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“Can I ask you something?” she said.
Tate frowned. There were any number of things she might ask that he didn’t want to deal with, but it was past time to set some things right.
“Yeah, sure. What’s up?” he said as he continued to brush out the tangles.
“What’s up with you and your dad? He never used to be so cold.”
“I guess you could say we had a parting of the ways.”
“Did it have something to do with me?”
“No! Lord, no. Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. He used to be friendly when he’d see me, and after you left, he wouldn’t even speak to me. He’d usually make a point of doing something else if we ran into each other.”
“That was probably because you reminded him of me, and I was what he didn’t want to think about.”
She waited for him to explain further, but when he didn’t, she sat and finished the rest of her sandwich as he began to rebraid her hair.
“Tate?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?”
His fingers were trembling as he wrapped the hair band around the end of the braid.
“All done,” he said. “I’ll reheat our coffee in the microwave.”
“Thank you,” she said, and then got up and threw the sandwich wrapper in the trash.
When the microwave dinged, he took out the cups and handed one to her.
Nola accepted it without comment and took a small sip to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then carried it to the living room and sat down. With the open concept of the trailer, she could see everything he was doing in the kitchen. He ate his sandwich while looking out the windows.
Once again, she felt as if he had slammed a door shut between them, and from the stiff set of his shoulders, it was obvious he didn’t want it opened.
When his cell phone rang, he answered quickly, obviously grateful for a reason not to have to talk to her. This was the same way he’d acted eight years earlier, and she still had no idea what the hell had gone so wrong. What she did know was that it hurt her feelings, and it made her mad. She had deserved better than this then, and she deserved better now, too.
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him pacing as he talked. From what she could hear, it sounded as if he was talking to his superior, and someone wasn’t happy. Well, neither was she. She walked out of the room, going down the hall to her bedroom, and closed the door. He kept shutting her out. Maybe he needed to see what that felt like.
CHAPTER NINE
Tate knew he’d hurt her feelings. Again.
While he’d been trying to figure out how to tell her about the quagmire that was his personal life, the director’s call had interrupted his train of thought. When the call finally ended and he turned around, she was gone. He stood in the silence of the room knowing he’d put this off long enough, then followed her down the hall and knocked.
“What?”
He winced. If she was crying, he was done for.
“May I come in?”
A few moments later the door swung inward, but she turned away and walked back to the bed, where she put her arm up on the pile of pillows she was using as support.
Tate closed the door behind him and then stood with his hands in his pockets, searching for words.
“Mom died this morning.”