At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories) - By Barbara Bretton Page 0,68

slid away. "Don?" she asked. "Don Hasty, is that you?"

"Gracie?" He stood up. "I'll be a son of a bitch! Gracie Taylor, you've finally come home!"

#

"You worry too much," Laquita said to Ben as he paced the small living room of the house by the docks. "Everything will go smoothly." She patted his arm with a gentle hand. "I promise you."

Ben felt that touch deep in his soul but he still wasn't convinced. "It's a long time since Gracie's been home. A lot's changed."

Laquita smiled. "I'm the biggest change, Ben, and you've already told her we're getting married. The rest is window dressing."

He stopped pacing and sat down on the arm of the sofa Laquita had reupholstered last year. The fabric was pure creamy white with streaks of sunny yellow and pale green running through it. He couldn't quite remember what color the old fabric had been—spilled tea, maybe, or a nice shade of used coffee grounds. If you had told him ten years ago that he would be living with something so beautiful he would've pegged you for the one with the drinking problem. He'd never cared much about the way he lived. Drunks never did. All a drunk cared about was the next bottle of Johnnie.

Drunks didn't care about their kids either. Drunks didn't show up for birthday parties or first communion or graduation. They didn't notice the awards or the scholarships or the hard work. They didn't notice when the sleeping infant in the baby blanket turned into an accomplished young woman with sad eyes. They sure as hell didn't notice when that young woman stopped coming home. Not while they were drinking. He would still be a drunk if it weren't for Laquita. He'd still be peeing his pants, sleeping in his own vomit, wondering why his daughter didn't love him the way a father ought to be loved.

"I saw what you did in Ma's cottage," he said. "It looks swell."

"Better than swell," Laquita said with a smile. "It's looking wicked good."

"I think Graciela will be comfortable in there." He had cleaned the place from ceiling to basement, and then Laquita had performed some magic with paint and paper and fabric until the little cottage looked like a home for the first time since Del died.

"I think she'll love it. We all need our own space, especially while we we're getting used to being a family." Laquita reached for the coat she kept on the peg near the door then slid her arms into the sleeves. "She knows the cottage belongs to her?"

Ben nodded. "She never much cared."

"Can't say that I blame her," Laquita said as she moved into his arms for a hug. "This wasn't a happy place when she lived here."

He winced again. He wanted to correct Laquita, try to put a different spin on her words but he knew she wouldn't allow it. Honesty was part of recovery. Brutal honesty about your own failings was crucial to rebuilding your life. Laquita never blinked when she faced her own demons and she refused to allow him to blink when he faced his. It was one of the countless things he loved about her.

"I'm sorry I have to leave," she said as he walked with her to the front door. "I never thought I'd be called in for night shift this week but with Tammy being sick and my vacation coming up and everything—"

"She'll understand. You're a nurse. You go when you're needed."

"Apologize to Gracie for me, will you, Ben? I left her a note but—"

He kissed her. "Don't worry. Just drive safely. Those wet leaves are—"

"Slippery as ice. I grew up here, remember? I know all about wet leaves." She said it kindly but she said it as a reminder that she was a grown woman, his equal in all the ways that mattered.

He stood in the doorway and watched while she warmed up her car then backed slowly out of the driveway. She beeped her horn twice, waved, then disappeared down the road. He stayed there until her tail lights faded into the dusk then went back inside to make himself a cup of coffee and wait for his daughter to come home.

#

Laquita's smile didn't falter until she made the turn onto Sheltered Rock Road. She held it, wide and true and unwavering, for exactly that long before it all fell apart. That was the point where even Ben, with his preternaturally sharp eyesight, could no longer see her and she could drop