Father's Keeper by Parker Ford (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

I tried on a smile. “Something new. Icut it off and donated it and got a little something extra.”

“You look so different,” he said.

“Now I don’t look like Marian,” Isaid, feeling a bit put-off. The least he could do was say he liked it beforehe made me feel like shit.

“You don’t look like Marian at all,”he said. His voice was only slightly slurred, it was the shine in his eye andthe cut of his jaw that told me he’d had one too many.

“Oh, please.” I took off my apron andpoured myself a beer for the end of shift. John handed me my tips and thenskeedaddled. He could tell that Gil was off and that meant something was wrong.Gil was a man who kept a good handle on himself and rarely if ever had too muchto drink.

“You don’t,” he said, and banged hisbig hand on the bar. “You look like you. You’re gorgeous and you look like yourown goddamn self and not your mother,” he said a bit too loud.

“Okay,” I laughed. “Thank you for thatstellar endorsement of my own personal beauty. Bottom line is, I just wantedsomething new.”

“Blue is new,” he said and thenlaughed at himself. “Blue is new,” he said again, as if he were tasting thewords. “And blue is you,” he said, reaching out to stroke the blue ribbon ofhair that swung near my cheek.

His finger brushed my cheek and mynipples went hard like a sudden chill had overtaken me. My pussy grew moist forhim just from the memory of him touching me in other places with those warmfingers. “Thanks,” I managed.

Gil caught himself, looked angry,pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Beer?”

“No,” I said.

He shrugged and hit the bar once morebut not very hard.

“What’s wrong?” I asked and then mybrain kicked into gear and I figured it out. I bit my lip, waiting.

“Your mother called,” he said.

“I forgot to leave you a note,” Isaid. “I was supposed to warn you and I--”

He put his hand over mine. “Not yourfault, not your problem.”

I took another sip of my beer, decidedI didn’t want it and dumped the rest in the bar sink. Carl was laughing with abunch of band members in the corner and looking at the female bass playerstits. I shook my head and sighed. “But I should have remembered. I was sopissed at her and then I got the hair cut and my brain is fried. I’m totallystupid right now, Gil I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He patted my hand againand sighed.

“So why are you upset? Because shewants some stuff sent? Not to be disloyal, daddio,” I laughed, “But I thinkyou’re better off without her.”

“I’m not upset because she wants somestuff,” he said.

“Then why?”

He leaned in and I moved forward tohear his whispered words. “I’m upset because I’m not upset.”

“Oh,” I breathed, my body responding in an entirely inappropriate way. I choseto ignore it.

“And I’ve had too much to drink,” heconfided.

I smiled then, a smile that touchednot just my face but my heart, too. “You don’t say.”

“I do say.”

“How about if I make sure you get homeokay? I’m off now,” I said.

“You are a gem, Jenny. You are thebest almost daughter in the world.”

“Thanks,” I said and clocked out. Itold Carl to party on and that I’d see him later and off I went, making sure myalmost dad got back to my almost home.

“Do you feel weird about me beinghere?” Gil asked as we walked. The streetlights lit half his handsome face butthrew the other half in shadows.

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“Because I’m not your dad and I’m inthe house your mom was in before I met her.”

I shrugged. When he lit a cigarette Idrew a deep breath and held it, relishing the rich fiery smell. He offered meone and I shook my head. “Nope. No to the cigarette and no to the question. Ido not feel weird. She left, not you.”

“True,” he said and kicked a soda canbefore sighing, stooping and picking it up. Gil stuck it in his back pocket.

“Why are you upset that you aren’tupset?” I asked, feeling oddly shy but hugely curious.

“Shouldn’t I be upset?”

“I guess. It would make sense, butonly if you were happy. Were you happy?”

He turned to me, so fast he threw meoff kilter and I stumbled. The beer was wearing off and he reached out a hand,fast and sure, and steadied me. “I thought I was. But now I wonder if I justassumed I was instead of actually feeling it.”

“Then it’s a good thing she left,” Isaid softly and turned, continuing so fast that he took three running steps tocatch up.

“I’m sorry if that sounds likesomething an asshole would feel,” he mumbled.

“The only asshole in this is the onewho ran off,” I said and then snorted. “That sounds kind of gross.”

At home he pulled his key from hisjean pocket and let us in. “Beer?”

“You sure?” I said and smiled. I hitthe small light in the living room. Something about the dark was comforting. Iwasn’t ready for real light, so the small lamp’s glow was more than enough.

“I’m fine. I wasn’t, but now I am. Youcalm me,” he said and then frowned and moved away from me.

I saw my chance and I walked in thekitchen behind him. When he shut the fridge door, I put my hand on is arm. “Canwe talk about it?” I asked.

“What? Your mother?”

I shook my head, popped the caps offthe beers with a small souvenir opener screwed to the wall by the back door. Areminder of vacations past. Of youth and absurd souvenir stores and familyvacation.

“Not my mother,” I said. “Last night.”

“No.” His jaw went tight and he movedfrom me.

I grabbed his arm and said, “Please,Gil.”

“Nothing happened.”

“But it did,” I said in a rush. “Itdid and it was great and I can’t shake it or the thought of it or that factthat…” Here was where emotion surged up in my throat and I had a hard time.

His dark eyes were unreadable in thedim light. “That?”

“I want more,” I said, pushing thewords out.