Helen Brenna - Her Sure Thing

They continued chatting about nothing of consequence while she finished putting away the clean dishes and then began piling the dirty ones into the dishwasher. When the microwave dinged, she set the hot soup in front of her dad and picked up the kitchen. By the time she’d finished, the dishwasher was full again, but at least the counters were clean.

She went through the mail, recycling all the junk and setting the bills and other correspondence in one neat pile. “This is the important stuff,” she said, making sure he was paying attention. “So you need to go through this soon, okay?”

He nodded. “All right, dear.”

Nearing the bottom of the stack, she ran across a recent photo of her mom and dad. They were sitting at a table, his arm was around her shoulder and their heads were tilted toward each other. It was rare to see Jean Andersen smile so widely.

“That was taken the night before she died,” her dad said as he came to stand next to her. “We were playing cards at the Engebretsons’ town house, and she’d just won a game of hearts by shooting the moon in the last hand.”

Meaning she’d just forced twenty-six points onto all of her other teammates. Not an easy thing to do. God, it’d been a long time since Grace had played cards.

“It was a good night.” He ran the tip of his index finger over the photo.

She glanced at him and his melancholy expression clawed at her heart. How could her father have so loved a woman with whom Grace had never really gotten along? It just didn’t make sense. “It’ll get easier, Dad.”

He smiled wryly. “You know how many times I’ve said that exact thing to other people looking to their pastor for advice?” He shook his head. “It’s hogwash.” He sighed. “I still wake up every morning expecting to see her lying next to me.”

The phone rang, piercing the sudden quiet.

She answered. “Andersen residence.”

“Well, I’ll be darned. This little Gracie?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling with the realization that this man’s voice sounded familiar. “This Doc Welinski?”

He chuckled. “That it is.”

“How have you been, Doc?”

“I’ve been great,” he said, pausing. “So sorry about your mom.”

“Thank you.”

They chatted for a few minutes about her plans. “Enough of that,” Grace said finally. “I imagine you wanted to talk with Dad.”

“That I do. Need to get that man moving again. Thought maybe a round of golf might do a world of good.”

“Sounds like a great idea.” She handed the phone to her father. “It’s Doc Welinski.”

“Willard? What’s up?”

Grace put her father’s lunch dishes in the dishwasher.

“No, no,” her father said. “Not this afternoon. I’m too tired.” Her father paused, presumably while Doc talked. “I know, I know. I’ll get there. Just not today.” Another pause. “Thanks for the offer.” He hung up the phone.

“I think it would do you some good, Dad,” Grace said gently. “To get out a bit.”

“Next week.” He patted her cheek. “It’s good to have you home, Grace.”

“It’s good to be home, Dad.”

“SEE YOU TWO IN THE MORNING.” Sean walked through his clinic waiting room after his last appointment of the day.

“Have a good afternoon, Doctor,” replied Donna, his office manager.

“See you later, Dr. Griffin,” his nurse, Kelly, said, smiling.

No matter how many times he asked them, he couldn’t get those two to refer to him as Sean. Donna, a stout woman in her late fifties, had insisted it wasn’t proper in a medical clinic to call the doctor anything except doctor, and Kelly, a pretty young—too young for Sean—redhead who’d moved to Mirabelle only last summer, wasn’t about to cross Donna no matter how much she wanted to flirt with Sean.

Sean left the clinic and headed toward home. Although being the only physician on the island also meant being on call 24/7, limiting his clinic hours to mornings during the summer tourist season left him afternoons and evenings for his new business venture.

He reached the top of Mirabelle’s hill and headed straight through the residential section toward the outer edge of town. After walking through the main gate to his property, Sean nodded at Eric, his stable manager who, along with a couple other wranglers, was taking a group of tourists out on trail ride through Mirabelle’s state park land.

“Everything going okay?” Sean asked, stepping onto his front porch.

“Yes, sir,” Eric answered. “Had two full groups this morning and have another two scheduled this afternoon.”

“Great.” As the line of horses left the main yard, Sean opened his front door, stepped inside and immediately stumbled over a pair of shoes left smack-dab in the middle of the hall. Austin’s shoes.

He glanced around. It’d taken him several months to get this house exactly the way he’d wanted it, updated and refreshed, neat and ordered, but he’d finally managed. It had taken Austin less than a week to wreak havoc.

The kid was like a tornado. He’d thrown his sweatshirt over a chair. A pair of his socks were lying on the floor in the family room. An empty pop can sat on an end table, along with several sweat rings from other drinks. A cell phone, personal music device and both chargers were strewn across one of the kitchen counters. An empty milk carton sat next to the kitchen sink along with several dirty dishes and the jar of peanut butter and there were bread crumbs scattered everywhere.

Only three months. You can do it.

After changing out of his doctor garb for his preferred mode of dress—jeans and a T-shirt—he rapped on Austin’s closed bedroom door. “Austin, time to get up.”

No response.

“Austin?”

Still nothing.

“Austin.”

“What?” came the surly response.

Sean took a deep breath and tried to let it slide. “It’s after noon. You can’t sleep the entire day away.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

Sean went to the kitchen and set about making himself a sandwich for lunch. Once he pulled out the bread, he realized it’d be just as easy to make two sandwiches. A few minutes later, as he was sitting down at the table, Austin shuffled into the room. “I made you some lunch,” Sean said, nodding at the plate opposite him.

Austin glanced from Sean to the plate and back again. “I’m not hungry.”

Seemed like this kid was bound and determined to make this difficult no matter what Sean did or didn’t do. “Suit yourself.”

Austin opened the refrigerator door and searched around. Then he poured himself a glass of milk. A moment later, he reached for the plate. “I guess I’ll just take this to my bedroom.”

“Nuh-uh.” Sean held down the edge of the plate. “If you’re going to eat, eat here.”

Austin sighed and shook his head. “Whatever.” Reluctantly, he sat and started to eat.

They sat in awkward, uncomfortable silence. Sean racked his brain for some way to make a connection to this young man. His son. How weird was that? Surreptitiously, he watched Austin. The kid propped one elbow on the table, tilted his head to the left and used a napkin in a side-swiping motion. His mannerisms were too similar to Sean’s to be coincidence. This kid was a Griffin, through and through. Somehow, someway, he had to make a connection.

“Look, Austin, I don’t know what Denise told you about me, but, for what it’s worth, I didn’t know you existed until she called me a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know you existed, either,” he said. “So that makes us even.”

“You don’t need to be such an—”

“Is this what you woke me for? To talk?” He rolled his eyes and pushed away from the table. “Get real, okay? You’re not my dad. I don’t have a dad. I don’t want a dad. And if I ever did want a dad, I sure as hell wouldn’t want you.” With that, Austin stalked off toward the front door. “I’ll meet you outside.”