He chuckles, patting me on the back. “I wasn’t planning on it. But I ran into Lexi at the courthouse, and she told me about the problems you’ve been having. I thought we could put our heads together for one final case.”
My tears well up again, but this time, with gratitude. I can’t believe he’s come all this way: dropped everything and hopped a flight just to help me out. “But what about your cases?” I ask, concerned.
Dad shrugs. “They can wait a couple of days. It sounds like we’ve got a lot to do here. I brought some files my clerks pulled, just in case. Do you want to grab the other case from the car?”
I go get the other heavy roll-on and follow him into the house. Dad pauses in the hallway, looking around. “What have you been doing?” he asks, taking in the new decor. “It looks like a whole new house!”
“Not completely. Look, I kept the family photos, and her old needlepoint…” I show him Nana’s old treasures, blended seamlessly with the new decor. “I can give you the tour, if you want.”
“Later,” he promises. “First, let’s get down to business.”
He gets his legal pad from his briefcase, puts on his wire-rimmed spectacles, and settles on the living room couch. “Lexi gave me the basics, but you should start at the beginning,” he says, uncapping his pen. “Who’s planning what, and how do you want to stop them?”
I smile. There’s something so familiar about his expression, it’s the one I’ve seen on his face a hundred times, when he’s getting stuck into a big case, working late into the night. “The Callahan Group,” I answer. “And I have twenty-four hours left before the town council votes.”
“Well then,” Dad looks determined. “We better get to work.”
We spend the next few hours outlining my case against the development. Dad brought all kinds of case files with him: records of other applications, legal precedents, and dense reams of local planning bylaws. We’re deep in the reading when his stomach suddenly lets out a loud rumble.
I laugh, then catch sight of the clock on the wall. It’s almost 8:00 p.m.; we’ve been sitting here for hours! “When did you last eat?” I demand, leaping up. “I can’t believe I didn’t even offer you a drink! Some hostess I’m turning out to be.”
Dad chuckles. “Don’t worry. Your mom has me on one of those low-cholesterol diets, I’m used to going hungry.”“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” I beckon him through to the kitchen. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Nothing too rich. I swear she’s implanted some kind of tracking device,” Dad tells me wryly. “She can tell when I so much as look at a steak.”
I laugh. “Sounds like Mom.” I pour us a glass of iced tea, then check the refrigerator. I stopped by the farm stand yesterday, so there’s a ton of produce, rich and glowing with color. I pull out bell peppers and onions and a fat head of garlic. “How about some pasta and homemade sauce?” I ask. “That’s pretty healthy.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dad takes a seat at the counter, watching as I put a pan of salted water on the stove to boil and begin washing the vegetables. He gets a funny look on his face.
“What?” I ask, setting out the old wooden board to chop.
“Nothing. It’s just…you’re so much like my mother. Seeing you in the kitchen like this.” He gets a nostalgic look. “It was always her favorite place. Whatever house we were living in, and back when she had the diner too… You couldn’t drag her out.”
“She taught me everything I know,” I smile, “even how to chop, just like this.” I cut the peppers into bright chunks, and throw them into a heavy iron-bottomed pan with some oil and diced onions to start a sauté. “Do you want to take a look around the house?” I ask, suddenly feeling shy. “We have some time while the water boils.”
“Sure.” Dad agrees. He squeezes my shoulders in a hug. “You can show me what was worth leaving the city and your old pa far behind.”
I start downstairs, then show off the B&B from top to toe. With the Peterson couple being my only other guests right now, I put him in a room overlooking the beach, and show him every new touch in turn, ending up back in the kitchen.
I pour us some iced tea, still feeling nervous about his reaction. I know my parents didn’t approve of my plans, and I want so desperately for him to see what I’ve been doing with all my time and energy—and for him to approve. “Well, what do you think? I bake everything fresh here, just like she used to,” I tell him, chattering anxiously. “And the guests tell me it’s all just the way they remember.”
Dad slowly exhales, looking around the room. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure about this move. Packing up and quitting your law job after all the work we’ve done… But you’ve done a wonderful job here,” he admits, finally giving me a smile.
“I really do love it,” I say quietly, still nervous. “The B&B, all the baking. I know it’s not the career we planned, but I feel like I’m doing something real; creating memories for people—and myself.”
“You sound just like her.” Dad gives a wistful smile, then reaches across and squeezes my hand. “I’m proud of you, sweetie. This is all beautiful. My mother would have loved it.”