Page 21 of Thankful For Him

I can see now how he made it in life, how he’s a man who can have anything he sets his mind to.

I’m thankful too, in advance, for him having chosen me to be his woman. I don’t think I could live another day knowing I wasn’t his and he wasn’t mine.

It’s lunchtime by the stage everything’s prepared and I can safely say, apart from the bird being maybe not being done on time we might get out of this yet.

If only-

And then we both hear it.

Before Zak can suggest making us anything, or even hopping back into bed ourselves for an hour or two.

The familiar crunch on the gravel outside, even over the never ending rain. The same car I heard last night.

Zak takes a breath, then steels himself. His face is set with friendly resolve, determination.

He brings me close enough to him to kiss me one more time, reminding me what he said earlier.

“We’ve got this, Misty. Just follow my lead,” he says with encouragement.

To my surprise, I hear the car leaving almost as quickly as it arrived, and my Dad’s voice calling out as he lets himself in.

“Anyone home?” he calls out jovially, followed by, “Something sure smells good!”

Zak and I force ourselves to relax.

But if I look half as guilty as he does, we’re in big trouble.

“That you Dad?” I holler, deliberately trying to sound normal. Whatever that is anymore.

Now that I’m a claimed woman.

Now that I’m Zak’s girl.

“Here’s my baby girl! And my main man too!” My Dad exclaims loudly, hobbling into the kitchen on a copper cane I don’t recall ever seeing.

I peck his cheek and he pumps Zak’s hand, no sign of the pain he was in last night, and apart from the cane, I don’t think we’d believe there was anything wrong with him at all.

“How are you, Mark, what happened?” Zak asks quickly, filling the space where my mouth hangs open like a fish.

Dad looks out the window, his eyes shining even though he does wince a little as he tries to straight his back.

“I’d say a damn near miracle happened, Zak!” he almost shouts, both Zak and I relax automatically.

It’s clear Dad has no idea what’s happened between us.

But now we’re both hanging to know what happened between him and Malibu Doctor Barbie.

I am anyway.

Zak prompts my Dad to go on.

“Veronica… Uhhh. Is not a real doctor in the traditional sense mind you. I believe this is yours, Zak,” he says, fumbling for the check Zak wrote last night.

“She’s a master of something they call Ashiatsu, or the back walking. She literally put me in a hot tub for an hour and then laid me out, flat as a pancake on a hardwood floor… then she just walked across my back for an hour. I felt the pop when she reached that dicky disc, called out for a minute, and then must’ve fallen asleep.”

Zak and I look at each other with astonishment.

“I tell ya, Zak. I’ve never felt so alive, so good! It still hurts mind you, a little tender. A couple of days of easy walking and rest, Veronica said.”

“So she never...” Zac asks my Dad.

“She never what?” Dad retorts, lifting the lid on the gizzards, eyeing me to let me know they’re done.

“How’s that bird?” he adds, but I manage to get between him and the stove to stop him from looking. To stop him seeing it’s only just gone in.

“Let’s go sit you down, Dad. You must be exhausted,” I suggest.

“Oh no! Veronica said I should keep moving as much as possible. I’ve never felt better, Misty! I think Veronica just put my chiropractor out of business. Is that coffee on?” he asks, and Zak helps him to the lounge again, promising him whatever he wants, just as long as he stays out of the kitchen while I finish cleaning up.

While we both figure out what to do next.Chapter SixteenZakMisty gives me a worried look as I manage to get her Dad out of the kitchen, a look that asks the same questions I have.

What else did Veronica tell him while she walked on his back?

Did she tell him about what she saw me doing to his daughter in his kitchen?

Her giving that fat check back is either a clear message she still has something over me, over us. Or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

Mark settles himself on the couch, running a hand over the suede.

“So…” he says, suddenly looking serious, lowering his voice. His eyes have been darting around since the moment he walked in the room.

I figured he might be hopped up on coffee or maybe just chuffed to not be in agony, but his eyes narrow on mine as he leans forward, wincing just a fraction.

I force a smile, not daring to say a word and hoping he doesn’t hear me swallow.

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