Dad pushed the chair across the cracked linoleum, growling loudly.
“There were so many dust bunnies under the dryer I could have made a new blanket to keep you warm at night.”
He didn’t answer, fumbling with the tie on his boot.
“I read that entire box of memories you left me with.” I slid a bowl of steaming hot spaghetti across the table. “I still don’t understand what you think you’re doing.”
“Saving you,” he grouched, finally catching my eye.
“From what? Myself?” I held a fork just out of reach, unwilling to give him anything.
“Hell, for starters. You see the storms that come in off that ridge—”
“This isn’t about the storm, Dad, only the one you created.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been holding a grudge on a man you don’t even know. Punishing him for something he didn’t do.”
“It’s not that simple, Poppy, don't you see? He's the reason your ma left us—”
“Did she leave for him? What are you talking about?”
He shook his head, dejected, and gave up on his boot. Pain laced his old eyes and feeling a spike of sympathy, I relinquished the spoon and bent to help him untie his boot. “After Aspen's mom died, your mama just wasn't right after that. She lost her best friend, it was one thing when they were fighting, at least they talked—but losing her for good made something split inside your mama’s head. She was so lonely all the time, her eyes were so vacant, I’d come home and find out she hadn't even fed you all day.” His shoulders slumped. “I used to worry so much at work I had Nana Winnie pop over every day around lunch to make sure you’d had something to eat.”
Tears welled in my eyes at the name of the little old woman that’d been in my life almost every day for the first thirteen years. She wasn’t even related—only a kind neighbor with a huge heart.
“I still don’t understand why this is Maverick’s fault.”
“Him and his crazy ideas, self-reliance and survival, he was hellbent on natural childbirth and insisted on a midwife—only, when that baby was born it was the night of the worst storm in recent history. The waves were so big just off the bay that a fishing boat capsized that night. Of course, the bridge went out and the midwife couldn’t get to the ridge, that’s why Maverick’s wife died—that’s why your ma lost her best friend and me and my dad knew long before that that he was a stubborn, no-good bum that would bring more harm than good to everything he touched. Even from up at the ridge.”
“That doesn't seem right, Dad. I don’t think—”
“Ask him.” Dad’s eyes flamed with anger. “Just ask him. He’ll probably lie to you to save his own ass.”
“Dad, is this really what you've been punishing him every day for? His existence?”
“I grew up with Maverick, that kid used to sit at my kitchen table and listen to my parents fight over politics and mashed potatoes. He went from needing a good family to spend time with, to his dad coming back to town and planting these wild anti-establishment ideas in his head—he just wasn’t the same. When he told your ma and I that he had no plans after high school except to work and live off the land, how could he do that—how could he plan to support a family and take a wife without a job? He’s just a bum, Poppy, too lazy to work then and too lazy to work now.”
“That’s harsh, Dad, and it’s not true. His life is just different from yours.”
“It’s not for you. I raised you a certain way—”
“What way? To love nature? To hunt and fish and camp and stop and smell the wildflowers? I love the ridge, and I love the man that lives on it.”
“Poppy, I won’t let you go back there—I couldn’t live with myself if...if…” He swiped at angry tears, covering his forehead with his palm before pushing up off the chair and leaving the kitchen.
I heard his door at the end of the hallway slam. Dad wasn’t anywhere near ready to deal with the reality that I loved Maverick Wright. The painful realization that it might take more than just a conversation or two to clear up this nonsense twisted my stomach.
I swiped Dad’s bowl and wrapped spaghetti around the fork to take my own bite. “Well then,so much for spaghetti and questions.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maverick
Twenty-four hours since The Captain had stolen my Petal and here I stood, arms overflowing with as many fresh flowers as I could fill them with as I stood on Captain O’Henry’s porch.
I had to make this right, had to show her what she meant to me.
