could distract him from the clock on the wall—the clock that now showed twenty minutes after midnight. Emma was late! Another night of breaking curfew. No more Mr. Nice Guy, no matter what her excuse. It was time for RoboDad. If only it were possible to access some mechanical part inside himself and let it take over without emotion getting in the way.
Nights like this made him miss Caroline the most. Probably a sign that parenthood had driven him completely over the edge. After all, shouldn’t a red-blooded guy miss his ex-wife’s sexy, long legs or even her to-die-for lasagne? There was a whole list of more likely things than missing her ability to sit next to him and reassure him that their daughter was just fine.
Caroline had always been so creative in their plans for punishing Emma, zooming in on the one thing she knew would bug the hell out of their daughter. Simple things like making her sort all the household socks for the entire month. Stuff he’d never dream of in a million years. Sorting socks was fine when Emma was eight or nine and caught riding her bike past the territorial limits they had set. But at fifteen, it was increasingly difficult to get her attention, let alone find meaningful ways of disciplining her.
He scraped a hand over his face, attempting to wipe away the sleep and the brewing anger. He was just tired. That’s why he was irritable. He left the TV on Fox News and traded the remote for the bag of corn chips he’d left on the secondhand coffee table. He had to sit up to make the exchange, and only now did he notice the remnants of his previous snack attack crumbling out from the folds of his Cleveland Indians T-shirt. Jeez! What a mess. But he made no effort to clean it up. Instead he sank back into the recliner. How much more pathetic could he get? Sitting here on a Saturday night, eating junk food and watching the late night news?
Most days he didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. However, Caroline’s earlier phone call had set him on edge. No, actually, it had pissed him off. She wanted Emma for Thanksgiving, and was sending the airline tickets by FedEx on Monday.
“It’s all been worked out and scheduled,” she had told him. “Emma’s looking forward to it.”
All worked out and scheduled before she even checked with him. He had custody of Emma, something Caroline had willingly agreed to when she decided having a teenage daughter had become an inconvenience to her as a CEO and new dating-game member. She knew Tully could say no to a Thanksgiving trip, and she wouldn’t have a legal foot to stand on. So, of course, she had planned it beforehand with Emma, getting the girl excited, using her as a pawn. That way Tully had no choice but to agree to the trip. The woman headed an internationally successful advertising agency, why wouldn’t she be an expert at manipulation?
Putting his feelings aside, Tully knew Emma needed to spend time with her mother. There were things that only mothers and daughters should discuss, things Tully felt totally inept at, not to mention downright uncomfortable with. Caroline wasn’t the most responsible person in the world, but she did love Emma. Maybe Tully was simply feeling sorry for himself, because this would be the first Thanksgiving he would spend alone in more than twenty years.
A car door slammed. Tully sat up, grabbed the remote and turned down the TV’s volume. Another car door slammed, and this time he was certain it came from his driveway. Okay, he needed to put on his stern expression, his I’m-so-disappointed-in-you face. But what punishment had he decided on? Oh, crap! He hadn’t come up with anything. He slumped into the recliner again, pretending to be caught up in the news as he heard the front door unlock.
There were more than one set of footsteps in his entrance. He twisted around in the recliner and saw Alesha’s mother coming in behind Emma. Oh, jeez! What the hell happened this time?
He stood, brushing more crumbs from his T-shirt and jeans, running his fingers through his hair and quickly swiping his mouth. He probably looked like hell. Mrs. Edmund looked impeccable as usual.
“Mr. Tully, sorry to interrupt.”
“No, I appreciate you doing the chauffeuring tonight.” He watched Emma but couldn’t decide if her discomfort was embarrassment or worry. These days anything he said or