Page 88 of Seven Summers Ago
“Your dad’s? You mean…the bar?”
“You don’t have to say it like that. He has an apartment above the bar. So no, you’re not gonna have to sleep in a bar.”
“Are you sure he won’t mind?”
“He’s my dad. What’s he gonna say? No? Dude owes me more than a night on his couch, don’t ya think?”
She’s quiet next to me, biting her lip while she taps on her phone.
When we reach The Thirsty Turtle, I park near the back steps that lead to my dad’s apartment. We hop out and I round the front of the truck to the passenger side and gather our wet clothes in my arms.
“I’ll throw these in the wash for tomorrow, but we’ll have to bum some clothes from my dad for tonight.”
“Oh yay, a Willie Nelson T-shirt, can’t wait,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
I chuckle, because she’s not wrong. That’s my dad’s wardrobe. “At least it will be dry.”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why don’t you head up and fill your dad in. I need to make a phone call.”
I lift my brows. “The boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” she corrects.
“Right. Fiancé.” I take a few steps backward, holding the wet clothing against my bare chest. “Good luck.” I spin and jog up the stairs, running through my own conversation I’m about to have with my dad.
I knock a few times on the door before trying the handle. It turns and I push a shoulder into it and step inside Dad’s apartment. It’s small and lacks enough windows to let much natural light in. There are a few lamps scattered around. The hint of a seafood scent is attempting to be masked by a lit vanilla candle.
“Hey, Dad?” I call, “You in here?”
He shuffles into view from the hall that leads to the bar downstairs. “Hey, son. What are you doing here? And what happened to your shirt?”
“Long story. We missed the last ferry. Mind if we crash here for the night?”
“We?”
“Yeah.” My eyes dart around the apartment. “Rosie and me.”
His brows shoot up. “Oh. Well, talk about a turn in events.”
“No,no. No turn of events. Rosie was here spreading Dottie’s ashes. We missed the ferry. That’s it.”
“Mind explaining why you’re all wet?”
“Uhh…”
“That would be your son’s fault,” Rosie says from behind me.
I spin around and she’s peering around me, taking a step and approaching Dad with her hand out. “Hello, Mr. Stone. It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise, dear.” He takes her hand but yanks her in for a hug and she stumbles into him.
My heart shifts in my chest.
“Your son here thought it would be a good idea to go swimming. Our phones too.” She holds hers up. “Now I’m only catching half of a conversation.”
