Becky had not seen her father since her mother’s awkward funeral.
Now, six months later, he had rung to say he was in the area and would like to visit. She had blurted out the invitation to dinner. A quick visit over coffee would have suited better.
His knock came as she was preparing a simple dinner. She wiped her hands with a clean towel and walked down the passage to the clipped echo of her high heels on the wood.
Outside, her father waited; his body fractured by the textured glass.
She opened the door and held it wider. He awkwardly thrust a bunch of peace lilies at her.
Giving a cursory nod, she muttered a not very gracious, ‘thank you,’ and took them.
Her stomach was a tight knot as she led the way down the passage, their footsteps echoing one another.
After waving him to his seat, she wound around the servery into the kitchen where she served their dinner and placed his before him then folded herself into her chair. She took another gulp of wine.
“Honey, I’ve missed you.”
Her eyes avoided his.
“I needed time to think.”
Her frittata crumbled as she divided it with her fork. He reached across and laid a hand over hers. She drew it away. Puzzled, he frowned.
He was thoughtful as he chewed, “Hmm good pie.”
The mistake brought a brief smile to her lips.
“Your mother…” he ventured.
Becky stood and began pacing. Troubled, Ron observed her agitated movement.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
The light caught his hair as he tilted his head.
Fixing him with an accusing glare, she leaned across the wooden table.
“You arranged to turn off her life support.”
He drew himself up straight, crossed his arms across his slender body, and challenged. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, I do. " Puzzlement lifted her voice. “I always thought you loved her.”
“I did.”
“Well, forgive me if I don’t believe you. You shifted your fancy lady into your place the first chance you got. Mum had only been gone a few days.”
Her voice rose in pitch with each stiffly delivered word.
"We did talk you know… when we knew her illness was terminal.”
Her father, a middle - aged man in a designer suit, blue shirt and tie clenched his fists before him.
She was stonily silent., surprised by the sudden tears catching in her blue eyes.
Colours from the tiffany light shade sprinkled over Ron’s grey hair as he shook his head.
“I think you could have waited...”
His quiet chuckle echoed around the room.
“I think your mum would have been fine with my new arrangement.”
Contributors: Raymond Stone, Gabrielle Burt, Iliena Bosu, Jasmine Groves, Jasmine Groves, Hemali Ajmera, Greg Rochlin, Anna Zhigareva, Iliena Bosu, Suraya Dewing
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