CHAPTER NINE
STERLING
Is he ever going to kiss me? I pretty much gave him an open invitation, and that was over three hours ago. I thought for sure he’d kiss me while we walked around the farm, but nope. Then I thought he’d lay one on me as he opened my door to drive me home, but nada. I would’ve bet my left ovary he was going to kiss me when we parked in front of my house, but no luck. Surely the porch as we say goodbye will be the spot. The lyrics of “Kiss me” by Olly Murs play in my head, and I’m hoping he can read my mind.
But as he opens my car door, his eyes aren’t even on me; they’re staring out at the Bay. Following his gaze, I see my daddy standing on the old dock we used to fish from. He’s just staring out into the water, my momma with her hand on his shoulder. It’s funny how you can feel someone’s emotions from their posture. My chest starts to hurt. “Something’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Go,” he says, softly. “I’ll be right here.”
I start towards them, but Momma turns, spotting me, and holds up her hand for me to wait. I watch her whisper something to Daddy, his head bowing slightly. Reaching behind me, I open my hand, and Rorke takes it, stepping beside me. Perhaps he shouldn’t be here. Whatever this is, maybe it’s a private family matter.
Momma glances at Rorke, and the slightest smile crosses her lips. “What’s going on?” I ask. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”
“He’s resigning from his position as deacon.”
“Why?” I ask. Rorke’s hand slips to my waist like he knows what’s coming.
“Please, Sterling. It’s been a long day. It’s for the best.”
“Because of me?” I ask, but I already know. “Is that why? Because of what happened at the store? Because I can talk to the church board, the pastor. I’ll talk to the bishop. I can explain what I do. I can fix this.”
“It’s done already. Let it go.”
“There must be something!”
“There’s not,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I should’ve never come home,” I say as Rorke pulls me into his chest, holding me.
“Oh, baby, this was going to happen one way or another. They’d already stripped him of most of his responsibilities.”
I lift my head, finding Rorke’s blue eyes closed. “You knew about this?”
“Sugar,” I hear Daddy say, his voice still strong as ever. He holds out his hand to me.
I take a step towards him then turn back to Rorke. He knew. Why didn’t he tell me? “Go home.”
The pain in his blue eyes shocks me. It hurts him to leave me. I can see it.
Walking towards my daddy, I feel like a little girl about to hear some of his wisdom. We take a seat on the dock, letting our feet dangle. He tells me that he hasn’t had any real responsibility in the church since stories of my success hit the town, that there were members of the church board who voiced their concerns to the pastor. I can guess which bitch led that charge.
My heart breaks for my father. He loves his church, the parishioners, everything about the Catholic Church, really. I’m so angry I could spit. Angry they did this to him. Angry I’m the reason. Angry that it’s been two years, and my parents never told me.
“After what happened at the store the other day,” Daddy says. “Well, the bishop was called. That was that. They’re letting me retire. It looks better.”
Before I can object, he squeezes me a little tighter. “I feel horrible,” I say. “This is all my fault.” He simply kisses the side of my head. I never expected my decision to invent a little sex toy would cause my parents such pain. Embarrassment for sure, but not this. “I love you, Daddy. I would never want to do anything that would hurt you.”
“Enough,” he says gently. “You know, when you first told us about your little invention, I was shocked. I had a hard time with it. Your momma ripped me a new one.” He chuckles to himself, remembering.
“How’d you get past it?”
“Two reasons. First, I love you. And second, your momma,” he laughs again. “That woman is crazy.”
“Then I guess you can blame her for my crazy.”
He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t have my girls any other way.”
“The world needs more men like you,” I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.
“They’re around,” he says quietly, glancing back over his shoulder. “Closer than you think.”
I follow his gaze, seeing Rorke sitting with my momma on the back porch. Stubborn man, I should’ve known he wouldn’t leave just because I told him to.
*
The worst thing about not being able to sleep is stressing because you aren’t. I’ve been laying here for hours, telling myself I have to sleep, that I’ll be exhausted if I don’t, counting the hours until I have to be up. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider heading back to New York. Maybe it was a mistake to come home. Daddy would still have his job. While it’s tempting to run, I’m not about to let those close-minded assholes win, to run me out of town. You’d think that thought would bring me enough peace to fall asleep, but it doesn’t.
The list of things I need to do makes sleep impossible. I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow. There’s work to catch up on. I need to call the office and make sure everything is running smoothly. Check on some new things we’re working on. More importantly, my parents’ anniversary party isn’t going to plan itself, and after the terrible news today, I want it to be something truly special.
The bay water laps against the shore like it’s calling me. I get up, reaching for my pink heart sticky notes and start to jot down a few ideas. A smile comes to my face. I’m not sure if this is a really good or really bad idea, but I’m going with it.