Page 8 of Cedarwood Cabin

“Uhh…Flora,” she stammers.

I raise an eyebrow and whisper, “I hope you spent the night with my father and not breaking in…”

“Your dad wanted me to leave before you woke up,” she whispers uncomfortably.

I roll my eyes and give her a reassuring smile. “Nancy, it’s fine.”

She relaxes and gives me an awkward smile before tiptoeing down the stairs.

I shake my head slightly and head into the bathroom, closing the door and letting out a deep breath. I switch the light on and the sudden brightness causes me to squint. Glancing in the mirror it reveals my disheveled state with my hair sticking up in every direction. Turning the faucet on, I splash water onto my face, starting my morning routine. I quickly relieve myself and remain on the toilet for a moment, my mind drifting to my father's new relationship. Nancy is a new source of joy for him that he so dearly needs. She’s a lovely woman, the manager at the local bar, and everyone knows her name. I have only met her a few times, but every encounter has been pleasant. Her warm smile and hearty laugh put everyone around her at ease. The most important thing is that she puts a genuine smile on my father’s face.

I accept my father’s new relationship, but I still wish it was my mother standing at the top of the stairs. I miss her every day. Seeing Nancy take her place stirs a mix of emotions inside me. I know it’s unfair to Nancy; she has done nothing wrong. She makes my father happy. I stand up and sigh, flushing my thoughts away with the water in the toilet. I leave the bathroom, still lost in my thoughts, and jump back when I nearly bump into my father, standing topless in the hallway.

He seems flustered and asks, “Flora! How long have you been awake?”

Feeling awkward, I take a deep breath and reply, “Calm down, Dad. I already saw Nancy.”

His face is red from embarrassment. As I walk down the steps, I hear my father mumble something under his breath. He doesn't need to explain himself to me. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I head towards the kitchen and pour myself a glass of juice. I sigh as I put my glass down and begin to make breakfast.

My father walks down the stairs, pulling a T-shirt over his head. He looks at the floor as he clears his throat. “So…” he utters.

I make it easy for him by suggesting, “You wanna go to the bar for dinner?”

“Yeah? I’d like that very much, Flora,” he replies, visibly relaxing.

It’s a small step in the right direction. It’s an opportunity to support my father and, perhaps, form a connection with Nancy.

THREE

FLORA

We drive down the street and I notice my father is wearing his best T-shirt layered with an open flannel shirt. He’s made extra effort—even his beard is neatly trimmed.

My hair flutters as the evening air blows through the window and I try pushing a strand behind my ear. Hopefully, it doesn't go frizzy before we arrive at the bar.

“How was work today?” I ask.

“Didn’t run into any burning buildings. However, I did have to help an old lady get her cat down from a tree.”

I can't help but laugh. “Okay, that is super cliché.”

“It used to be so busy each day in London. Here, it's quiet,” my father replies with a shrug.

I could understand and appreciate that he liked the slower pace of life here.

“This might be too soon…but Nancy has offered you a job at the bar, if you want it.”

He catches me off guard and I don't know how to reply. I had a job back in England where I worked part-time in a small café and the regulars knew me by name. Working here seems daunting, but maybe this would be a way for me to meet new people.

“I will have to think about it,” I finally reply.

My father nods and doesn't press on any further. As we approach the bar, the glow of street lights fills the road. My father parks the truck. “Things will get better, Flora.”

“I know…” I say, nodding and giving him a genuine smile.

I hop out of the truck and we head towards the bar. I take in the sight—a brick building with red neon signs and old, rusty green awnings hanging over the windows. This is the only bar in town, making it popular. I’m intrigued by the thought of working here. The gentleman my father is, opens the door for me and I step inside.

It’s relatively quiet this evening with only a couple of locals scattered about. One side has all leather booths and wood tables. At the end of the room are two pool tables and an old jukebox, along with a TV mounted on the back wall. “Jerry, Flora!” a voice calls loudly.

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