Making It Right. Kathy Altman

pounded his fist once on the back of his recliner, sending it rocking. “Damn it, I’m not an old man and I like my naked noodle.” His words lingered in the dusty plaid of his living room. When he realized what he’d said, he flushed.

      “Happy to hear it,” she said. She’d grown rather fond of it herself, until the weight of Harris’s stubbornness had pressed his personality flat.

      He grumbled under his breath. “You’re not here to tell me my daughter’s lookin’ to borrow money again?”

      “She told you why she’s here.”

      “She’s told me a lot of things over the years. I’ve learned to close one ear and stick my finger in the other. I know damned well she’s back for another handout.” He rubbed a palm over his head. “I, uh, apologize for callin’ you a traitor.”

      She lifted her chin, and the stiff wool collar of her pea-green jacket scuffed the nape of her neck. Now she remembered why she rarely wore the thing. “Harris Briggs, you’re a jackass.”

      He set his jaw. “That’s what you came to tell me?”

      “It is.”

      “I’m a jackass. ’Cause I’m smart enough not to let my ex-con daughter take advantage of me?”

      “’Cause you’re dumb enough to let your only child believe you don’t love her anymore.”

      “Well, that...that’s not true,” he blustered. He moved deeper into the living room and stared down at a half-empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. Which he’d protected with a ceramic coaster, she was gratified to see.

      He gave a harrumph, and crossed his arms. “I never said that.”

      “You didn’t have to. You’ve showed her, over and over again.” She braced a hand on the back of the sofa. Damn the man for his ability to sap the starch right out of her knees.

      “And she sent you to tell me this?” His breathing roughened. “So you are working against me.”

      Slowly Eugenia pushed upright. Coming here had been a mistake. She was only making Harris more suspicious of his daughter.

      “You know what?” Absently she twisted a button on her jacket. “I did it again. Inserted myself where I don’t belong. This is between you and Kerry. But think, Harris. Please think about the message you’re sending by refusing to see her.”

      He snatched up his beer, took a swig and shook his head. “She’s here for another charitable contribution, not a reconciliation. I know my daughter, Genie.”

      No, he didn’t. Not anymore. Now all Eugenia could do was keep her fingers crossed that he would give himself the chance to.

      “All righty, then,” she said stiffly.

      He tipped his bottle in silent invitation and she shook her head. She missed him, God help her. His strength, his solidity, even the stupid cinnamon smell of his chewing gum. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d find herself bawling into that horrible flannel shirt. She marched back to the door. “I won’t bother you again.”

      “Genie?”

      She stilled, her hand on the doorknob.

      “There’s a difference between dead and dormant. That tree on my porch. It’ll come back. You think I killed it, but I didn’t.”

      Eugenia squeezed her eyes shut. Harris Briggs was far from the beat-around-the-bush type. The last time they’d talked...the things she’d said... She’d made him tentative.

      “I knew you loved me, Harris,” she said. She touched her palm to the smooth coolness of the door. “Just not enough to compromise. On pretty much anything.”

      “That was all up to me, was it?”

      Wearily she faced him. “I didn’t come here about you and me. I came about you and your daughter. But it was a mistake and I apologize.”

      Harris gave a strained chuckle. “This is payback. That’s what this is.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “You asked me to marry you. I said no. That’s when our troubles began.”

      “Our troubles began when you refused to include your daughter in our lives.”

      “She made that choice, not me.”

      “Bull crap,” Eugenia said crisply.

      Amusement flashed across his face. “You never did give me a chance to explain why I turned you down.”

      “This isn’t about that.” The remembered pain of his rejection knifed into her lungs. “This is about your daughter and how much she needs you.”

      His nostrils flared and he turned a disturbing shade of red. “What about how much I needed you? How do you think I felt when I walked into Snoozy’s today?”

      “Harris.”

      “You know what?” He pressed a palm to his chest. “I’m not feeling up to this tonight.”

      “Harris,” she repeated, unable to keep the alarm out of her voice.

      “I’m fine,” he muttered. “Don’t go gettin’ your dress over your head.”

      “You’re not the one I’m worried about.” Abruptly she dropped a hip onto the little table beside the door. Something was wrong. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart beat too fast as she tugged at the neckline of her sweater. Did he have the AC on? She really needed some AC. “I think you’d better call 911.”