Page 5 of North
“Let me buy you a slice of pie, North.”
“No thanks. Food is fine. Do they have burgers?” She cracked open a menu and scanned the options.
“You sure? I know it’s a shitty birthday but let me give you one small bright spot.”
“There is no bright spot. Mom is dead and I can’t live on my own,” she sniffed.
“I’m here.” I hoped to offer her some sort of consolation.
“You don’t want to be here though.” Her tone was icy and sharp but at least she was talking to me. That was a start.
…
CHAPTER 3
Once my double bacon burger and fries were gone, I didn’t have anything to concentrate on so my eyes went straight to Dad. I hated calling him that when I should’ve been calling him Kane.
He hadn’t been my father since last year. I stopped thinking of him that way after my last birthday.
“Here’s your cherry milkshake, birthday girl.” The server with bleached-blonde hair and far too much cleavage showing, winked at me. I wanted to refuse the dessert but when she sat it down in front of me, my stomach spoke for both of us.
“Thank you.” I stared at the huge glass piled high with whipped cream, two cherries on top, and red syrup zig-zagging across the surface.
The server looked at Dad with a smile that bared butter-yellow teeth and batted her lashes at him. “You’re such a good daddy,” she purred.
“Yeah, thanks. Now is not the time.” His gruff voice put distance between him and the server. It also wiped that smile off her face. Good.
I drank my cherry milkshake and peeked at Dad through lowered lashes. His hair was longer than it was the last time I saw him. It hung just past his ears in loose mahogany waves with strands of russet woven in. His beard had a few more silver hairs than I remembered but his eyes were still golden-green and his hands were still paint-smudged.
“You didn’t have to get me this,” I gestured to the half-consumed milkshake then went back to devouring it. I didn’t want any handouts and I damn sure didn’t want to live with Dad but what choices did I have? I could get through a year with him.
He probably never gave what happened on my sixteenth birthday a second thought. Maybe I was creating a mountain from a molehill.
“It’s your birthday, Shortcake. You deserve something you didn’t have to buy for yourself. Even if it’s a milkshake.” He reached across the table and linked his pinky with mine.
Hearing him call me Shortcake made me tingle with thoughts of better times. I’d do anything to go back in time to when Mom wasn’t on drugs. Thinking about those days made me sick with emotions. I wasn’t ready to unpack my mother’s death. It was far too raw.
“Thanks, Dad.” I squeezed his pinky with mine then finished off the milkshake.
When we were done dancing around awkward silence and occasional small talk, he paid for our food and we finished the hour-long drive to Telluride.
I must have dozed off for a while because the scenery was totally different when I opened my eyes. The mountains were only feet away from me. Their craggy tops drew white lines along the black sky. Snow drifted down to the ground covering the roads as we drove.
This place seemed worlds away from Delta. It was breathtaking and I was only looking at it under the moonlight. Tiny shops decorated the main street in a colorful array of greens, yellows, and reds.
“That’s my art gallery right there,” Dad pointed out. He couldn’t hide the smile that burned in the corners of his lips. It sprinkled light in his eyes that I was happy to see, even if I didn’t want to move in with him.
“Fitzgerald’s Fine Art?” I said, reading the sign.
“Yeah, if you want a job there I can…”
“No thanks. I’ll find a job on my own.”
Dad pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded, turning down a side street then into a driveway. He killed the engine and grabbed my bags without a word. I felt heavy inside after snapping at him. It was all I’d done the entire evening.
“Welcome to Casa de Fitzgerald,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I have a guest room upstairs. I’ll put your things there. You’re welcome to anything here, North. I want this to feel like home for you.” His smile was sad. It gravitated toward the sadness inside me. The sadness I didn’t want to acknowledge.
He carried my bags upstairs while I looked around the small, cozy house. It smelled like him. Warm and familiar. There was no hint of meth. No chemicals or ammonia smell choking me.
