Cal ended the call with, “Thanks, Dad. Thanks for everything.”

He slept better that night than in months.

BRY’S FATHER TAKES A HIT

Encounters with Cal ceased to be a mini crisis for Bryony. For the past three weeks, he had shown up at the coffee shop during the morning rush. Bryony refrained from asking about his strange behavior the day after Lillian manipulated her into meeting him at the library. There were no more occurrences related to ordered and forgotten drinks or staring at the door of the shop from the driver’s seat of his car. People usually behaved strangely when they were having trouble, and she didn’t know Cal well enough to ask.

Todd caught on fast. Training him had been a breeze, and his presence eased the workload to the point where Bryony felt less drained when her shift ended. She hadn’t seen her father in days. Tonight she had stored up enough positive perspective to risk another visit.

As had become routine, Bryony found her father sitting with Alma in the hallway’s little alcove. Today Alma wore red polyester pants and a white cotton shirt with red, white, and blue horizontal stripes accentuating the roundness of her belly. Bryony’s father wore a new shirt, plaid with turquoise and pink.

“My granddaughter tells me she knows you,” Alma said. “Abby says she sees you every day at the coffee shop you work in.”

“Making food for complete strangers and cleaning up after them,” Bryony’s father said.

Bryony turned away from his bitter tone and smiled at Alma. “Abby’s your granddaughter? She comes in every day. Her crochet work is beautiful.”

“I taught her how to crochet when she was eight. Can’t do it myself anymore. Darned arthritis!” Alma held up both hands, each with a set of fingers sporting enlarged joints and twisted shapes.

“Everybody has something to complain about,” Bryony’s father said. “Bryony complains I favored Mitch. Mitch complains he feels responsible for Bryony. They don’t seem to notice I’m stuck in here with a bunch of old people who do nothing but eat and watch TV all day.”

“You’re certainly in a gnarly mood today, Mister Green.” Alma smiled at Bryony. “We both know he merely pretends to be an old grouch, don’t we dear?”

“Why does Mitch feel responsible for me?” Bryony asked.

“Because he’s your brother,” her father growled. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re not married, you live alone, and you don’t have any kids. Whatever you get when I die won’t be enough to live on for the rest of your life. Mitch has a right to be concerned.”

Bryony’s father crossed his arms and hunkered into the couch, his eyes on the television.

“Don’t mind him, dear.” Alma put her hand on Bryony’s arm. “He lost the Bingo coverall this afternoon to Charles.”

Bryony patted Alma’s hand before moving to a chair beside her father. She hadn’t seen him in such a foul mood for quite a few weeks. The administrator had a favorite line she often repeated when Bryony had gone to her with concerns. Play to his strengths, Bryony.

Settling into the cushion, she reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Daddy, I have a new role at the coffee shop. I oversee a high school student in a work study program. Any advice for managing people?” Her father had supervised people before he retired.

Her father answered, his voice dripping with sick-sweet sarcasm. “I have a new job, too. I’m being an old guy in a home for the lost and forgotten. Do you have any advice for how I can live the rest of my boring, miserable life?”

Bryony removed her hand and backed up a hair. That had not gone well. What next? She didn’t have to deliberate for long because suddenly Alma whomped his arm.

“Albert Green,” Abby Dunaway’s grandmother said. “You are being an old grump. Now look at your daughter. If you don’t have anything constructive to offer, smile and say, ‘Good luck, honey. I’m sure you’ll do fine.’ You don’t have to be so mean, especially to your kids.”

Bryony froze. She had never heard anyone verbally rebuke her father, let alone hit him. She watched as he turned to Alma, menacing her with a cold hard stare. Alma didn’t flinch. She kept her hand on his thigh and glared back. When Alma didn’t back down, he turned to Bryony, the hostility draining away, replaced with what looked like amusement.

“Bryony, dear,” he said, honey dripping from his words. “Good luck.” He turned back to Alma. “Was that okay with you?”

Alma giggled as she swatted Bryony’s father on his belly. He chuckled and hugged her.

The rest of their visit was strained for Bryony. Alma did most of the talking, while Bryony’s father sat and listened, or looked out the window. He seemed relaxed, a subdued large game animal. Unsure when he would pounce again, Bryony guarded her words, but the attack never came. After an exhausting twenty minutes of anticipation, Bryony stood and announced her departure. Alma thanked her for visiting.

Bryony’s father said, “Bye.”

She walked away in wonder. Her mother had never talked back to her father. She trained Bryony to keep peace, to overlook taunts and teases. Hard to imagine anyone could tame her father’s wicked understanding of how to treat a woman, especially someone like Alma. On the surface she seemed bubbly and warm, but Bryony had witnessed a bit of molten rock boiling below. Alma might be the volcano that would forever change the terrain of Bryony’s father’s behavior.

After pulling out of her parking spot, and before making it out of the parking lot, her cell rang. She pulled to the side of the driveway to answer.

“Did you remember to order extra bagels for the band boosters?” Lillian asked.

“Yes,” Bryony answered. “Lil, you’re never going to believe what happened just now.”

“What?” Lillian asked.

“Dad started in on me, and you know what Alma did?” Bryony savored the telling of what she witnessed.

“She dumped him!” Lillian said.

“She hit him, Lil! Not hard, but hard enough to get his attention. And you know what he did?”

“He hit her back!” Lillian said.

“No,” Bryony said. “He didn’t hit her. He backed down.”

“He did what?” Lillian asked.

“The thing is,” Bryony said. “That’s the first time I ever noticed how scared I am of strong men.”

“Not all strong men should be feared,” Lil lectured.

“I know.” Bryony was quick to respond. “But I realized I always pick uninteresting men because they don’t scare me. In response to them, I become uninteresting, and they dump me.”

“You’re catching on to what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lillian said.

Bryony rolled her eyes. “See you in the morning, Lil.”

“Goodnight, Babe.”

Everything looked different on the drive home. The steel gray sky excited Bryony. The red and orange leaves were not merely waving in the wind—they were dancing. And when she pulled into her driveway, her house was not merely a place where she could store her belongings and sleep well at night—it was fertile land, a launching pad, a point of embarkment, which might take her to adventures she hadn’t even dared to dream.

And then there was Cal.

CLEVELAND CALLS

Right before his cell phone rang, Cal had settled into his favorite kitchen chair to enjoy a few bites of dessert. He pulled the phone out of his pocked to answer the call.

“Cal?” His sister’s voice started low and swooped high, ending in a strong melodic question mark. She sang the same tune when she asked, “Is that you?”