Romantic love story

Chapter Twelve: Close Friendships

His head dipped forward as Dad dozed on the couch with the TV remote still in his hand. Samantha, the volunteer from church, left the house in full tip-toe so she wouldn't disturb him, although Emily knew it was unnecessary. Her dad would want to talk before bedtime.

As she tidied the living room, the elderly man on the couch came to life.

"Have a nice evening, Daddy?"

"Never mind me," he grinned, "how did things go with Terry?"

"All right I guess." Emily took a seat on the couch.

He frowned. "Just 'all right'? Nothing better than that? What's wrong with the young man? Doesn't he know what a rare find you are?"

"Terry is hardly young, Daddy."

"Nonsense." Dad clicked off the television. "When you get to be my age, anyone under seventy is a youngster. So what'd you think of him? And don't give me another 'all right.' I want to hear something different."

Not ready yet to speak her mind, Emily gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "I had pretty much the same impression of him as I've always had. But then, we've always liked Terry."

"I'd say that's an accurate statement." Dad folded his hands over his belly. "I haven't always approved of his choices, but then, we can't have everything."

"No, I don't suppose we can." She didn't need to ask her father's meaning. The entire town was talking about the woman Terry had adopted, brought home like she were a stray dog or a wounded animal he'd found on the side of the road. It was that point, in particular, that she didn't feel up to discussing with her father.

"Did you see her?" Dad slanted Emily a look, and she shook her head.

"Not yet."

"From what I hear, she's supposed to be a real looker."

"Yes, I hear the same."

"He sure is making a mess of things." Dad shook his head. "For your sake, Sweetie-pie, I hope he learns his lesson soon. If he doesn't stay out of other people's business, and leave well enough alone, it's going to put you in a hard spot after you're married."

"Daddy, I'm not getting any younger."

"I realize that. I can appreciate your biologic clock ticking, or whatever folks say it's supposed to do after a certain age, but more than anything else, I want you to lead a happy life. Taking in two-footed strays won't do that." Dad sat quiet a moment. "I like Terry, I always have, but he spends too much time trying to help those who'd be better off left alone. If I were John, I wouldn't put up with it."

"Then I suppose Terry should be glad you're not John."

Dad gave a wry laugh. "I'm only saying Terry was begging for trouble when he took in that woman. If he doesn't get rid of her, I hope she leaves before she becomes too much of a problem."

Emily sighed. The same thought had crossed her mind, as well.

* * * *

Music punctuated the stillness, bringing with it a rhythmic wash of soft trumpet and piano. The melody caught, toe-tapped a few beats, then slid into a gentle sway that made the air lighter. She could breathe in, breathe out, and not feel like mud was sucking into her lungs. Earlier, a lucid memory had slashed through her quiet evening staring up at the living room ceiling, and she resorted to Terry's sound system for escape.

She kept the volume turned low, just as Terry had said, and cuddled on the couch beneath a thick comforter. The memory left an ugly bruise on her mind, like someone's hand that refused to let go without a knockdown fight. The music helped.