“Hey, Daddy!”

I pull open the screen door and see my father sitting at the table in his kitchen. A little television is propped on one end. He refuses to get a new one. There’s a large flat-screen in the living room, but he spends most of his time in here. He always has.

Growing up, I figured he just stayed in the kitchen because that’s where most of the action happened. Besides, he was the one at home—a stay-at-home Dad before those were a thing. He was ten years older than my mother to start with, but after an injury that got him discharged from the Army and then a career with the railroad, he retired when I was still little. That was fine with me. We’d spend nearly every day from spring to fall outside gardening, walking the woods and empty fields, and fishing. He was the coolest guy I knew.

Then Mom died when I was nineteen, shortly after Ford left, and Dad withdrew into himself. Stopped hanging out with his one friend. Declared himself too old to do the things we used to do. He’d just sit at his table and watch old Western re-runs over and over again.

“Hey, pumpkin.” He leans his cheek out so I can give it a kiss, which I do before sliding into the empty chair between the table and refrigerator. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks. I thought I’d put a little effort in now that I’m a businesswoman,” I say, instead of telling him I didn’t want Ford to see me at my worst.

“How’s the store coming?”

“Good! You should come by and see it sometime.”

He shrugs, his eyes going back to the cowboy on the screen. His cheeks tell the tale of a man that’s lived a hard life, his skin now seeming to hint at a yellow that makes me a little edgy. His hair has receded rapidly over the last few years and the once black strands are now a silvery grey. There are sunspots and moles and I wonder how so much changed in him in what seems like such little time. It makes the guilt inside me soar.

“You need to get out of this house,” I insist. “When is the last time you left this room?”

“I don’t sleep in here.”

“Okay. When’s the last time you saw John? Or went to Kenny’s,” I say, talking about his lone friend and the pool hall four streets over that he used to frequent.

“What are you? My keeper?” he grins. “I’m fine, Ellie. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you! You’re my daddy.”

This makes him smile. “That I am.”

Glancing around the room, I notice all the dust and cobwebs covering everything not used daily. My mom’s owl collection lacks its usual luster because of all the grime. The once-white walls are starting to peel in places, and the ceiling looks like it had a leak in it at one time.

“I’m going to come over here and clean this place up,” I tell him. “We need to wash stuff down, paint a little.”

“You have your hands full downtown.”

“But I will always make time for you.”

“Don’t bother with it,” he says, leaning back in his chair and wincing as he stretches his arms over his head. “I’ll get around to that stuff.”

“Sure you will.”

“Stop needling me and tell me what’s happening with you. How’s the shop coming together?”

“We’re aiming to open soon,” I say. “Maybe a month or so. It’s taking a little longer than I thought it would.”

“I warned you.”

“I know,” I sigh. “You’ve warned me about a lot of things in my life.”

The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them. Taking a deep breath to try to settle the little flutter in my belly as my brain demands to replay Ford’s smile from earlier today, I look at Dad. Of course he notices my hesitation.

“What’s this all about?” he asks.

I could lie to him. Or, more accurately, I could try to lie to him. He’d know though. He always does.

Sucking in a breath, I go for it. “Ford is back in town.”

His features remain passive, but I see the sparkle in his eye. “He is, huh?”

“He came by Halcyon.”

“How’s he doing?”

“I don’t know,” I say as casually as I can.

He scoffs, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the table. “Don’t be like that, Ellie.”

“Don’t be like what?”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, but he’s not amused. It’s more irritation, a frustrated huff that his baby girl is a little more like him than he cares to admit.

“Life’s too short for this,” he warns.

“Life’s too short to not want to have an in-depth conversation with someone that broke your heart?”

“You were both young.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” I bristle, knowing he’d take my side in a second if he knew the truth. But I have never told him, and if I’m honest with myself, a part of the reason is I don’t want him to be mad at Ford. I don’t know why I don’t. I just don’t. “I know you’ve always liked him, but you could at least pretend to like me more.”

His laugh this time is genuine and I almost return it.

“He’s a good man. I know you—”

“Daddy, don’t start on this now.”

“Ellie Dawn, listen to your old man for a second,” he says in the way that lets me know I’m about to get an earful. “You are the only person in this world that I love. The only reason why I’m not lying beside your mama right now,” he tells me. “I only want the best for you. I want you to have a full, happy life.”

“I know that.”

He sighs. “I have one regret and that’s raising you to be too much like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re just like me,” he says with a hint of pride. “You’re as stubborn as a mule and ready to argue for the sake of it.”

“It’s served me well.”

“But once you get to be my age, you realize it’s the setup for a lonely life.”

My heart constricts in my chest as I watch a flutter of memories flicker across his face. I reach out and take his hand, speckled with dark spots and calluses from a life of hard work.

“Are you lonely?”

“Not really,” he lies. “I got my Westerns here.”

Words escape me as I hold his hand, his skin not as warm as it used to be, nor is it as strong as I remember it being when I was young.

“Look at me,” he says finally. “What have I become? Your mama passed away and I just sit here, day after day, wasting my life away. Hell, I’ll die one of these days, and I don’t even have six friends to carry my casket.”

“Don’t talk about that,” I say, blinking back tears. “You aren’t going to die for a very long time.”

He smiles at me in a way that makes me wonder what he’s thinking and feeling. But I don’t ask. I can’t. I’ll start crying and that’s something he can’t handle.

Slipping his hand out from mine, he pats the top of my knuckles. When he speaks, I can hear the lump in his throat. “Why don’t you go on now? My show is coming back on.”

I stand and kiss his cheek, ruffling his hair with my fingers. “I want you to come see Halcyon this week, okay?”

He just nods.

“I love you, Daddy.”

He nods again and points to his television. I squeeze his shoulder as I head to my car, my heart both heavier and lighter than it was when I walked in.