Dad who’d thrashed around his hospital bed. “Mornin’ Melbadoll.” He smiled, and she fought the urge to just let the day slide into peaceful normalcy.
It won’t. It can’t until you talk about this, she argued with herself while she fixed a cup of tea and dragged herself into the living room to perch on the ottoman by Dad’s chair. “I need to ask you something, Dad.”
He raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee. “Shoot.”
She’d rehearsed twelve ways to ask this, but couldn’t think of one. “I know people say stuff when they’re sick, and you had a high fever, but you said something to me in the hospital.”
“Okay, maybe I could be nicer about that Bradens boy, but...”
“No, Dad, it doesn’t have anything to do with that.” She couldn’t resist adding, “But yes, you could be nicer.” She stirred her tea, trying to come up with the right words. “This is...something you said to me. Actually—” this hurt to say “—I think you thought you were talking to Mom, the way you said it.” When his eyes grew anxious, she added, “You were pretty sick and on a lot of medication.”
“You look so much like her.” He said it with such tenderness, then shifted his gaze away from her to out the window.
“I like that, you know? It used to bug me in school when everyone would say, ‘Oh, you must be Maria’s daughter,’ but I like it now.” Melba squinted her eyes shut, pulling up a thread of courage from the place deep inside her chest that hadn’t settled since the hospital. “Dad, you looked at me, called me Maria, and said ‘She ought to know she’s not mine.’”
Melba watched her father’s body take in the words. Even with his face away from her, it was like a shock wave, hitting his shoulders, flinching his fingers, pushing on his chest. Part of her wanted him to not remember, to dismiss it as another of his “gone away” moments, but the telltale movements left no doubt. She was almost afraid for him to turn toward her.
When he did, his face was so full of pain and heartbreak it pummeled the breath from her lungs. “I didn’t say that.” It was a last-ditch denial.
“Yes, Dad, you did. And I think we should talk about it, don’t you?”
He turned away from her again. The fingers around his coffee cup began to twitch. “I didn’t say...” The coffee cup tumbled out of his grasp before she could catch it, spilling coffee on his lap. He yelped at the heat, the flash of anger she’d grown to fear surging up in him. “Don’t give me hot coffee like that!” he snapped at her, forgetting it was he who’d served himself this morning. To think she’d been pleased at his self-sufficiency.
By the time Melba had gotten Dad cleaned up and calmed down, they were both exhausted and irritable. When she arrived, Barney’s frown told Melba they looked as bad as they felt. Melba looked up from her third cup of tea as she clung to her last nerve while Dad shouted things at the news broadcasters from a too-loud television in the living room.
“Last night not go so well?” Barney said, nodding toward the blasting news headlines on the other side of the kitchen door.
“No, the night went fine. This morning, not so much.”
“Did he fall?”
“No. It’s my fault. I tried to get him to explain something he said to me in the hospital and it...” Melba pushed out a breath that felt like concrete in her lungs. “It didn’t go well.” She hated that she felt tears twist up her throat. “He’s so...here sometimes, and then the next second he’s...” She swallowed, unable to come up with a suitable alternative to “gone.”
Barney sat down. “I know,” she said, putting a hand over Melba’s. “This is hard. For you most of all. You gotta have faith God’s going to walk you through this, and I know you do, but that don’t mean it isn’t tough to see some mornings.” She frowned at Melba’s face, asking, “How much sleep did you get last night?”
I must look a sight, Melba thought. She was still in her pajamas and hadn’t put her contacts in or brushed her hair. “Not a whole lot.”
Barney patted Melba’s hand. “Why don’t you go upstairs and nap a bit. I’ll take care of Mr. Personality in there and see if I can’t lighten the mood.”
“Actually—” Melba stifled a yawn “—I think the best thing for me would be a run. A little sunshine and fresh air ought to do me a world of good.”
“Never could see the point in that, but if that’s your ticket, then by all means. Go burn off stress.”
“Burn off chocolate cake, actually.” Melba was surprised to find a smile creep onto her lips. Nothing was going to solve itself anytime soon, so she was going to have to learn to cope while knee-deep in uncertainty. Uncertainty over what to think, what to do, where to find the answers she sought. And most of all, uncertainty over how to deal with the revelation that she was now certain was true—that Dad wasn’t her father after all. She needed time to think, to pray, to start pulling at all those knots in front of her, and she did that best while running.
Chapter Four
Chad Owens kept jogging. “Forget about it. What do a bunch of old ladies know?”
Clark held out a hand to halt Chad’s steps as they jogged together on the river bank path. He wanted Chad to take more offense at what he’d just heard. “Those old ladies know how to make a fuss, how to complain to other people, and probably how to write letters to the editor of the town newspaper. I’m going to pay for the fact that they aren’t happy about the idea of me as fire chief.”
Chad shook his head and kept running. “The town council’s already voted. You’re already hired. You’re in uniform. You formally take over in a month. It’s just noise.”
“I go to that church.” Clark dashed to catch up. “I spent three hours mopping out the basement from the last flood. Why do they still think of me as some kind of hooligan?”
Now it was Chad who stopped. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.” He wiped his forehead with one sleeve. “You didn’t exactly leave here Prince Charming. Did you think everyone would come around in the first month?”
Clark didn’t really have an answer. “I suppose I figured once the hiring became official, that’d be the end of it.”
Chad put one leg up on the park bench beside him and stretched a calf muscle. “Come on, Clark, I didn’t even grow up here and I could have told you this was going to happen.” He looked straight at Clark. “You have some pretty big fire boots to fill.”
“Tell me about it.”
Chad cuffed Clark’s shoulder. “He’s been fire chief around here for ages. You’d constitute a big change even if you were identical to him.”
It wasn’t much of a help.
“And you’re completely different from him,” Chad continued as he stretched the other leg.
Clark started running again. “Thanks for the vote of confidence there.”
“Hang on.” Chad caught up. “What I’m trying to say is this is an uphill battle no matter who steps in as chief, so don’t worry about a little bit of friction.”
“Oh, so I suppose that’s why you didn’t step up to take over as chief? Didn’t want to take the hit but happy to watch me go down in flames?” Clark didn’t really feel that way, but life didn’t offer up too many chances to rib Chad Owens, so he had to find his targets when he could. It had gotten a bit easier since he’d married just before Clark came back to town.
“I’m too busy to be chief.”
“Too busy playing the happy newlywed. You’ve put on a few pounds being married to the candy store lady.”
Chad smirked. He smirked