“Haven’t had a chance to thank you for what you did up in Oregon,” he said, giving me a nod. “Stepped in and helped my girls the way you did.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” I replied.
“Doing it anyhow,” he shot back. “Not sure how it all came about, but Ranna was sure thankful that you let them camp out at your place.”
“They’re welcome anytime,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. “You too.”
“Ah well, I appreciate it,” he said with a chuckle. “Can’t think of a reason I’d be up in that tiny town you call home, though.”
“Hopefully there’ll be a couple reasons,” I said, glancing over my shoulder again.
“It’s like that, is it?” Stan asked knowingly. “I had a feeling.”
“Not sure I can convince her,” I confessed, meeting his eyes.
“I had a feeling about that, too.” He took a long sip of his coffee, then set it down on the table, lacing his fingers as he leaned forward on his elbows like he was about to tell me a secret. “My daughters didn’t have an easy time of it,” he said quietly. “Living with their mother and then getting shuffled around in the foster care system.”
“I’ve gotten the impression it was pretty bad,” I replied. I hated that they’d had bad experiences, but I knew it wasn’t unheard of. I’d been in some pretty bad homes before I’d ended up with Ellie and Mike, and I imagined that it was much worse for two pretty little girls.
“They don’t talk about it much,” Stan said, staring at the table. “But they’re both still dealing with the aftereffects, I think. Miranda’s a runner, takes off when she’s upset. Morgan’s a fixer. My oldest takes care of everyone, but wouldn’t let you know if she was on fire.”
“I’ve noticed,” I said wryly.
“I’ll tell you the secret to dealing with her,” he said, chuckling a little. “You watch. Watch her and when you see something, you help without asking.” He shrugged. “That’s the key. She’ll never ask for it, no sirree. But if you step in and do it, she’ll accept it.”
“That’s it?” I asked, staring at him in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the big revelation I was hoping for.
“That’s it,” he confirmed. “If you’re looking to change her, you won’t. At this point, it’s ingrained in her very nature.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. How did you live with a person who refused to let you in? How did he do that with his own daughter? I had no idea what to even say.
“She loves ya,” he said. “I know my daughter better than anyone, and that’s clear as day.”
“She’s not so sure,” I replied with a scoff.
“It’s like you’re not hearing a word I say.” He lifted up a fist and tapped it against the side of his head. “She’s not going to ask for anything, kid.”
He looked at me expectantly, then scoffed when I continued to watch him in complete confusion.
“Telling someone you love them? It’s nothing but asking them to love you back. Otherwise, the words would go unsaid, bud. You’d show it, but you wouldn’t have to say it.”
I slumped back in my chair as he stood from the table and set his empty mug in the sink. Without a word, he went out the back door and I heard the faint sound of the garage door opening once he was outside. He’d dropped his words of wisdom and left, like some kind of wizard from a damn fantasy novel.
I sat in that kitchen chair for a while, going over his advice and trying to understand his perspective on love. In my family, love had always been something freely given. The words were thrown out like confetti. When you said good-bye, you told the person you loved them. When you were happy, or sad, or sitting quietly together, saying I love you was commonplace. They were words that had never come with any strings attached.
When I could hear Stan firing up some sort of power tool in the garage and Morgan still hadn’t come out of her room, I headed down the hallway to check on her. The bedroom door was open just a crack, and inside the room that was just barely shaded by a pair of curtains, Morgan and Etta were fast asleep on the bed.
The room was kind of messy, and I wrinkled my nose at the smell wafting from the garbage pail in the corner. Without making a sound, I moved toward the stench and realized as soon as I stepped close that the pail was full of dirty diapers waiting to be washed. With Stan’s words in my head, I lifted the pail, holding it as far from my face as I could, and carried it into the hallway.
I’d been doing laundry for half my life. Cleaning diapers couldn’t be too hard, right? Stan laughed as I carried the diapers toward the washer and dryer against the back wall of the garage.