The Rockmore House

43 | Nothing Else Matters

Only a few blissful minutes later, I heard the dogs barking downstairs I reluctantly pulled myself away from Pete and peered out the front window. My dad's truck was parked in the driveway. I scrambled to the floor and tossed Pete's shirts at him and pulled my sweater over my head.

"My dad's home," I explained as I smoothed my tousled hair. "Shit. I'm not ready for this. Are you ready for this?"

He grinned lazily. "If I'm not ready for this, do I get to live in your bedroom forever?"

"I guess that wouldn't be so bad." I leaned over to kiss him one more time. "But put your shirt on just in case. I'm gonna go talk to him."

Downstairs, Dad was washing his travel mug at the kitchen sink.

"I have a friend upstairs," I confessed immediately. "It's a guy."

He remained deathly quiet as he turned off the faucet, tipped the mug onto the drying rack and then stared out the window.

"That's not authorized," he finally said without turning around.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to warn you, so you...behave yourself."

"Don't talk to me about behaving myself."

"You're right. I just want you to know that he's important to me. For real. So please don't try to scare him away." I paused and waited for his comeback, but he stayed silent. "So, you good? Or should I set up that fire escape ladder and send him out the window?"

"Oh, I'm good," he said in an uncharacteristically chipper tone. "Good as gold."

Surprisingly, after I introduced them, my dad didn't try to force awkward conversation with Pete. It actually seemed like he wanted to escape the situation more than Pete did.

"Well, I'll be out in the garage," he announced. "I've gotta figure out what's going on with the starter on the Blazer."

My dad had three different vehicles, one of which was usually functioning properly at any given time, while the other two gave him an excuse to retreat to the garage by himself for hours.

"Can I help?" Pete offered.

"I don't know, can you? This truck's older than you are."

"That's my specialty," Pete said as he shot me a knowing look.

"Your specialty, huh?" Dad asked with heavy skepticism.  "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

Dad briefly closed his eyes and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, obviously trying his best to withhold a strong reaction to the age difference between us. "Did you graduate with her brother, Jason?"

"No, I didn't go to Palmer."

"Alright then, Pete. I'm going to need more information. Could you give me your full name, address, and social security number so I can run a background check?"

"Stop," I protested.

I couldn't relax while Pete was out there with my dad. I tried to sew, I tried to watch something on television, but all I could do was pace the floor and stare out the window at the garage, looking for signs of distress. I wondered if I should go check on them, under the guise of offering coffee or something, but I thought Pete might not appreciate that. And so I waited.

When the garage door finally opened and my dad's black and white Blazer rolled out onto the ice-packed driveway, I couldn't wait any longer. I slipped on my boots and got outside in time to see Pete step out of the driver's side. He and Dad shook hands and then my dad walked toward the house, patting me on the shoulder as he passed.