“Yeah, she was always good at making lemonade out of lemons.” Fondness filled his gaze. “We talked a lot about you, and what would happen when you grew up. She was worried you’d think that this was all there was in life. That her dad would put the same pressure on you that he’d put on her.”
I closed my eyes. He had. “I loved Percival.”
“I think you felt like you had to love Percival, or you were nothing.”
I inhaled sharply. The place had been my home. It’d been the center of all my happy memories. Yet the happiness in those memories came from Mom and Dad. Not the farm.
“Neither of us liked how your grandfather pressured you. He was obsessed with the place, and I think his declining health made him more of a fanatic. He couldn’t be around to control everything. Your mom wanted you to be free to live your own life. It was important to her that you had the opportunities she hadn’t. She once said that she ought to sell the place to put a stop to her dad’s poisonous thinking.”
I sank my head into my hands. The sale had been Mom’s idea? Blocking me had originated with her? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t give a shit about the farm or ranch; she wasn’t there and I didn’t care. I know you hated me forit, but I’d rather have you hate me than her. Your head was filled so full with your grandpa’s words, I thought it was all or nothing. Either you’re completely free of Percival and you can figure out what you really want in life, or you’d be anchored to that place and you’d die with nothing but your pride while cursing any future kids to my and your mom’s fate.”
Dad hadn’t wanted to be nothing but a farmer or rancher. He’d limited his options for Mom and then he’d gotten stuck out there. If he’d tried to sell when Grandpa Percival was still alive, my grandfather would’ve made his life hell.
And mine by proximity. “You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to put the blame where it belonged.” Would it have changed anything?
It didn’t matter.
Dad worked his jaw back and forth. “Maybe I was afraid of you resenting her for leaving you with a mess. I didn’t want that. For either of us.”
We couldn’t go back in time and change our actions. And I was so damn tired of being angry. “I’m sorry,” I said hoarsely.
“No.” Dad shook his head once. “No. You do not have anything to apologize for. By the time I sobered up, I was too late to be a good influence. Too late to tell you that you could do anything you wanted.”
“I wouldn’t have known what I wanted. I would’ve said Percival.”
“It shouldn’t have been an all-or-nothing decision,” he said sadly.
“Grandpa Percival made it that way.”
“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear youacknowledge that. Gives me hope that someday you may not hate me.”
I swallowed hard and tipped my head back to look at the off-white ceiling. The walls were plain, but Dad’s home was brighter than ours had ever been after Mom died. “I don’t hate you.”
“You know, I might start to believe that.”
“Because I’m here?”
He shook his head. “You didn’t bite my head off when I called you Giddy.” A smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. “And you called me Dad tonight.”
“Shit, Dad.” I pushed a hand through my hair. The ball cap I’d worn last was on the passenger seat. “I’ve been awful to you and I was a selfish ass with Autumn.”
“I have to admit I’m glad you’re not just in town for me.” He pointedly looked at my bare ring finger. My ring was in my pocket. “I’ve been worried that you two were no more.”
“I miss home. I found it again with Autumn and I threw it away.” The next part might hurt him, but I had to say it. He’d have the answers. “I’m terrified of losing her. I’m...”
“Scared of turning into me?” Sadness filled his gaze. He crossed to me, grabbed both of my shoulders, and hauled me into his arms. I was a few inches taller than him, but I was propelled back in time. He was my old dad, the one from the happy memories I’d never push away again.
When he pulled back, he studied me. “You’re scared of turning into me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I understand, you know. Every time I get upset and want a drink, I think about how much like you I am.” I didn’t say it to be mean.
Regret passed through his expression. “Hell, Giddy, I’m sorry. If someone had told me before your mom died I’d have an alcohol problem, I’d have never believed ’em. You’re aware of the urge. You’re already ahead of me. I’m proud of you, you know. Always have been.”
His words closed a wound deep inside me that I’d been ignoring. “Autumn wants kids.”
“Do you?”
