Excerpt from: The Gathering Storm
As soon as she saw the blue Cadillac parked in her driveway Stephanie Walker’s foot automatically hit the brake. No one she knew could afford anything that flashy, so her visitor had to be either a messenger from Publisher Clearing House Sweepstakes or Marty. Since she hadn’t returned her entry, it was a sure bet her charming, undependable, not quite honest father had turned up like the proverbial bad penny.
The last she’d heard Marty and his wife, country singer Monica Harrington, were on a tour of the southwest. Which would have made a visit to her home in Independence, Missouri, very much out of his way, so what was he doing here? She mentally checked her bank account. If he wanted a loan he was out of luck.
For a moment she was tempted to drive on by, but common sense prevailed. What did it matter? After years of trying to win the approval of a father who flitted in and out of her life at widely spaced intervals, she realized she didn’t care anymore. He was here, but he wouldn’t stay and that was fine with her.
She parked her aging Ford and watched as he approached, green eyes gleaming, his mane of red hair sporting streaks of silver. Funny, she’d never thought of Marty getting older.
He’d always seemed like a modern day Peter Pan endlessly stuck in a state of perpetual adolescence. She had inherited his height, the red hair and green eyes, but the charm he exuded so effortlessly when he chose, had eluded her.
A flick of anger touched her heart and moved on, surprising her at this lack of emotion. Apparently since her mother’s funeral, she had finally accepted the truth. Marty loved Marty. There wasn’t anything left over for anyone else. Some things never change, no matter how much you want them to.
He greeted her with all of the enthusiasm of a master-of- ceremonies at a beauty pageant. “Stephanie! It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“Hello, Marty. What a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.”
That would depend on how much this visit cost her, financially and emotionally. A casual onlooker seeing them together might think this was a moment of father and daughter closeness. That casual onlooker would definitely be wrong. Marty didn’t understand closeness. A natural actor he had the knack of being whatever you wanted him to be at the moment, but the moment never lasted. Now he was the epitome of a loving father and even though Stephanie knew he was only pretending, his performance seemed too real to be questioned.
He stopped in front of her, wearing a confident smile. “How’s my favorite daughter?”
It was an effort, but pride kept her voice steady. “I’m fine, Marty. How are you?”
"Badly in need a hug.” He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair. The jacket he wore smelled of leather and too many smoky lounges. A scent she always associated with her father. Stephanie forced her body to relax, resisting the urge to pull away.
Never mind that it had been three years ago, the day of her mother’s funeral, when she had last seen or heard from him, today he was a Father. Capitalize that. Underline it. Daddy had come home. Well, Daddy’s little girl had grown up and her capacity for pretending had developed a bad case of rigor mortis.
But they that wait upon the
lord shall renew their strength: they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they
shall run, and not be weary: and they shall walk, and not faint.
- Isaiah 40:31 KJV
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