56. Dusty

Marnie had to wrestle the keys away from me in order to drive. She insisted she could handle the city better, which injures my manly pride, but I’ve realized there is one upside to riding shotgun.

I have both hands completely free.

She’s wearing this strappy little black dress that I think is supposed to be casual. But there’s nothing casual about the way it plunges between her breasts. Or the way the hem slips up her tanned thighs. I wore black jeans and a black tee to match, but I can see I’m going to have to work hard to keep up with her if we’re going out with her looking like that.

As soon as we hit the city limits, Marnie starts bombing around, cussing out drivers who aren’t driving at least ten over. All that road rage from such a little thing is kind of cute.

And frightening.

I grip her thigh, letting my fingers sail higher and higher. She pauses in a tirade about a slow-moving garbage truck long enough to suck in a shaky breath. “That’s very distracting.”

I shrug, grinning, and pull my hand back.

She catches it and drags it back. “I didn’t say to stop.”

“You’re getting bossy in your old age.”

Did I mention it’s her birthday?

She glowers at me. “Got a death wish, cowboy?”

“I think it’s sexy. So in control. So mature.”

She groans. “Call me mature again and I push you into moving traffic.”

She points out the coffee roaster she frequents. The chocolatier that makes a killer hot cocoa flight. I’m realizing her life here in Lincoln is far more enriched than what we have back home.

We have gas station hot cocoa and grocery store coffee.

But we also have bees and lavender and skies so wide and so big you feel like you could fly.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe it’s not.

Like I said, I’ve got my work cut out for me.

She gets quieter the farther south we drive, and I know it’s because she’s thinking about her dad. We stop outside his care facility, and I glance over at her, squeezing her leg. “You want me to stay in the car or go in with you?”

She stares at the building’s front doors, shoulders tense, face devoid of expression.

“Marnie?”

I move my hand to the back of her neck and rub circles with my thumb. “Hey. You still with me?”

“Hm? What?”

She shakes herself, looking at me with watery eyes. “Come with. I want you to meet my dad.”

“You got it.”

I climb out and hurry around the car so that I can open the door. Helping her out, she feels fragile and light, like she might blow away in the breeze. And yet, there is a courage in her eyes that is fierce and true.

Weaving my fingers through hers, I walk with her into the facility. There’s a small meeting of wheelchairs by an aviary. Four tiny old ladies sit by the glass, arguing about the canaries and finches.

“Oh, my stars.”

One of them does a double take when she sees us. “That’s a tall drink of water.”

Her friends turn to look at us, and they hoot and laugh when I wink at them.

Marnie smirks, shaking her head at me. But she’s quiet, growing tenser by the moment.

I put my hand on her back and follow her down a hallway. She hesitates at a door on the right before knocking quietly.

“Come in.”

A deep, raspy voice calls out.

Even I feel a nervous thrill in my stomach at the sound of his voice.

Marnie’s dad.

And he’s slipping away from her.

I know what that’s like. God, I know what that’s like.

I’ve been there. Old feelings I thought I’d finally burned away, start reforming, swirling in my chest.

I swallow them down, forcing a carefree expression on my face as we enter his room.

He’s propped up in a hospital bed. Thin and pale.

But his eyes glow like warm honey.

Those are Marnie’s eyes. He smiles at Marnie before turning a curious eye on me.

“Dad, this is Dusty. I was telling you about him last time.”

The idea that she was talking to him about me sends a grateful rush through me. I stride forward, offering my hand. He shakes it. His grip is warm and firm. He smiles up at me. “I’m Thomas.”

“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Sir?”

He looks at Marnie and nods. “I like this guy already.”

“I figured you would.”

Marnie sits on the edge of his bed. “He charms everyone he meets.”

Thomas starts asking Marnie about the farm, about the last wedding she did. I wander closer to the dresser by the door, looking at the gallery of family photos there.

There’s a picture of Thomas and Naomi when they were younger. They’re at a carnival or fair, arms around each other, glowing.

There’s a picture of baby Marnie. She’s covered in frosting and looking pleased as can be with herself.

The three of them, their complete little family, on a hiking trip in the mountains.

It’s Thomas’s life in a nutshell.

It makes me wonder, at the end, what would my picture gallery look like?

Thomas may not reach an old age, but he had a loving wife and a beautiful daughter.

What more could you ask for?