that, Gideon, Fluke and I, until at least a minute after the hat disappeared from beneath his feet.
He looked up at us, eyes still flashing with fury, and Gideon smiled at him, tipping the pristine hat that was back on his head. “I am sorry, that’s my mistake. You’re not an asshole. You’re a spoiled five-year-old.” Then he went and sat back down on the couch.
My father turned so red I was afraid his head was going to literally explode, but instead, after a moment of anger so strong he wasn’t so much trembling as full-on shaking, fists and jaw clenched, there was a soft popping noise, and he disappeared.
I gaped at the place where he’d stood, but Gideon just rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up he’ll act like a grownup and pass over. He just went to sulk in his room.”
I looked back at the empty air where my father had stood a moment earlier, then at Gideon, and back again. Helplessly, I shrugged. “At least he’s not yelling at me anymore.”
I didn’t know why it surprised me that he’d reacted so poorly. The store had been the only thing he’d ever cared about. Why would he ever put my happiness before it? He wouldn’t.
That didn’t matter anymore. My father and the store and David and Lina Merton were all side issues. It was time. I turned to look at Gideon. “I felt it, at the coffee shop. The, um, ley line. At least, I think that’s what it was.”
Gideon nodded. “It was.”
“You were right.” I took a deep breath, a knot in my chest untying at the complete lack of smug told-you-so-ness. That had been the hallmark of so many of my relationships with men, starting with my father and following me through adulthood.
He didn’t even nod, just waited for me to continue.
I didn’t know what the right words were, because I never knew what the right words were. But Gideon had been so calm, so accepting of all my quirks without judgment, that I took a stab at it without worrying that he’d laugh at me. “So I guess you need to teach me?”
“That I do,” he agreed. “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll talk about it more when you’re done working. You’re gonna do just fine.”
And maybe, I thought . . . maybe I was. I went back to work smiling.
Chapter Twelve
Dad didn’t come back at all on Saturday. Or, in fact, on Sunday.
It was a welcome respite, and since the only day the shop didn’t open was Monday, as I closed Sunday afternoon, I was looking forward to my third Dad-free day since his death. Gods knew I hadn’t ever spent that much time with him when he’d been alive.
Neither of us had wanted that.
Sometimes I thought about why he seemed to want it after his death. I would just manage to convince myself that he wanted to spend more time with me, start feeling guilty about how I’d rebuffed his overtures, and then he’d call me something rude or tell me I was disappointing, thus reminding me that my father had no more interest in a relationship with me now than he had when he’d been alive.
He was just stuck at the store, and I was both there, and the only person he knew could see him.
Plus, now he didn’t have to maintain the semblance of kindness, caring, or normalcy, since I couldn’t quit and walk away from him. He didn’t need me anymore, and this was how he treated people when he didn’t need them. That I was his son made no difference.
It wasn’t as though he’d been the most loving father when he was alive, so I didn’t know why it bothered me. No, I was lying to myself. I knew. Because before, when he’d occasionally thrown me a scrap of kindness, I’d used that to convince myself that my father actually loved me and wasn’t good at showing it.
Now, clearly, that wasn’t true.
It was a novel new way he could hurt me, just when I thought he couldn’t hurt me anymore, and it stung. Not to mention the fact that my shoulders were starting to hurt from how I’d spent the last few days hunched over, so the pain was turning physical.
“You gotta stop worrying about him,” Gideon told me as I fumbled my wallet onto the entryway table when we arrived home for the evening.
With Fluke properly registered, I’d gone to the grocery store without worrying about