Hillary stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her dad unload the dirty dishes from the dishwasher. One by one they went in the cupboard: dirty plates, coffee cups, and glasses. Loading and unloading, the same unwashed dishes. Like pressing the rewind button over and over again. Boy, was he losing it. Is this what his life had become?
“You need to move, Dad.” She checked her watch. It was already after one and all they’d done all morning was drink soapy-tasting coffee. She had better things to do on a Monday. “Into one of those care homes.”
“Care home? Over my dead body.” Harry dropped dirty knives into the cutlery drawer. “I don’t need a care home. I’m just fine here.”
“Look at you—you’re a crazy old man! Can’t even figure out a dishwasher. Look at this mess!” Hillary waved her arm at the cluttered kitchen counter. “It’s too much for you.”
“No, it’s not. It’s my mess and I like it.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “I’ll keep my house the way I want it.”
Not if she had any say. So pathetic—was he really going to cry? Hillary swiped her arm across the stacks of books on the kitchen table, knocking them off and sending them cascading to the floor. She sat down, annoyed. Can’t pay his bills or even clean the house. Since when did that become her problem? “I can’t even find a spot at the table. How can you eat in this pigsty?”
“Aw, Hillary, why’d you do that? I said to leave them.” Harry closed the dishwasher door and shuffled over to the table, a dishtowel draped over his shoulder. His gaze dropped to his books splayed open on the linoleum. Wounded soldiers, all creased pages and banged up spines.
“Because you’re nuts, Dad. You’re living in a pile of junk.” Hillary rolled her eyes. Why was he creating all this trouble for her? She certainly wasn’t going to cook and clean for him.
“It’s not junk, Hillary. Some of these books are collector’s items. Put them back,” Harry said. “We’ll eat in the living room.”
“No way am I eating here. This is disgusting.” Hillary slammed her coffee mug on the table. “How can you live like this?”
“Easy. I like my things just the way they are. You’re not living under this roof, so don’t tell me what to do.”
“What if I was living here? Then would I get a say in how things go?”
His face lit up.
Just the effect she had intended. “Maybe I’ll move back home.”
“Really? That would be wonderful. It’s been real lonely around here since your mom died.”
“I’d consider it. But we’ll need some ground rules.” Hillary rose from the table and headed to the fridge. She could stand maybe another week of this, tops. Just long enough to wrap things up and get her overdue Porsche payments caught up again.
“We can work something out,” he said.
“Good.” Hillary pulled a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge and poured a glass. She dumped in a tablespoon of the powder, stirring until it dissolved. She pocketed the vial before turning back to face Harry.
“Here. Drink this.” She handed the glass to her father. Not that she really had to sneak around. She could have shot a freaking cannon through the kitchen and he wouldn’t have noticed. Stupid.
“Thanks.” He sipped the juice and smiled.
Hillary sighed. Five more minutes and he’d pass out in his ugly plaid chair. Then she could start tossing some of his crap. She sure as hell wasn’t waiting till he died to do it. The clutter was smothering her.
He cared more about this junk-filled hovel than her, even though she’d put her life on hold to come back to this shithole, to this crappy little neighborhood. For what? Nothing had changed in ten years. Except the neighbors were older and crankier, and Kat’s tentacles dug in even deeper. Kat pretended she cared about Dad, but Hillary knew better. As if. He was nothing but a demented old man.
Kat had another thing coming if she thought sucking up to Harry was going to give her a cut. That’s why the checks had stopped; Kat was keeping all that money herself. She was sure of it. Why else would she hang around here at thirty-four years old? Wasn’t it enough that her parents had adopted Kat after her father abandoned her? Who adopted fourteen-year-olds? Next thing Kat would be contesting the will.
She’d put a stop to that.