The Bluebird Bet. Cheryl Harper
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he thought. “Sheesh, no need to talk my ear off.”
His dad glanced in his direction. “You’re one to talk. Ready to tell me about this concussion and why you don’t sleep?”
Dean pulled his feet out of the water and stood. “You know the military. Bunch of worriers.”
His dad’s lips formed a thin line, and Dean was afraid he was coming up with questions Dean had no answers for. “Right. They do love to coddle the journalists they cram in beside their delicate soldiers.”
Dean rolled up the sleeves of the flannel shirt he’d pulled on over his ragged jeans and stepped into flip-flops that looked as though they’d been feeding a small family of rodents. “The unit I was with got caught in a firefight with a small band of rebels. There was an explosion. No one was killed, but I hit my head. Saw stars. That was enough for the army doctors.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know me. I’ve had way worse.”
His dad was quiet for too long. Finally, he said, “At least it brought you home for a few days.”
His father never had been good at guilt trips, but he might be getting better.
“I’m glad you had a nice visit,” Dean mumbled and turned to go...somewhere. He had no idea where, but he’d made his effort for the day.
His father’s voice stopped him. “Invited her out. She’s coming to take a look around.”
“Who? The doctor? Why?” The place definitely would not show well, not yet. He’d get to work on that soon, but not today. Today was for forcing himself to take it slow. He had to learn sometime, and the sooner, the better.
His dad sighed and pulled his pole out of the water to set it on the dock. “She used to visit. Loved the tearoom and the inn.”
Dean looked over his shoulder at the house he’d grown up in. When his mother was alive, she’d settled for nothing less than pristine white paint with bright blue shutters, precisely manicured gardens and flags snapping in the breeze to welcome visitors.
The gray boards and peeling paint, ragged flower beds and air of general fatigue almost made it hard to believe it was the same place.
Except the beautiful bones were still there. He counted six windows across the front of the house, the finest guest rooms, and wished he’d thought to camp in one of those. The view of the lake might have helped calm some of his anger and irritation and just...overwhelming emotion.
Something had to or he might have a meltdown, lose the control he’d worked so hard to hold on to. Sometimes, when he was staring out the window in the middle of the night, he wondered if he was already there.
“Hope she’s not too disappointed,” his father murmured, and Dean turned to see his dad’s eyes were locked on him.
“I wish I’d known, Dad. I might have been able to help.” And the guilt he’d been buried under when he’d lurched to a stop under the old oak tree would have been much lighter. But he hadn’t known. Because he hadn’t been home in a long time.
Without his mother to hold them together, he and his dad had struggled. It was easier to take the next story, jump on a plane and tell himself it was all for his career. His father never complained about missing him and never mentioned needing help. He’d thought they were both satisfied.
Until that career nearly killed him, and he had nowhere else to go.
“Well, I’m here now, and I think I know what to do to get this place up and running. We’re going to make some changes.” He tried to infuse the statement with confidence. The last time he’d suggested changes, he’d been too young and unstable to convince his father. Now both of them and the Bluebird were in desperate need of a change.
“About that...” His father turned to look out over the shore next to the short dock. “She wants to buy the Bluebird. Renovate it. Maybe we should consider that. Neither one of us should be tied down by the past.”
Speechless, Dean stared at his pale feet and the weathered boards of the dock. He’d never really thought about a life without the inn. Knowing it would always be here when he was ready made it easier to brave the most dangerous spots on the planet. He’d trusted his father to make sure he had a home just in case he ever needed somewhere safe.
Getting the Bluebird open would be hard work, but running a fish camp like he had in mind or even a country inn seemed like a vacation after dodging bullets and crooked foreign politicians for years.
That career, the one he’d loved for so long, wasn’t a smart way to spend the rest of what would be too short a life. If he could learn to slow down, settle in, everything would be perfect. If he couldn’t do that in Tall Pines, he had no idea where to go next.
Maybe it was time to have the conversation he’d been putting off since he arrived.
“Listen, Dad,” Dean said as he scrubbed his hands through his hair, “you probably have some doubts, but I have a good plan, one that will work. You’ll still be free to fish or hit the road or whatever. You can trust everything to me.”
His dad was silent, and Dean fought the urge to explain himself to this quiet man who’d always been content like this, sitting on the dock and watching the water. This plan to explore the country all alone was a new development, another one Dean was having a hard time adjusting to. He watched his dad stand easily and bend down to grasp the fishing pole.
“For how long?” His father spoke softly, but it was a loud thought in the silence of Spring Lake on a summer day.
That was the only question he didn’t have an answer for, and it was the most important one.
“Maybe you could explain what’s going on, son.” His father reached up to squeeze his shoulder, the same way he’d done when Dean was a teenager and needed encouragement. It wasn’t one of his mother’s perfumed hugs, but the way he wanted to fling his arms around his father’s neck was just... He was a grown man. Crazy enough to travel the world with a camera and a backpack. He could handle his own problems.
“I think...” How could he say it without alarming his father? The last thing he wanted, now that his dad was considering moving forward, was to hold him back. “You know how, when you’re busy, you keep adding things on, piling on one more job and hurrying through this thing to get to the next until finally something happens and you can’t catch up anymore?”
His father frowned and considered the weathered boards under his feet. “Been a long time, but maybe. That what happened to you? Need a vacation? You could always hit the road with me. Sure would be exciting.”
Dean gave a hard laugh. Yeah, that was what happened. Except it was so much worse than missing deadlines or being late with bills. Watching men fight for their lives took a toll. Sitting on a beach and soaking up the sun was only the first step in his recovery, but it was one he could take immediately.
“I need a new life. I need to sleep without the threat of death or the memory of my last assignment waking me up. I need...” Dean hated even saying the words out loud, admitting his weakness, especially to his father. “If I don’t do something new, I’m afraid I’m not going to make it, Dad.”
His father didn’t look away until Dean awkwardly cleared his throat. These attacks of emotion that came out of nowhere rattled Dean, but the truth was he had no control over them. He hated that.
They might shock his father, but he’d never let Dean down, either.
“And you think this place can give you what you need?” The doubt in his voice was clear. Dean tried not to take it personally, because he wasn’t fully convinced himself.
They both heard the crunch of gravel down the washed-out road.
“Guess she’s here.” His father squeezed his shoulder again. “We’ll figure it out, son.” Dean hoped to convince them both that letting him have the Bluebird was the best decision, but the right words wouldn’t come.
“Just