Tilly wiped down the counters, the last of the evening chores before she retired to her bedroom. Alexis appeared in the doorway, holding a sheet of paper.
Tilly glanced up. "What's that, dear?"
"It's a poem. It was in my box, but I didn't write it. It's not even my handwriting."
Alexis walked over and handed the paper to Tilly, who glanced at it and smiled knowingly.
"You're right. It's not one of yours. Your father wrote it."
"Dad? You're joking."
"He wrote it for you, the day you were born. Betsy has one, too."
Alexis retrieved the paper and studied the words carefully. "It's good."
"You think talent like yours just falls out of the sky?"
"Did he write anything else?"
"Not much. Only when something really moved him. He only ever shared them with me. I think he was embarrassed."
"Why would he be embarrassed? It's really good."
"You know your father."
Yes, Alexis did. "Is this for me to keep?"
"That's why it was in the box. Your father won't mind. He doesn't hold on to things. Well, most things."
Alexis considered all the possible things her mother could be suggesting -- grudges, anger. Hope?
"Is Dad around? He wasn't in his chair."
"He's out front."
Alexis opened the front door to see her father deflating the blow-up Christmas lawn ornaments. He already had the large plastic ones in a pile, ready for storage. Alexis approached him tentatively from the front steps.
"Need a hand?" she asked.
"No, thanks. Been doing this so many years, I can do it in my sleep." He continued with his busy work, not really giving her his full attention.
"Maybe next year you could give the lawn decorations a break."
Greg stopped and studied her for a moment. "They're tacky as hell, aren't they?"
He didn't wait for a response. "I may not know anything, but I know that much."
They shared a small laugh that eased the tension.
"Dad, I'm sorry I cut you out of my life," Alexis blurted out.
Unable to make eye contact, Greg focused on deflating the large Santa.
"You don't have to be sorry." He stepped on Santa to squeeze the air out faster. "I know we seem like dimwit trailer trash to you, but the garbage doesn't fall far from the can."
"Is that your charming way of saying we're not so different after all?"
Greg finally cracked a real smile. "I guess it is." He handed her a stack of deflated Christmas figures. "You've got about seventeen years of chores to make up for.
Here, make yourself useful."
Alexis took the stack and headed for the front door. Once she turned away from him, Greg allowed the pent-up emotion to creep into his well-worn face. If Alexis had looked, she would have seen the immense gratitude and relief reflected there.