“Hey Pop,” John called out, walking into the living room of his dad’s house. It wasn’t where John had grown up. They’d lived in another town, but his dad had sold that place a few years back and moved to Dark Falls.

“Pop?” He worked his way through the house and out back to the garage, which was where he’d likely find his dad.

John could always count on finding his dad either in the garage or just coming in from working on a car. His dad restored old cars for people all over the country, working on one hand-picked project at a time in the garage behind his house.

“What brings you here?” His dad spoke from under the hood of a ’55 De Soto Fireflite Hemi.

“Pie. I’m looking for pie,” John said, patting his stomach. It was close to dinner, but he didn’t care. The truth was, he was coming by to slip more cash to his dad. He’d already put it into the canister on the top shelf of the pantry on his way through the house. It was the only way he could get his dad to let him pay back the debt he owed him.

“No pie,” his dad laughed, coming out from under the hood, already wiping his hands on a rag. “But I’ve got carrot cake.”

His dad had once been a cook in the Navy. When he was injured and honorably discharged, he’d gotten a job at a diner three towns over, going in before anyone else was awake and functioning to bake the pies, cakes, and pastries. He’d always said it was a hell of a change from Navy cooking, but anyone could see his dad loved baking.

When he started restoring old cars for a living, he had quit that job, but he still baked regularly, and John took advantage of that fact as often as he could.

“Perfect. Vegetables.” John grinned as his dad huffed over John’s interpretation of a serving of vegetables.

“Why the De Soto?” John asked when his dad had put a serving of cake in front of him at the kitchen table.

The car was a nice one, but it wasn’t the usual job for his dad. After years of work, his father had built a reputation for quality work that let him choose the restoration jobs he took. Some of the wealthiest car collectors paid him to restore unique cars that usually needed months of hunting down the right parts or modification of parts to get the restoration done right.

A ’55 De Soto Fireflight was a fairly easy job, something that could be done by someone with a lot less skill and talent than his dad.

His dad laughed. “One of my clients let his grandson choose his next restoration. I didn’t have the heart to turn him down.”

John tried to smile, but it was stiff, so he chose to fill his mouth with cake to avoid answering.

The cake went to sawdust in his mouth, but he used the milk to chase it down anyway.

There was the kind of heavy silence that said his dad knew where John’s mind had gone, but neither was going to try to fill the quiet space.

“Your sister is coming for a visit in March,” was what his dad finally offered when they’d both made some progress on their food.

John’s smile came back as he answered. “Who’s she bringing?” His sister, Penny, was forever bringing home men she swore were “the one.” Whoever he was, the guy was always subjected to the grilling from hell by their dad and John and within days of the trip home, she’d decide Prince Charming didn’t measure up after all and dump the poor bastard.

John felt for the guys in a way. Here, they thought they were coming home with her, meeting the family, and getting ready to “take the next step,” only to find out she was done with them a week later.

John ducked his dad’s playful slap to the back of the head and stood, taking his plate to the sink. The rule in their house had always been that you bussed your place. His dad would do the dishes once you got them to the sink, but you had to clear them.

That’s not to say John didn’t do chores growing up. He’d been responsible for doing his own laundry from the age of ten up, and every weekend he was expected to mow the lawn or rake leaves. When it snowed, he and his sister bundled up to clear the walkways and driveway. When you lived in a household with a single parent and an income that didn’t have room for a ton of extras, you had jobs to do. It was as simple as that.

“You staying for dinner?”

John shook his head, but a stab of guilt at not spending more time with his pop kicked him in the gut. His thoughts went to his planned dinner with Ava. He didn’t mention it to his dad. Any talk of dinner with a woman would get his dad’s hopes up that he might be dating again, no matter how much he explained he and Ava were only friends.

His dad had been both mother and father to John and his sister after his mom walked out on them when John was three. It was a little funny how much the old man could act like the stereotypical mother, wanting his kids married and happily producing grandkids. Not that they talked about that openly anymore. His dad would never go there with John, but he didn’t need to say anything for John to know what he was thinking.

The funny thing was, he found he had to remind himself not to think of Ava as anything more than a friend. Not to hope that what they’d once started years before could start up again. Hell, he was having a hard time getting his body to get the memo on that one. He still responded to her just the way he had in college. In fact, she was more attractive now. She had more character to her face with the light lines of laughter framing her mouth and a confidence she hadn’t had when they dated.

John went to leave, but his dad opened the pantry and pulled out the canister where John had slipped two-hundred dollars earlier.

“Thought I told you to stop with this shit,” his dad said, tossing the folded bills to John. “I don’t need your money.”

John let the bills land on the counter between them, untouched. “It’s your money.” It was a conversation they’d had before, and for a while John had given up on trying to give his dad the money, but it never sat right with him, leaving the debt out there.

His father’s face tightened. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone else, but John knew the man well. He also knew how to read faces. His dad had a lot more he wanted to say on the matter.

John sighed and reached for the money, thumbing it before reaching out with it toward his dad. “I never wanted that money to be more than a loan, dad. Lucia and I appreciated what you did for us. You gave us a shot at having a kid that we never would have had if you hadn’t given us that money.”

John stopped, his voice betraying the way the subject still got to him. The pain it caused him to talk about any of what he and Lucia had gone through. He swallowed hard.

The softening in his father’s face was every bit as subtle as the tension in it had been.

John continued pushing the money toward his old man. “We appreciated what you did, but Lucia and I wanted that money to be a loan. I want to pay you back.”

John could see his dad’s jaw working and would bet his father was trying to think of an argument. Something about how badly they’d all wanted that baby. How much of a disappointment it had been when it hadn’t happened for them. It wasn’t anything John wanted to hear.

He pulled his dad into a one-armed hug, putting the money into the chest pocket of the coveralls his dad wore like a uniform. “Thanks, Dad, but let me do this. Let me pay you back.”

His dad grunted a reply, but he kept the money this time, and John breathed a little easier for it as he walked out.