Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 77 - Some TLC Required

Becca

I take my time opening the car door, slowly getting out of the relative safety of the comfortable interior. My legs feel unsteady, and I'm ready to jump back inside and race off at a moment's notice.

"Hello, Daddy," I whisper hoarsely when I'm finally standing next to the vehicle, in full view of my father. For what seems like centuries, we just stare at each other, and then the spade falls from my father's hands and clatters noisily to the ground, breaking the spell.

"Be... Becky?" he wipes a hand over his eyes as if he doesn't trust what they're showing him. "What the hell do you think you're doing just showing up like this out of nowhere, after not even giving me so much as a call for-" he growls when I don't disappear and am still standing, trembling next to the car when he can see again. He doesn't manage to finish his rant. His voice breaks, and he throws open the gate to charge at me.

I'm not entirely sure what to expect because he looks rather fierce with his messy hair, his thunderous scowl and the material of his work shirt billowing in the wind. I almost flinch, despite the fact that he has never harmed me in my entire life, but then I'm smothered in an embrace of sunshine, mud and the subtly sweet aroma of beeswax.

I feel him shivering when I put my arms around him. I was right! He is too thin. He'd always been fit and lean, but now he is almost frail. My heart jolts painfully in my chest, my throat closing up, and then I hear the first sobs and realise with a start that they are not coming from me.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy," I whisper, tears rolling freely from my eyes, causing wet stains to blossom on the front of his shirt. "I'm so sorry..."

"You're home now. My baby's home now."

I have no idea how long we're standing in front of the gate, crying in each other's arms, oblivious to the few passing cars and the fact that Mable Victor is probably spying on us with her binoculars, as she tends to do.

In her defence, there isn't a lot happening in this area; she needs all the entertainment she can get when there's nothing good on TV.

"You're coming in, aren't you?" my father asks, and I can see real fear in his eyes that my answer might be no. He keeps glancing into the car, looking at what he can see of the interior through the open driver's side door.

"Yes, Daddy, I'm coming in."

He flashes a smile, his brow clearing a little, but his eyes still drift anxiously to the car. Is he afraid that Willow is with me or afraid that she is not?

"I came alone," I say, and I immediately have my answer. I can see the disappointment written all over his face. It saddens me, but it also fills my heart with hope.

"She hates me, doesn't she?" he mutters, turning his back on me to open the gate properly and pick up his spade.

"What? No..."

"Drive on in," he instructs impatiently, digging the spade into the soil next to the nearest apple tree. "We've given the neighbours enough of a show."

I get back into the car, start it up, and slowly drive along the gravel driveway to the double garage doors, where I park and shut the engine off.

"Well, come on inside," he says when he joins me, and I'm just standing next to the car again, feeling a little lost. I follow my father along the short stone path, cutting through the neat lawn and up a couple of steps to the front door. He opens the door and stands to the side, allowing me to enter before him and now I'm truly surrounded by the smell of home.

The air is saturated with the fragrance of fresh honey, beeswax and coffee. My father is a beekeeper; he supplies many shops in the Fairweather region with honey and beeswax. My mother used to make the most beautiful beeswax candles. I expect my dad still uses some of her moulds for that, but nobody can carve them the way my mother used to.