Page 38 of Britta & the Beach Boy
All the money I’ve saved has to getBritta’sthrough the winter and most of the spring before the busy summer season.
“Maybe,” Adam says. “But more expenses will pop up as we go. That’s the way it always is with construction. With every estimate, tack on at least another ten percent.”
I slow down as the cars in front of me brake, illuminating the night with hundreds of red taillights. “We have to do whatever it takes to saveBritta’s.I can come home tomorrow.”
Stella shakes her head so vehemently; she may throw out a disc. Dad, on the other hand, was so worried about me leaving that I’m surprised when he doesn’t tell me to pack my bags and get on the road immediately. Instead, he and Adam are both quiet.
“We’re not making any decisions tonight,” Dad says, finally, in a more decisive way than I’ve ever heard from him. “Let’s take the next week to think about it while you enjoy your time in LA. Once we have a better idea of exact costs, if you still want to come home, then do it.”
I want to argue, but then I remember I’ve promised Annie I would help her at the coffee shop. I don’t want to go back on myword, and volunteering there will also give me something to take my mind offBritta’s.Another week in LA might appease Stella, too.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Stella lets out a sigh of relief.
“There’s nothing you can do here until I put together an estimate,” Adam says. “That will take a few more days, then we’ll need to decide together what to do.”
I stiffen at histogether.The decision should be mine.
The anger I was determined to leave back home threatens to creep through the tiny opening I’ve given it. I feel it burrowing through my sternum. But a familiar sound in the background catches my attention, and I change the topic.
“Are you watchingthe Sound of Music,Dad?” My forced cheerfulness comes out sounding as unnatural as it feels.
Mom spent the last year of her life watching that musical on repeat. All of us have it memorized. Not just the songs. Every line.
Dad lets out a sad laugh. “I’m used to it being on in the background.”
I don’t have words. Dad is lonely, which only deepens my concern that I should come home. He needs me even more thanBritta’sdoes, and I’m about to tell him again that I can be home by tomorrow night, but he speaks first.
“Honey, we didn’t get a chance to talk before you left. I got the feeling you were avoiding me,” he says in his soft voice.
“Not you, Dad. Saying goodbye. I hate it.” I glance at Stella, who looks out the window as though that will give me the privacy I suddenly want.
Dad takes a breath. “I understand why you’re upset Mom didn’t leaveBritta’sto you. You have every right. You put your life on hold to run it. But I think Mom wanted you to pick up your own life after she was gone.”
As gentle as his words are, they leave me reeling.
“She should have known I would carry on what she and her grandmother created.” The words come out on a staggered breath. I’ve thought them a thousand times, but never said them out loud. It hurts too much to think Mom didn’t know me as well as I thought she did.
“She knew you’d do it out of duty, but not out of love, and she didn’t want you to be saddled with that obligation if it wasn’t your choice,” Dad says.
His reasoning doesn’t make things better, but I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe because there’s a truth in it I’m not ready to grapple with.
“But I don’t have a choice now, and IdoloveBritta’s,” I say finally.
“You can love something and still let it go when it’s time to say goodbye.” His gentle tone holds me so close we could be in the same room.
“I don’t want to do anymore goodbyes, Dad.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.” Dad doesn’t exactly scold, but there’s the quiet urging of a loving parent in his tone. This is advice I can’t easily dismiss.
We say I love you and hang up. I’ll consider what he’s said, but I’m not ready to use the g-word with him orBritta's. It’s too soon since I had to say it to Mom.
I’m lost in my head when Stella says, “Real talk, Britta. Why did you want to leave instead of staying for Dex’s party?”
Traffic picks up, and I press the gas. I change lanes and speed past the car, moving too slowly in front of me.
“Britta…” Stella prods.
