Casa.”
He scratched his chin. “Mi Casa, Mi Casa. Doesn’t sound familiar.” He squinted. “Is it new?”
“Couple of years old.” She sipped the tea. “It’s at the corner of Route 40 and St. Johns Lane.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding. “That new building behind the bank.”
They’d already discussed this, briefly, before Wade arrived. “Enough small talk, Dad. Out with it.”
Palms upturned and brows raised, he feigned innocence. “Out with what?”
“May as well tell me what’s on your mind, save us both a lot of hemming and hawing.”
Gus opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again. For a long, silent moment, he only stared at her, a pensive, faraway expression on his rugged face. “Do you have any idea how much you remind me of your mom sometimes?”
She’d never understood whether that was a good thing…or a bad thing. Patrice looked down, at the grain of the Bible’s leather cover. If she thought for a minute opening it would provide him with comfort and peace, if it would give him the healing he so richly deserved—
“All I can say is, he’d better treat you with kid gloves,” Gus said roughly. “You remember what I said when the last bum broke your heart….”
A sad smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “That you’d mow him down with your wheelchair, then back up and roll over him again.”
“I would-a, too, if you hadn’t begged me not to.”
He didn’t have it in him to squash an ant, let alone harm another human being. Still, he seemed to enjoy his little threat. Quiet laughter simmered in them, bubbled up and spilled softly out—proof of what they both knew.
For a minute or two, father and daughter sat in companionable silence. Then Gus reached out and patted her hand. “Better get to bed, Treecie. Didn’t you say there’s some kind of multiward party at Child Services tomorrow?”
She nodded. “Yep. Child Health Week starts this weekend.”
“And let’s not forget what tomorrow night is….”
Merriment twinkled in his eyes. She got up and crouched beside him. “What’re you dressing up as this year?”
“Molly helped me build a box for this baby.” He slapped the armrests. “It’s the spittin’ image of an Indy 500 car!”
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