I took a deep breath and went to open the blood red door, but then I remembered that Josephine had asked that I knock. She felt it was the polite thing to do. I debated on whether to, one, walk right in or, two, walk right back to my Jeep. Sawyer. Fine. I knocked on the stupid door and waited and waited. The longer I waited the more annoyed I became. I became particularly irked when I’d noticed the white rocking chairs that used to sit on the wraparound porch were gone. They’d been replaced with some awful black futuristic-shaped polypropylene chairs. How did you even sit on those? This was a ranch, not an art museum. Did my father approve of these? I couldn’t picture him sitting in one. I knew my butt was never hitting one. If it did, I think it might slide right back off.
Finally, Dad answered the door. His brown eyes looked tired when he tried to muster a smile for me. I hadn’t talked to him since we’d had our disagreement, which seemed to happen more often than not when we talked now. I never imagined that being the case. Growing up, I never understood when my friends couldn’t talk to their parents, especially their dads. My dad talked to me about anything, even periods. He’d told me it was just a biological function and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was nothing for him to shop for feminine hygiene products, and with four women in the house it was a regular occurrence.
I looked down at my sandaled feet and then back up at him. “Hi, Dad.”
His smile grew a fraction. “Hey, honey.” He pulled me to him for a hug.
His arms felt like home, making it not matter that the surroundings no longer felt as such. I sank into his chest and breathed in his wood scent.
He stroked my hair. “Honey—”
“Emma, you finally made it,” Josephine shrieked.
Finally? I was on time.
I refused to leave my dad’s arms. I buried my head deeper into his chest as if I could bore a hole in there and hide from his new wife.
Like an excavator, she ripped Dad away from me. “Dane, honey.” She gave me what I would call a gloating smile. “We have lots of women things to discuss. Why don’t you run along?”
Why was she always treating my dad like a child? And since when had the dance become a woman thing? Mom always loved Dad’s input. Dad knew the best stringed lights to use and where to place them, as well as great food suggestions, and he always made sure to get in which songs he wanted Grady’s band to play. They were usually slow country songs. Dad loved to take Mom for a spin and do the two-step with her. That was when he wasn’t holding her close for all the slow songs.
Dad gave me a defeated look before grabbing his cowboy hat from the rack near the door and shoving it on his head. “I’ll be out with Ray and the boys,” he grumbled. He was talking about the wranglers, Ray being the head of them. He didn’t even say goodbye to me.
I thought about going after him until I heard the dulcet tones of my sisters fighting with each other. Something about quit trying to be nice to me, I’m still mad at you. That was from Macey, who was normally the sweeter of the two. I wondered what Marlowe had done this time.
Josephine gave me a narrow-eyed glare before spinning on her heels and heading back toward the dining room. Who wore heels at home? Or her short dress ensemble for that matter? I almost mentioned she should really get those varicose veins on the back of her legs checked out, but I remembered who I was here for and kept my mouth shut.
My sisters were in the dining room giving each other stink eyes in between rifling through all the shiny things on the table. It looked like a Las Vegas showgirl’s show exploded on it with all the sparkles, but I had to say I was glad it was covering up the stupid black lacquer table Stepmommy Dearest bought to replace the old oak table where so much love and good food had been shared. At least I had been able to make sure Frankie’s family got that table.
“Hey girls, what are you doing?” I sing-songed.
“Helping plan the dance,” Marlowe responded, annoyed.
Was all this sparkly crap for the dance? The dance that took place in the barn?
“I’m surprised you’re sticking around since you can’t even help me at our boutique,” Macey fired back at her.
Marlowe threw down some sparkly silver fabric she had been holding. “How many times do I have to apologize to you? I’m sorry I didn’t make it back on time Sunday.”