Count Your Lucky Stars •CHAENNIE•

Chapter 21

Roseanne gripped the steering wheel until the leather groaned, a pull in the cover's stitching biting into the side of her thumb. The for sale sign posted in the thatch of grass beside the mailbox wasn't a surprise, but actually seeing it with her own two eyes put an unexpected lump in the back of her throat as she pulled into the driveway beside Dad's Volkswagen and cut the engine.

It was real. Not that she'd honestly believed Mark had the ability or inclination to fabricate a real estate listing-not only did he lack the skills, but he was too lazy to go to such lengths just to . . . what? Prank her? Piss her off? Mark couldn't even bother to hunt down a garage door opener by himself-but there'd been a tiny part of her that hadn't wanted to believe it. That had refused to believe it on principle. Dad had always been a man of few words, never the most forthcoming, not even about the small things. But this? This wasn't small. This was big, and-why hadn't he told her?

Time to find out.

Roseanne hopped out of the car, the door rattling when she slammed it with a touch too much force. Instead of heading immediately up the drive, she walked over to the for sale sign and flipped the lid on the attached plastic box full of flyers. There was only one left, and it was a little damp, the edges of the paper rippled from all the moisture. The ink was blurry, making the copy read as if the house had eight bedrooms instead of three. Paper clutched tightly in her fist, Roseanne made a beeline for the front door, pulse ratcheting as she took the porch steps two at a time. Little flecks of black paint stuck to her skin when she rapped her knuckles against the door.

The gauzy curtain beside the front window fluttered, Dad probably curious to see who was banging on his door.

"Chaeng." Dad's smile fell at the look on her face. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be-"

Roseanne shook the flyer in his face. "The better question is why I had to find out you were selling the house from Mark."

"Mark?" Dad's head snapped back, eyes widening. "Why are you talking to Mark?"

A flush crept up the front of her throat. To make up for it, she stood a little straighter, lifting her chin. "That is entirely beside the point. Were you ever planning to tell me you were selling the house or was I just going to be in a for a rude awakening the next time I came to visit?"

Dad heaved a sigh and gripped the back of his neck, ducking his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Rosie. You usually call before you visit . . ."

Her back teeth clacked together. She was getting really tired of being told she was being ridiculous or that she was overreacting when all she wanted was a straight answer.

"I called. I called twice. I left you a voicemail," she said. "You didn't pick up."

Dad grimaced. "Ah, damn. I think I left my phone in the car."

He still hadn't answered her question, the big, overarching one, the one that had brought her here. "And the house?"

Dad scraped his hand over his jaw and gave another weary-sounding sigh before stepping back from the door, gesturing for her to come inside. "You want something to drink? I think I still have a box of that tea you like floating around in the cabinet somewhere."

She wanted answers, not tea. But if she was going to drink anything, it needed to be a whole heck of a lot stronger than chamomile.

"You know what?" She set her hands on her hips. "I think I'd like one of the beers you keep in the fridge in the garage you think I don't know about. Thanks."

Dad headed down the hall without a word, returning a minute later with an uncapped bottle in each hand. At least it was light beer, better for him than the regular kind.