According to Google, there’s no way the stroke could have been caused by heartbreak. I disagree. I witnessed my vibrant, loving dad shrivel away after Mom died.
Since sophomore year of high school, I’ve been in charge of managing this house, making sure Dad makes it to his doctor’s appointments, overseeing Dad’s recovery, and paying all the bills once Dad’s benefits ran out.
It’s the reason I bought theRumrunnerwhen I had the chance. I didn’t realize I should have hired an accountant to review the sales price. I’ll be paying off the bar until the day I die.
“I’m sorry, Dad, but Mom’s not here.”
He glances away from me but not before I notice the pain in his eyes. It’s been sixteen years – half of my life – and he’s still grieving for the woman he loves.
“You’re stuck with me. And I got in a fight in the grocery store parking lot and didn’t manage to buy your Fruit Loops before the bar opened up yesterday.”
He scowls. “Why’d you do a fool thing like get in a fight?”
“I was provoked.”
“One of these days, your temper is going to get the worst of you.”
I shrug. “It’s not my fault the woman thought I was budging in line.”
“It’s never your fault.”
I poke my tongue out at him. “How about I make some pancakes for breakfast?”
He perks up. “With butter and maple syrup?”
I nod. “With butter and maple syrup.”
Ever since Dad’s stroke, we’ve been on a healthy diet in this household. Plenty of fruits and vegetables, wholegrains and high fiber breads and cereals, lean meats, poultry, and fish. The one exception is Fruit Loops for breakfast.
I’ve tried my best to rid Dad of his Fruit Loops addiction, but there’s only so much I can do when he decides to protest by refusing to go to therapy. You try carrying a grown man into a car and then we’ll talk.
I gather the ingredients I need for the pancakes and switch on the griddle. The doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it.”
“Go ahead. It’s not for me anyway.”
I frown. Dad used to have an active social life when Mom was alive. Now he doesn’t speak to any of his friends. His friends stopped coming around when he refused to open the door for them.
I need to do something about his social life. Dad’s in his fifties. He has years of living ahead of him. He’s way too young to give up on life.
“Hey,” I greet Parker when I open up the door.
She lifts up a coffee and small bag. “As requested.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She giggles. “True. I save lives as a pastry chef all the time.”
I open the bag and inhale the scent of chocolate and cinnamon. “Total lifesaver.”
“It’s a Siren’s Snap cookie. I put my own twist on the classic ginger snap.”
“I don’t know why you’re still in Smuggler’s Hideaway and not baking in a patisserie in Paris but I thank the mermaids every day for it.”
“My French sucks anyway,” she jokes but her smile is strained.
There’s a story there, but I’ve never had the chance to dig into the past with Parker. She works early morning hours at the bakery, and I work late hours at the bar. We’re two ships passing in the night.
