Page 63 of Worth the Trouble

Her father’s bags were by the door when he let her in. Two of them, the leather ones, packed and zipped and standing side by side.

“Flight’s out of Billings this afternoon,” he said. “Car’s coming at ten.”

“You could have left a note.”

“I could have.” He went to the window, then didn’t stay there. He came and sat on the end of the bed instead, which she had never once known him to do in a hotel room, and put his hands on his knees. “Sit down, Cecelia.”

She took the desk chair.

He looked at the carpet for a while. The suite was already stripped of him. No laptop on the desk. No glass on the coaster. The envelope was gone from the desk, and she didn’t ask where.

“The company’s going to look at Idaho,” he said. “There’s a parcel outside Driggs the board’s had its eye on for two years. I’ll fly out next month and start the process.”

“Properly.”

“Properly.” He said it without any edge on it. “Every notice. Every mailbox. I’ll have the attorneys draft a procedure and I’ll follow it, and if the town says no, the town says no.”

She didn’t answer right away. She wanted to be sure it had been said.

“That’s new.”

“It’s expensive. I lost a great deal of money here.” He rubbed one thumb over the other knuckle. “I’d like not to lose it the same way twice.”

“You won’t.”

“No.” He looked up. “I’d like to hire you.”

Cecelia sat back in the chair.

“Not through the trust. Not through the company payroll. A retainer, at your rate, whatever you decide that is. You’ll bill me monthly and I’ll pay it on time.” He held up a hand before she could speak. “I have four projects in three states and every one of them has a town attached to it, and every one of those towns is going to hear my name and think of this one. I need somebody who can walk into a room full of people who don’t want me there and tell them the truth about what I’m building. I know exactly one person who does that.”

“You know one person who did it to you.”

“Same skill.”

She looked at him for a long time. He let her.

“My firm won’t bury a notice,” she said. “It won’t manage a story you don’t want told. If you hire me, you get the version of this where the town knows everything before you do.”

“That’s the version I’m buying.”

“You’ll hate it.”

“Probably.” He almost smiled. “Draw up the terms. I’ll sign what you send me.”

She’d walked into this room ready for a lot of things. An argument. A second envelope. The silence he used when he’d decided a conversation was over. She hadn’t been ready for him to be her first client, and it took her a moment before she said yes.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He stood up. He straightened his jacket, and then he stood there with nothing in his hands and seemingly nowhere to put them. His bags were by the door, she guessed, so must have been up early getting his things packed.

“Dad, say it.”

He knew what she meant. It was on his face. He went to the window after all, and this time he stayed.

“Your mother left in March,” he said. “You were six. She left while you were at school, and she left the papers on the kitchen table with her rings on top of them. I found them when I came home and you were already asleep. I didn’t wake you. I sat at that table until morning, and then I made your lunch, and I drove you to school, and I went to work.” He stopped. “I’ve never said it out loud. I told your cowboy a piece of it across a table because he was a stranger and it was easier. You should have heard it before he did.”

Cecelia didn’t move. She’d waited so long to hear it and now she didn’t know what to do with her hands either.