Chapter 7

Seven

Everett

“ W hy don’t you tell me a little bit about your plans for the house?”

Conway, the owner of Levine Construction, sits across from me on my back patio in the new furniture I picked up yesterday. His company is the one the man who works at the hardware store in town referred me to.

Conway seems nice enough. He’s only been here about fifteen minutes, but I can already see why he was recommended. I checked him out online before calling him, and he has raving reviews.

“Well, for starters, it needs a new roof,” I tell him. “I think that’s got to be the first thing we tackle.”

“Do you know when the roof was last replaced?”

“I don’t.” Shaking my head, I say, “My grandma recently passed away, and she left me the house, but I don’t know much about it, and I can’t find any documentation that she may have kept here.”

“Not a problem.” Conway waves me off. “We can find out that information down at the county. What else were you thinking?”

Diving into the small list of things I’m thinking of tweaking around here, Conway listens intently, taking notes as I go. Once I’m finished, he tucks his notepad away inside the breast pocket of his shirt.

“I’ll go ahead and get started on a quote for you. Once I have it completed, I’ll send it over via email, and we can discuss any questions or concerns you may have. Sound good?”

“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks, man. You were highly recommended to me, and being new to town, it can be overwhelming trying to figure everything out.”

“Where are you originally from?”

“Seattle.”

“Wow, that’s a big change.” He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbly. “Have you been able to meet anybody in town yet?”

“I’ve met a few people. My neighbor is nice.” Just the thought of Gemma has a smile pulling on my lips. “I’ve run into her a couple times since moving here.”

“Gemma?” he asks.

“Yeah, you know her?”

He nods. “I’ve known her family for many years. Her sister, Grace, dated my son back in high school.”

“I met Grace last night, actually. It’s so funny how everybody seems to know everyone here. ”

“You’re the new teacher at the elementary school, right?” he asks, a thick, dark brow arched.

“I am! How’d you know that?” I ask with a chuckle.

“Small town, remember.” He grins. “But also, I saw you at the school last night during Meet the Teacher.”

“Got it. Do you have a grandchild that goes there?”

Chuckling, he rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “A daughter, actually. She’s going into fourth grade this year.”

“An adult son and a fourth grader. You took quite a break between the two, huh?”

We both chuckle before his phone chimes. Pulling it out of his pocket to check it, he says, “Yeah, my daughter was a honeymoon oopsie.” Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he stands. “Listen, I gotta run. That’s something I have to attend to, but like I said, I’ll get that estimate over to you. If not tonight, then first thing in the morning. Look it over and let me know if you have any questions. But also, I’m heading out for a couple drinks Friday night with some buddies if you want to come? I’m sure being new in town and not knowing anybody can be hard.”

My brows shoot up at his offer. “Oh, wow. Sure, that would be awesome. Thank you.”

“No problem. I’ll text you the details once we hammer out a place. Same number you called me from?”

“Yup, that works.”

After Conway leaves, I quickly fill up the food dish on my front porch and refill the water bowl. The little black fur ball seems to have taken a liking to my house, and since I’m not sure if he has a home, I bought some kitty food just to be safe. Maybe I should name him .

Once I’m done with that, I busy myself going through all the shit in the spare bedroom that my grandma left behind. It’s mostly a bunch of junk that I don’t need or clothing I can donate, but in the top of the closet, I find a box that is full of family photos. Pictures I’ve never even seen. I spend the next little while going through them, smiling to myself at the memories they bring back.

Family trips, holidays, birthdays. In all of them, I’m so little. I’m surprised she’s kept these all this time.

I find one of my father and me. Seeing it makes my chest ache. I can’t be any older than six, and I’m helping him decorate his office for Christmas. Of course, we’re at his office. I swear, he was there more than he was home my entire childhood, and even now, at almost sixty, he’s still there every single day.

The ache in my chest grows the longer I look at the picture, and suddenly, I have the urge to call him. We haven’t spoken since before I made the decision to move here. To say he wasn’t thrilled with my decision would be an understatement. Although, he’s never been very fond of my life choices. Despite knowing that this call will most likely not go in my favor, I find myself pulling out my phone and dialing his number anyway. Placing the call on speaker so I can continue sorting through these pictures, I wait as it rings a few times before it connects.

“Son,” he mutters dryly into the phone. Nothing else. A man of many words.

“Hey, Dad. How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine,” he grunts.

“That’s good. I’m getting settled in Blossom Beach.” Thanks for asking, I think, but don’t bother saying. “Met with a contractor this afternoon about putting a new roof on Grandma’s house and laying down some new flooring.”

“It’s a waste of money,” he mutters. “I could’ve told you that. The house probably needs more work than it’s worth. I never understood your grandmother’s need to live all the way out there in the middle of nowhere.”

Rolling my eyes because, here we fucking go again , I grit my teeth but say nothing. This is the same argument he gave me when I told him about my decision to move. He’s been this way my entire life. If it’s not something Richard Windward’s way, then it’s the wrong way, and he’ll spend every last ounce of his breath making sure you know it. It’s one of the main reasons why we’ve butted heads since I was a teenager and learned to speak up for myself.

Ignoring his comment, I say, “I found a box in the closet full of pictures of us from when I was younger. Found some of you and I one year when we were decorating your office. I should send them to you and Mom. I think she’d like to have them.”

My dad hums by way of response, and I can practically see him in my mind’s eye, typing away on his computer in his office, probably not even registering a single thing I’m saying. He’s the definition of the phrase ‘in one ear and out the other.’

“Son, if there’s no pressing matters, I’m going to have to get off the phone. We can’t all drop everything in our lives to move to some unknown town. Some of us actually have work to do.”

I wince, his words cutting deep, even though I’m not at all surprised. This is who he is—who he’s always been—and I don’t even know why I bother anymore. Most of the time, I don’t, but every once in a while, like today, I have the urge to reach out. Maybe it’s out of some misplaced sense of loyalty because he’s my father. Because he did so much for me growing up. Although, did he really do so much for me? Or did he just shell out money whenever he needed to parent?

Looking back, it was always my mom there. Baseball practices, games, birthday parties… it was all her. Sure, he paid for it all, but he was hardly ever there. He was always at work, and growing up, I thought that was normal. Thought that was what all dads did. They had to work to make the money, and it’s how all the men around me were. My friends’ dads were the same exact way. It wasn’t until high school, when I met my best friend, that I realized not every household was like that.

“All right, Dad.” I blow out a breath. “Well, take care of yourself and tell Mom I love her.”

“Yup, bye.”

Cold. That’s one word I’d use to describe Richard Windward. Pretentious is another.

Loving, caring, empathetic… those are all words that wouldn’t even make it on the list. It’s a wonder I turned out as well as I did, given that he was my role model.

Stuffing the pictures back in the box, I disregard it on the floor as I stand and leave the room. Suddenly, the last thing I want to do is look back on my so-called happy childhood.

Thanks, Dad.