Page 66 of Reaching Hearts

“He's such a good cook!”

My father overlaps her, arguing, “He was too old for her!”

Staring out into the night, I say, “He wasn’t too old for me, Dad. You liked him when you met him.”

“Because he was my age.”

My mother and I both make sounds we often make at something Dad says. As if they were right in front of me, I know exactly the expressions that are on their faces. Mom rolling her eyes as she argues, “Oh, he was not that old.”

And Dad with an Irish twinkle in his eyes. “Thanks a lot.”

I walk away from the window and ask what they’ve been up to, since I have some time and seeing Mrs. Clark and Brendan talk about his father made me homesick and aware I won’t always have this chance. I listen to them tell me about a cabin they rented in Lake Michigan, how they had a ‘very nice time’ fishing, how Dad caught ‘a windfall’ and they cooked what they could eat, and froze the rest.

After he tells me in detail about the fish, he gets quiet. "You really need to get a gun."

"Dad, you don't have to worry.”

“Of course I worry.”

I sigh. “Come on, Dad. It's not like it's going to happen twice."

Impatient, he mutters, “Come on, nothin’! Fathers always worry about their little girls.”

I smile, my heart melting. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, kid.”

We say goodbye, and I promise to call again as soon as cameras are installed.