, yes. Safety rails up the kazoo. A veritable forest of shiny chrome. You’ll need sunglasses every time you go in there.”
    His father frowned. Tyler waited for the outburst—the angry words, the insults, the quickly raised fist. Instead, his father’s mouth quirked up at the side. Then he gave a little chuckle.
    “Is it that bad?” his father asked.
    “Worse. And here’s the best bit—it’s partly my fault because I let the guy in and told him what to do.” Ally made another comic face, as though she was bracing herself for the condemnation about to rain down on her.
    His father chuckled again. “You’re a bloody cheeky thing. Come on, help an old man out.”
    Tyler watched as his father let Ally support him as he slid from the pickup. It was the first time he’d seen them together and he noted the soft light in her eyes as she looked at his father, the gentle way she held his arm.
    He transferred his gaze to his parent, trying to imagine what she must see when she looked at him. But it was impossible for him to remove the filter of his own experiences from his perception. He might be older, frailer, but the man making his way up the sidewalk was still the same man who had filled Tyler’s childhood with fear and emptied it of certainty.
    He got out and grabbed his father’s bag from the truck bed.
    Ally and his father were standing at the bottom of the steps when he joined them. His father stared at one of the rails for a long beat, then reached out and rested his hand on it.
    “Might as well use the bloomin’ things, I suppose. Since you’ve wasted my money on them.”
    Tyler bit back on the correction that rose to his lips. He’d wasted his own money making the house safe, not his father’s. But this wasn’t about money.
    His father climbed the steps slowly, then waited while Tyler unlocked the house.
    “Why don’t I leave you to settle in and come back later for a cup of tea and some cake?” Ally said.
    She hovered at the top of the porch steps, ready to descend.
    “No, no, come in now. Tyler can make us something,” his father insisted.
    “Sure. I’ll whip up a batch of scones, maybe a pavlova or two.”
    “I have some cake at my place. Why don’t I grab that?” Ally suggested.
    For the first time that day Tyler looked at her directly. She was wearing a knee length white skirt with red flowers printed on it and a white tank top. She looked tanned and bright and summery. Her eyes were cautiously warm as they met his. As though shewasn’t sure of her reception, but was pleased to see him, anyway.
    Had he been that much of a bear last night?
    “That’d be great, thanks, Ally,” he said.
    She gave him a small smile. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
    As she walked away, he traced the shape of her hips and backside with his eyes before returning his attention to getting his father inside the house. He needed to stop noticing how sexy she was and start viewing her as his father’s friend. Maybe that way he could keep his unruly body and imagination under control where she was concerned.
    “Come on, Dad,” he said, pushing the front door open. “Let’s get you into bed.”
    “I don’t want to lie down. I’ve been lying down all week.”
    “You need to take it easy. You don’t want to tire yourself out.”
    “Plenty of time to rest when I’m dead.”
    His father stopped