Percival Everett - Half an Inch of Water - Stories

“Good.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

He stood in front of her on the porch. He thought better of asking to smell her breath, but he looked closely at her eyes.

“No,” she repeated.

He believed her or wanted to believe her. It came to the same thing, so he did not challenge her. He took a long breath.

“Well,” she said.

“Go on upstairs and get some sleep.”

“That’s it.”

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Right.”

That “right” pushed him over the edge. “Maybe you won’t need much rest.”

“What?”

“Since you won’t be going anywhere this weekend.”

“I’m supposed to go to Cathy’s on Sunday,” she said.

“Afraid not. Cathy won’t be having guests anyway. I talked to her mother.”

“You didn’t.”

“Around midnight a weird thing happened. I became worried about my fourteen-year-old daughter. So I called the person she said was giving her a ride. Guess what? Apparently, Cathy told her I was driving tonight.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, I’m angry that you stayed out so late, but you’re being grounded for lying.”

Emma said nothing else, but stormed into the house and up the stairs. She did not slam her door and he knew that her failure to do so was meant to annoy him. Knowledge notwithstanding, it worked.

He sat at his kitchen table and tried to figure out not what he had done wrong but what he might do right. He decided he needed some time with his daughter, as simpleminded as that sounded, alone and away from their house. He would offer his corny attempt at some kind of remedy and she would laugh, but he would force the issue. He would make her go hiking with him. He would not go to work and he would drive her into the Winds and hike up to Burnt Lake. She would complain loudly at first and he didn’t look forward to hearing that, but then it would get better. She was his daughter, so of course he loved her, but he actually liked her. He imagined that somewhere inside her she felt the same toward him.

The next morning Emma walked into the kitchen to find the counter covered with sandwiches, water bottles, and fruit. Benjamin watched her as he mixed peanuts and chocolate chips in a plastic bag.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

“An outing,” Benjamin said.

She looked at the mix in the bag. “Not a hike.”

“Yep. I thought we’d go up to Burnt Lake. We used to go there a lot. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“We need some time alone and we can get some real privacy up there.”

“We have privacy here,” Emma said.

“You know what I mean. Besides, here you have the phone and your computer. Smoke signals. So, go get your hiking boots on.”

“You see, there’s a problem.”

Benjamin stared at her.

“No boots.”

“I know you have hiking boots,” he said.

“Yes, that’s true. But I don’t have hiking boots that fit. I’ve been doing this thing called growing, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, we’ll leave a little earlier and pick you up a pair at Lark’s.”

“Really, Dad?”

“Really.”

“You’re serious about this,” she said.

“I am indeed.”

Lark’s was a feed and tack shop that also had a large boot department. Most were ropers and Wellingtons and paddock boots, but there were some hiking boots as well. Emma hated all of them. “I can’t be seen in these things,” she said. “My feet look big enough as it is.”

“That’s because you have big feet,” Benjamin said. “Own it.”

“No.”

“It’s not a tough hike. Just some sneaker ones will do.”

She looked at the lightweight boots. “They’re worse.”

“You only have to wear them once.”

“That’s a waste of money,” she said.

Benjamin mock-stared at her. “Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?”

Emma’s shoulders sagged.

“Really, just once. Do the ones you have on fit?”

“I guess.”

“Then we’ll get those. Just humor your old man.”

She started to unlace the boots.

“What are you doing?” Benjamin asked.

“I’m not wearing these things out of here. No way.”

“Okay, okay.”

Benjamin bought the boots and they got back into the car. Emma fiddled with the radio. “My music,” she said. “Only my music.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

What the music came to was Emma cycling through the stations. There was a preponderance of religious chatter until she got up to 100 on the dial and there was only country music she detested and at the upper end were a couple of stations playing songs in Spanish. She went through twice. She tried to turn off the radio in disgust, but managed only to turn the volume to near zero. Spanish music played softly just above the hum of the engine.

“I hate this place,” she said.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry.”

“Mom’s in Seattle.”

“How do you know that?” Benjamin asked.

“She called.”

“I see.” He looked out the window at the view of the mountain.

“Have a good chat?”

“I guess.”

“Is that where she’s living now? I thought she was in Spokane.”

“Was.” Emma looked through the lunch pack her father had put together. “We talked about me visiting there.” She opened a bag of chips, offered some to Benjamin. After he declined, she said, “It’s been a year.”

“Goes by fast.”

“What else did you talk about?”

Emma looked out the window and said nothing.

“Remember when we used to come up here a lot?”

The girl nodded. “You tried to teach me to cast. I hated that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It made me feel like you wanted a son instead of a daughter.”

Benjamin swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that. I just wanted to share stuff with you.”

“I hated touching the fish.”

“I didn’t know.”

He felt small and suddenly tired. “You probably won’t believe me, but I was always happy to have you as a daughter. I knew you were a girl when your mother told me she was pregnant.”

Emma ate a chip. “What did you bring to drink?”

“Water.”

She made a face.

He thought about apologizing, but didn’t.

Benjamin pulled the car off the road at the trailhead. “You know we can just go back home if you want.”

Emma opened the box and looked at her boots. “We’re here. Let’s just do this.”

“You make it sound like we’re on a mission.”

“Aren’t we?”

“Get your shoes on.” Benjamin stepped out and tightened his own laces while he waited.

Emma slammed the truck door and marched up the trail without him. He followed, caught up to her, and grabbed her arm.

“Hold on a sec,” he said. “I didn’t come up here to fight. I didn’t bring us up here for a forced march. If you’re that miserable, we can head down the mountain right now.” He looked up the trail. “I don’t know what you and your mother talked about. Just know that I’ll do whatever will make you happy. And safe, of course.”

“What if I want to move to Seattle and live with my mother?”

“Is that what she’s offering?”

“What if it’s what I want?”

“Of course I like having you with me. I want you with me, but I want you to be happy. Maybe you need your mother now. Or maybe you just need a break from me. I don’t know.” A deer bolted across the trail about thirty yards up. “I would understand that. Is that what she’s said, that you can come live with her?”

“Let’s hike,” Emma said.

They covered the first easy mile in good time, Emma leading the way. Benjamin stopped at a mound of scat that the girl had walked past. She turned and came back to him.