>BLACK DIAMOND, WA
>19SEP2019
>0600...///

Early riser. Always had been. Just felt right that way for Mark Grier, son of a Navy Officer who ran his household like the seamless operation of a ship when Mark was just a kid. He didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps into the military, though sometimes he’d wanted to, instead he dedicated his time towards college. At the end of it all, he’d become “the computer guy” for an aerospace company. He managed the entire computer network of gray haired, fat men that had too much money thanks to Boeing, Airbus, and even the DOD. Not that it was a horrible job. It had helped buy this fancy house whose garage he was currently working out in.

He lay in a puddle of his own sweat, looking up at the ceiling and thinking. Holly had said she’d called that man, the one she hadn’t seen in ten years. If Mark was insecure, he’d ask Tilly why she was even bothering wondering about who her birth father was. The few times Mark was able to talk to her about it, she said she’d only remembered snippets of living in Seattle with her mom and Joseph. [i]Dad[/i] as it was back then. What Mark was now. He sighed, getting up and removing his sweat-soaked shirt, making his way through the house and back upstairs to see if Holly was awake yet. He stopped by Tilly’s door and heard the faint sound of some punk band leaking through headphones. It must have been blaring for her. He walked on, opening the door to his and Holly’s room.

Holly was almost awake, hovering in that gray area between the two states as her body decided whether it would like to be nauseated or not. Most of the morning sickness had passed but there were still those mornings when she spent it hanging over the toilet. The rising uncomfortable feeling slowly went away as she sipped from the bottle of water. When Mark entered, she had just flopped back down, her dark blonde hair tousled. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she muttered then sat up, planting her hands on either side of her hips. Her slender form was clad in a loose satin nightgown that fell over her rounded stomach. She was showing at four months, a good sign she might make it but Holly dared not think ahead so much. During this ordeal of trying to get pregnant she had become uncharacteristically superstitious. Like speaking the name of some ghost, she refused to anticipate anything more than another month at a time. 

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood up with a grunt and stretched, arching her spine but took care not to fully extend her arms or torso. It could be bad for the baby. Holly looked over at her husband then smiled crookedly, “I was going to take a shower but you look like you need one more than me.”

Mark smiled wide at the sight of his wife and her new swelling belly. He walked towards her, dropping his shirt haphazardly on the floor to kneel before like some altar of worship. He placed his hands gingerly on her stomach and kissed it, “Let’s shower together.” He rose to his feet again and gave Holly a peck on her lips.

He went for the bathroom first, not waiting for Holly to answer. The feeling of being sweaty wasn’t one Mark liked all too much. He dropped his shorts and boxers, looking at himself in the mirror. He slightly flexed his pecs and then went full in and struck a cheesy bodybuilding pose when he saw Holly looking too. The calisthenics and kettlebells were paying off, “You like what you see, cutie?”

Holly brushed his sweaty hair when he kissed her belly, smiling at his tenderness. Without answering she followed him to the master bathroom, picking up his clothes as he dropped them to tosse them in the swinging door of the built in hamper. She slipped her nightgown off and did the same, laughing softly at his pose. 

“No,” she said, then grinned, “I love what I see.” 

Cheesy humor aside, he did look better and she thought maybe him focusing on his health had helped get her knocked up. At least the sex had become better. Holly stepped forward, catching sight of her profile in the mirror, still heart stopping was the convex curve of her stomach after so long. She leaned in, reaching past him to crank up the hot water comfortable in their shared nudity and closeness. 

“Help me shave my legs,” she said, “You’re not too manly for that are you? With all your muscles.” 

Mark snorted, “Oh, [i]anything[/i] for Holly. I live to serve, my dear.”

Mark planted another kiss on Holly’s lips and then searched the drawers. Not finding it within the first five seconds of looking netted the inevitable question, “Where’d you put the razors again?” He asked, rifling through a drawer, “Unless you want to use my clippers. Do we need to yet?”

“Clippers? You ass, I don’t need those,” she said, “Top drawer, the pink disposables. This belly is starting to make it hard to bend, you know, gracefully.” 

The last thing she wanted to do was overcompensate and faceplant in the bathtub, she had become clumsy as her pregnancy advanced which according to the books was normal. She hated it and took extra precaution, stepping into the hot shower slowly and turning with her hand braced against the wall. The water soaked her blonde hair dark and she sputtered, wiping her eyes as she waited for him to enter. 

As he did she reached for the shampoo and offered to get his hair while he faced the shower head. “Have you talked to Tilly?” Mark asked while Holly squirted shampoo into his hair, “One of her friends is having a sleepover in a few days. The Ryans. Should we let her go?”

Holly rubbed the suds, massaging his scalp and she raked her nails lightly against his scalp, “They seem to be sane, I think it’ll be fine. I’d like her to have more girlfriends. She’s always hanging out with the boys at the park, which is fine but you know. I’d just like her to learn to like doing her hair or something, she never lets me touch it anymore.”

Holly sighed and leaned against him, her arms around his shoulders, “I used to braid her hair and she’d wear the cutest sundresses. Now I can barely get her to not wear a hoodie in the summer. It’s 80 degrees outside for god’s sake.”

“And [i]boys[/i] that age. I know how they are,” Mark hissed, “I was never like that… I think.”

Mark nodded, thinking it over. Their daughter’s choices in attire or music, or interests were never something he associated with ‘girliness’ or ’femininity.’ As a father he didn’t want her prancing out the door with little left to the imagination, but Holly was right. “I don’t even know how to broach that subject with her. She’s sixteen, everything’s always [i]you wouldn’t understand[/i] and [i]leave me alone, dad.[/i]”

“She’s changing.” Mark sighed, “And what she asked you about… [i]Joe.[/i]”

The warm water rinsed the shampoo from his hair and she kissed the back of his neck when he brought up Joseph. She did chuckle and murmur, “I’ll have to ask your mother next time how you were at sixteen.” 

She ran her hands down his stomach and rested her belly against his back, “As for Joseph, it’s always troubled her I think. She loves you, you’re her dad but so is he. For all the hell he put us through he always loved us. He just...he’s damaged. And an asshole. I understand why she’s wanting to know why her biological father hasn’t bothered to keep up with her. It has nothing to do with you. Tilly’s not a little girl anymore, I can’t keep explaining it away with excuses. He needs to tell her why and I’m terrified of how it’ll hurt her.”

Holly hugged Mark tight, feeling his soap slick skin, “I can’t protect her from the world like I would want to, like I tried to.” 

“You’re right.” Mark said, soft, feeling Holly embrace him. They stayed like that for a bit, just them and the warm water, “I hope she knows I’ll be here for her if the truth hurts that bad. I never liked him, but this isn’t about us, you’re right.”

>...///

Tilly sat in her room, jamming to Gang Green, another cool old band she found on Youtube. She was drawing, hunched over the paper and the violet prisma pastel was moving in short strokes. Sure, she had the drawing program and the touch pad but sometimes a girl just needed to feel the physical nature of the pencils and paper. She bobbed her head as she continued to fill in the color of the octopus arm, the tentacles surrounding the human skull, some curling around the eyehole and mouth. 

It looked rad. She smiled at her work, a rare expression on the teenage girl. Her long blonde hair fell forward like a curtain as she finished off the suckers and sat back, looking at it from a distance. This would look cool on a skateboard, she decided. 

“Tilly! Breakfast! I don’t want to climb the stairs again so get down here!” 

Her mother again and Tilly sighed, putting away the pencils and set the paper between the covers of an art portfolio. She grabbed her Vans and laced them up, pulling them tight. Tilly wore jeans and a band shirt, today’s flavor was Trash Talk. Tilly snatched her hoodie, the back emblazoned with the Bouncing Souls heart and crossbones logo. 

She swung around the bottom bannister, and marched into the kitchen. “Bacon? I said I wasn’t eating bacon anymore.”

Holly looked up as she pushed the bacon from the pan onto the paper towels. “Well, the funny thing is that there are like two other people that live here, kiddo. And we like some bacon.” 

Tilly made a wry face then leaned to give Mark a quick hug, “Hey, Dad. You shouldn’t eat it either, it’s really bad for you.” 

She sat down, scooting the chair up to the table with her hand on the seat. There were pancakes, the bacon, and fresh fruit. Holly was really going all out today. Tilly swung her feet and hooked them behind on the cross bar of her chair. As she helped herself to the strawberries and cantaloupe, she looked up at her mother, “So, tonight right? We’re still down to cook right?”

Her worry manifested itself in the need for reassurance, Holly knew, she remembered the little girl asking if Daddy was going to be ok. And she would answer that Daddy was just needing a nap, when he was shit faced drunk and had been up for two days in fear of nightmares. Holly pushed a smile to her face, “Yes, I’ll be there to help but this is your thing, Tilly. Don’t stay out all day and come home expecting me to have done it.” 

Tilly leaned back, brushing her long hair away from her eyes with her free hand, “I know...I was just checking. You sure he likes Italian?”

Holly gazed at her daughter, she could see Joseph in her, the bright blue eyes and sun freckles, the way her lips turned in a smirking smile before she said something smart assed. She sipped her coffee, “You don’t worry about that, everyone likes Italian.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, cutting into the pancakes. “It’s no big deal anyway, if he doesn’t like it. I’m not worried about it.” 

Holly glanced at Mark, Tilly had been on edge about what to make since she had agreed to call him and he accepted the invitation. The teen switched between anxious concern to aloofness as quick as an oscillating fan turned. But her mother was not fooled, she knew this whole visit was stressful and tried to keep assuring her but in her heart she feared Joseph would let her down again. 

Mark finally put his phone down, work emails about work on a work phone had replaced work emails on a work computer at work. Even after scoring a position he could work remotely from and spend more time with his family came stipulations and a ball and chain. He’d heard Tilly telling him to avoid red meat and pork for the six-thousandth time this month and plucked a strip of bacon off his plate. Crispy, just like he liked, and he crunched it between his teeth while looking at Tilly, “What was that about bacon, dear?” He smiled at Holly, “Is there still some left for Tilly?”
 
“Oh,ho ho so funny, Dad,” she mocked him, poking a fork in a cube of melon. With a wry smile, she added, “Excuse me for caring that your heart doesn’t explode.” 

She had eaten bacon a month ago but after learning about what nitrates did to the heart she had become insistent on her parents dropping bacon and lunch meat. “It’s not like I’m asking for us to be vegetarian,” Tilly reminded them, “Besides, pigs are super smart and cute.” 

She added the last bit almost like an afterthought but Holly knew better, Tilly had a soft heart for animals, ever since she was a kid. And despite her cool aloof skater girl punk thing that she had become she was still an empathetic girl with a big heart. 

“I’m gonna go to the mall and then skating with the guys,” she stated rather than asking but then said, “So, did you ever decide about Emma’s sleepover?”

“Emma seems like a very nice girl, and her parents seem normal,” Holly said, glancing at Mark. “No reason we should say no. I want you to have a good time. Get your nails done, we used to give each other manicures. And we’d do makeovers…”

“Ew, Mom. You’re making me not want to,” Tilly said, rolling her eyes. 

Mark snorted, “Come on, kid, it’ll be fun. No one’s asking you to stick with the girly stuff.” His tone took a tad more serious air, “Tammy called me about Jacob, one of the boys you hang around with. She said she grounded Jacob because he was fighting behind the Community Center with another boy.”

Mark stopped chewing and looked at Tilly, “Please, don’t tell me this is the caliber of people you’ve decided to spend your High School years with.” Mark forked some eggs into his mouth and chewed just a bit before swallowing, “Not to mention that Mitch kid and him smoking pot.”

Tilly’s eyes widened as Mark spoke about Jacob and she leaned forward, “He had a good reason for knocking the snot out of that boy. He was being a real douche.”

“Tilly,” Holly said automatically, “Language.”

“Well, sorry Mom but that guy was talking a lot of shit, like he was saying that girls had no place on the ramps and…” Tilly hesitated, the whole situation had been bad but Jacob had stood up for her and the other girl that hung around with them. “He said something really offensive and Jacob let him have it. He beat the hell out of him.” 

She smiled a little, then brushed her pale hair out of her eyes, “It was kinda cool.”

Holly took a sharp breath, “I understand it might seem deserved, but fighting isn’t the answer. Violence just leads to people hurt and more violence.”

The unspoken example hung above them and Tilly nodded, “Yeah, I know.” 

Holly waited a bit then said, “And this boy, Mitch? Smoking pot?”

Tilly ran her fingers through her hair, and shrugged, “I don’t smoke it, so why should you care?”

Holly glanced at Mark then back at Tilly, she stood up to take her plate to the sink and tapped Tilly on the head. “Because it can be an influence.”

“Trust me, honey. It’s a thin line to walk.” Mark tipped his head towards Tilly, “We just want what’s best for you. Don’t do anything that might compromise your chances at college.”

Tilly toyed with a piece of over syruped pancake, “I guess, and I’m not going to screw it up. I really want to go to college, you know that. I don’t just do things because people want me to.”

She realized the slip before she could catch it but ducked her head, finishing the last bites. 

“So when do you think Joe Dad will get here?” Tilly asked lightly. 

“Your mother has set it for dinner. Maybe 6, I have to ask her again.” Mark said, glancing over to Tilly and feeling the same nerve she might. He was nervous too, almost wanted to skip his workout this morning, “I told your mother this, but I’ll tell you too. I’m always going to be here if…”

Mark struggled to find the correct words. He realized there probably weren’t any, he settled for a lame, “Well, I’ll always be here. Always have been. I love you, Tilly.”

Tilly watched her step dad struggle with the awkwardly emotional moment and she felt her face redden. She shrugged, swiping her long hair back from her face, “I know, Dad. You’re my dad but so is he, I didn’t ask mom to call him because I thought...you know, I thought you weren’t being [i]DAD[/i] enough. I just…”

She hunched her shoulders, her face still fresh and young, not one for makeup her features were pale. “I want to know things,” Tilly tried to put into words the desire to know her biological father, other than the faint childhood memories and all her mother’s stories. 

She stood up suddenly and hugged Mark, “Alright, that’s enough. I’m gonna go skate and probably swing by the mall.”

Holly had waited while they spoke, the tension there brought once more by her ex. She stepped over to Tilly and side hugged her, “Do you need bus money?”

Tilly cupped her hands together, her blue eyes widening, “Can I ‘ave some more? I kinda wanted to buy something for D...Joe. Just like a little thing.”

She squinted and pinched her fingers together. Holly chuckled and sighed, “I’ll get my purse. Where’s your allowance.”

“I bought that pencil set off Amazon,” Tilly admitted. 

She came back with some cash and watched her daughter stuff it in her pocket and grab the skateboard leaning against the wall near the door. “Got my phone,” she said, pulling it out from her pocket. Tilly tried to duck out before Holly caught her. “Your helmet and pads, young lady. Now.” 

Tilly growled, “I hate the helmet, I look like a dork.”

Holly crossed her arms and Tilly sighed dramatically then snatched her gear to put it on.

>1730...///

Agent Orange’s [i]Bloodstains[/i] and the loud roars of a motorcycle’s engines filled the peaceful forested backroads. Trees passed in a blur of green and wind buffeted Donnelley’s bandana covered face. The drive from Seattle had been easygoing, and he’d felt confident, talking himself up the whole damn way. Now that he was at the mouth of Holly and her husband’s long driveway that led down to their large house and plot of land, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe a younger Donnelley would rev his engine and speed back off and away, but Tilly was the one who asked him to be here. Whatever he and her mother had spat at each other years ago, none of it was Tilly’s fault.

As he sat idling at the end of the driveway, he’d made his choice. He ambled down the stretch of asphalt and cut his engine after walking the bike behind the cars. One a BMW, the other a Mercedes. The house looked nicer than the one in Seattle, nicer than one he could afford. It was two stories, and vast. If they’d have shown him a picture of it back when he was in the trailer park he’d have called it a mansion. He wondered if he could go back to the apartment in Turkey now that he’d seen a house like this. He immediately went to wondering just what the fuck Mark did for a living. At least Tilly had a good home though. That’s what mattered. And at least he’d been able to clean up as nice as he could. He’d shed the denim vest with the Special Forces patch and the shitload of band patches, leaving it with his helmet on his bike, that trusty Indian motorcycle.

At least the beard did some to cover up the burn scar on his cheek. With that, there was no hiding. He could dress nice, put on the last button up shirt and pair of slacks he had that weren’t bloodstained or reeked of gunpowder and sweat. But that scar. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and reached to the doorbell, his finger hovering just an inch away. He forced himself to press his finger into it and crossed the point of no return. Mark was the one who opened the door. He looked at him and Donnelley could tell his eyes were looking for something on him to pick at. Judge. Donnelley had done a lot, and he did enough judging of himself already.

But he understood, no matter how much that look made him want to smash his fucking head in. He had to remind himself it had been years, and no emotions were worth ruining Tilly’s day. Plus, opening up his front door to a man like himself, Donnelley didn’t know how he’d feel about that. “Hey, Joe.” Mark said, flat.

A ghost of a smile, the bare minimum of what was required. Donnelley returned the same, and then offered his hand to the other man, “Hey, Mark.” They shook, firm, but noncommittal, “What’s, uh, what’s for dinner?”

Mark didn’t answer, simply shutting the door behind him and leaving the two of them alone. Donnelley’s heart pumped hard, a part of him wondering if Mark was putting his foot down, drawing a line in the sand to stop with this crazy fiasco in the making before it blew up in everyone’s faces. “I need to ask you something.” Mark began, his voice firm, “No funny business, okay? We eat dinner, we chat, you get to see my…”

Donnelley’s eyes narrowed, already feeling his hands begin to tighten, his temper flaring before Mark continued, “Your daughter. Tilly. You get to see Tilly.” Mark stood his ground, a slightly smaller man than Donnelley, but standing up to someone who looked like he did took some bravery. Some courage, some love, “We’ll all get together and you and Tilly can talk-“

“Tilly and I can talk alone.” Donnelley struggled to keep his voice from becoming a growl through his gritted teeth, “The only reason I’m here is for her. She’s the one that asked. She’s the only one who gets answers.”

“She’s my daughter too, Joe.” Mark said.

“I was there when [i]she was born[/i]. I held her in my hands the first time she ever cried. I’m talkin’ to her alone.” Donnelley stepped closer, and still Mark didn’t show a sign of being nervous, “She deserves the truth. Not some sugar-coated bullshit I have to coo to her with you and Holly breathin’ down my fuckin’ neck.”

Mark and Donnelley stood opposite each other then, both not speaking, staring into each other’s eyes. Not backing down. After some time, Mark nodded. He turned his back and opened the door, stepped inside and left it open for Donnelley, “Why don’t you come inside, Joe.”

Donnelley smoothed his dress shirt down and took a breath, calming himself. Already, he didn’t like Mark. The inside of the house matched the rich tastes of the outside. Modest chandelier in the entrance, a stairway in front of the door that led up to the second floor. There was a living room to his right that Mark led him through and then the kitchen beyond. No sign of Tilly yet, but then he saw the other woman in his past life. Like a ghost made solid before his eyes, he looked at her back in disbelief while she was fussing over a stove and stirring something. He caught himself wondering if she was as beautiful now as she was back then and then stopped himself from staring, looking away and glancing at Mark. Luckily Mark was busy checking his phone to notice Donnelley’s looks at Holly. He looked from Mark to the table and the arrangements that had been made. He guessed his spot was the last there, Tilly and Holly at either side of him at the head of the table.

Holly could hear them and it took all she had not to whirl around to see Joseph, to see what life had done to him since she had seen him last. Or what he had done with himself. Instead, she stirred the Bolognese sauce, then turned off the heat. 

The pasta was drained and drizzled with olive oil and Tilly was allowed to pick the wine from the shelf in the basement. She was still down there when Joe arrived and Holly was grateful for a moment to gather herself in his presence.

She turned around, Holly was dressed in neat casual slacks and a cardigan, a cute retro gingham apron covering her clothes that Tilly had bought her as a joke for Mother's day. 

The apron hung loose, untied but as she pulled it off, the shape of her body under the clingy top would be revealed and there was no hiding her current condition. 

"Joseph," she said, folding the apron over her arm. Holly's gaze strayed to his face, the shock of the burn scar had held her tongue. Despite the ginger beard, it was quite visible and drew attention. She blinked, trying to recover from staring at it and forced herself to meet his gaze. 

A history of a lifetime in those blue eyes but a past life, nothing she wanted anymore. Holly smiled tightly, "Thank you for coming. Tilly should be up any moment."

A hundred questions filled her mind but she put them down, they would at least have a pleasant dinner before accusations and excuses flew. 

She stepped a few feet closer to him, close enough it was obvious she was doing a smell check for whiskey. Holly breathed deep and eyed him, "She helped make dinner so I hope you like it."

“Holly…” Donnelley was taken aback seeing that her stomach had swelled. The one thing that could mean. He had to remind himself that Holly was Mark’s wife now, and had been for almost a decade. 

“Thank you for havin’ me.” Donnelley gave his own tight smile as Holly hovered next to him, no doubt doing the old trick of making it not look obvious she was smelling him for alcohol. Only difference this time was he was the guest. He hadn’t had a drop since he’d gotten to the house in Seattle, made sure he didn’t even eye a bottle. There were a lot of them, “I’m sure it’ll be delicious. You two were always the better chefs.” 

He tried at some warmth for a change, ease some of the tension he’d felt building. He looked at Mark and saw him doing a great job of trying to ignore the tepid reunion. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward at just standing there, “Should I… do you need my help with anythin’?”

Holly looked him over again, he had tried to dress nice, at least he wasn’t wearing that ragged old vest. Tilly somehow managed to get his eye for fashion without him even being here. The pictures were there though and she wondered if that's where the girl got her fascination with that music in the last few years. The thought flitted away when he asked to help and she kept the ironic acid from leaking too much. 

“No, I don’t,” she said too quickly, then tried to soften it. “Why don’t you take a seat, I’ll get Tilly.” 

With a glance to Mark that lasted for a brief moment but said that she was on edge and trying her best for their daughter, Holly went to the basement door and called down, “Are you stomping the grapes yourself?”

“I just don’t know which one.”

“Tilly...he’s here, just pick one,” Holly said, “He won’t care, he’ll drink it just the same.”

[i]It is booze after all.[/i]

Tilly felt a thrill of excitement and worry when she heard that her dad was there. She snatched a bottle of red with an unpronounceable but distinctly Italian name and ran up the stairs. Despite Holly asking her to change into something more presentable, the girl was dressed in jeans and sneakers though she had changed her shirt after a shower. It was a favorite of hers, a vintage JFA tour shirt that she found at an independent thrift shop on a trip to Seattle she made that she had not told Holly about. Instead, she had passed it off as an Etsy purchase when Holly asked. 

Tilly bounced into the kitchen, her blue eyes flickering around nervously as she gripped the bottle with both hands. Holly nodded at the table, and the girl peered over the breakfast counter at the ginger haired man. He looked older, grizzled with a beard but the same profile. Taking a deep breath she kept the bottle of wine as something to hold onto as she stepped awkwardly around the corner, her long blonde hair falling forward as she lowered her head a bit with a sudden shyness. 

Donnelley’s heartbeat quickened, almost jumping out of his mouth and onto the table when he heard Tilly’s footsteps. It was the best kinds of nervous, Donnelley being happy for the first time to have to hide his hands and wipe his palms on his pants when no one was looking. When she finally came into view, his eyes widened, his mouth almost agape. She’d grown so damn much, and immediately the weight of ten lost years pressed down on his chest to the point he had to look away from her and clear his throat, blinking away wetness.

“Um, hey, Joe...Dad,” she said, looking back up at him. Her eyes widened at the sight of the scar and she blurted out, “Jesus, what happened to your face?” 

Tilly caught herself, blushing, “Sorry. Um, I hope you like…wine.”

Planting the bottle on the table beside him, she stepped back, no longer having a prop to occupy her hands she folded her arms. 

Donnelley’s breath hitched in his throat when Tilly commented on his scar. He was used to it, sometimes. Other times, not so. But he took it in stride, seeing her turn red at the unexpected choice of words and not wanting to make it seem like she’d ruined his mood. After all, she’d made it. She could slap him in his face and he’d just be happy that at least there was some amount of justice for the absence. But there were other ways. “I, uh,” he looked up at Holly, her gaze could’ve burned through to the back of his skull to see him touch another bottle after only five minutes of being under the same roof, “Yeah, I’ll have a glass. Just one.”

Tilly looked at him, the same frank and examining gaze he might have had at her age. She wanted to ask him so many things, he did look happy to see her even after her blunder over saying something about the scar but it would wait. Instead, she gave a hint of a smile and turned to Mark, “Hey, Dad, do you have the bottle opener? I didn’t see it downstairs.”

At Tilly’s calling out for Dad, Donnelley reflexively opened his mouth to say something before seeing she was looking at Mark. He shut his mouth and took his seat next to Holly’s, across from Tilly. The two of them hardly looked at each other, Donnelley making out like the shade of paint on the walls was the most interesting choice he’d seen. Every so often, he’d glance at Tilly just to take her in. Until now, she’d been forever eight years old, and to see her as a young woman was as beautiful as she was, but also as painful as anything Donnelley had felt before.

Tilly took her seat, not ready to hug or even shake hands with her natural father, not yet. Holly noticed it, she had not known how Tilly would react if she would run up and hug him or smack him. But she should have known, it would be this, the aloof pretend to be cool with everything attitude, like nothing bothered her. Holly knew better, Tilly could be a sensitive girl at times and this age it was magnified. 

Holly went to the kitchen with Mark who was getting the wine opener and said softly, “What do you think?”

She spoke as she tossed the sauce with the spaghetti so he could carry it out and she would take the salad. 

“Well,” Mark raised his brows, not knowing exactly if it was going good or not, simply that Joseph hadn’t threatened to choke him yet. From their conversation at the door, he might’ve. He gave Holly a reassuring smile as he found the corkscrew among a hundred other kitchen implements, “All things considered, everything you’ve told me. It’s going okay so far.”

He took the pot in his hands, “But, really. I hope she gets what she asked for out of this. I told Joe as much.” He said, a very, very egregious oversimplification, “Let’s have dinner and we can all chat, okay?”

Once the food was on the table and everyone served, and had begun to eat, Tilly watched Joseph from the corner of her eye with his wine. She and her mother had water and Mark had a full glass of the Sicilian red. 

They ate in silence for a while, the oppressive weight seemed to grow until Tilly finally asked, “Mom said this is how we used to make spaghetti. That it was the first thing she showed you how to cook.”

Holly swallowed and almost choked as Tilly brought out the memory of their earliest years. She glanced at Mark then at her daughter, “Tilly why don’t you tell Joe about that camp you went to over the summer.”

Donnelley looked up from his plate as he chewed, locking eyes with Holly and then looking at Mark. Holly was busy trying to forget they were ever married and Mark was looking at Donnelley expectantly. He swallowed, clearing his throat softly and making sure he could speak. He took one last look at Holly before his eyes returned to his plate and he twirled another morsel, “Yeah, easiest thing she could teach me.” He said, he smiled at the memory, “You weren’t even born yet. When she saw my idea of food she took me for some uncultured savage. Pretty soon we were cookin’ from every kinda book you could imagine.”

He felt nervous, speaking about their marriage at first, their history, but the more he talked the easier it became. Until he almost had to shut himself up, “When you were old enough, we’d let you pick what book and what out of it we made.” He was smiling now, cheek to cheek, “‘Course, you’d usually just make us have mac n’ cheese and chicken strips.”

His smile faltered just a tad when he looked up at Holly staring at him, before she looked away and suddenly didn’t have the time for him, looking at Mark. “But, yeah. First thing she taught me to make.” Donnelley finished, his voice not as jovial, “So… [i]Summer Camp[/i], yeah?”

Tilly listened attentively, but noticed her mother’s discomfort. She ignored it for a moment, smiling a little as she said, “I do love chicken nuggies.”

She leaned forward, poking at her salad, “Well, I mean it’s kinda nerdy but we have this naturalist club at school and they had a two week camp for marine science. We learned how to kayak off the coast, how to do water samples, and we studied tide pools but the coolest part was we got to sleep over in the Aquarium. And they did this whole thing about the intelligence of cephalopods which was really the actual coolest thing.”

Her rare display of enthusiasm made her blue eyes sparkle, “So octopus and squid are really smart, like ape smart. They can solve problems and use tools. And we’re over here eating them with marinara sauce.”

Holly looked at her with pride, it was something that finally interested the girl that did not have anything to do with punk music, skateboards, or video games. 

“It would be tits to have an octopus as a pet,” she said, “I’m just saying.”

“Language.”

“Sorry mom, but still, I stand by that statement,” Tilly said.

“I don’t think just anyone can have it as a pet.”

“I know...I haven’t even got to get a dog,” she muttered, swiping the garlic bread against the plate. 

Donnelley heard Tilly talk about her two week trip, the excitement in her voice, the glint in her eye. The more excited she grew talking about what interested her, the more his smile grew. It was still just so odd to see the girl he’d only known as a child growing into her own woman, her own opinions, interests. He looked down at his plate and kept his chuckle to himself when she’d used some colorful language at the table, prompting her mother to rebuke her. He reached to his glass of wine and took a small sip, replacing it, “That’s good, I’m glad you’ve got somethin’ you’re passionate about. Makes me happy knowin’ you’re already smarter’n me when I was sixteen. My high school never did anythin’ like that.” Donnelley snorted, “The town your mother and I came from was ‘specially small. Stand on one end and jump to the other, almost.”

“Seem to have come a long way though,” Donnelley said, looking over at Holly and Mark, sprinkling some politeness into his voice, “Doin’ well for yourselves. You don’t mind me askin’, what do y’all do?”

Holly stiffened slightly when he spoke of their hometown and now her upgrade in social status. Asking what they did when he was the one that vanished into the ether for a decade. She could only imagine what he was up to, if he was still in the Army or if he’d moved on. 

“I do mind,” she said, “Maybe you should tell us what you’ve been up to?”

Tilly widened her eyes and shot a look at her mother. “Mom it’s just a qu-”

Holly put her hand up, the surge of protectiveness and hormones mingling with the resentment of years, “I’m interested what’s kept you so busy. But if you really want to know, Mark does very well in IT for a big contractor, I was doing client care until a year ago. Nothing so exciting like jumping out of planes.” 

Donnelley and Mark caught eyes then and that was the first time the entire night it looked like they’d both been caught off guard by Holly. Donnelley wanted to curl away from Holly when she even quieted Tilly. And then he felt that twinge of anger again, like he was back in his younger years and the two of them were locked in an angry exchange of venom. He looked at his plate, absently twirled the morsel he’d yet to eat a few noodles bigger. When he thought he was calm enough not to sling some choice words for basically telling his daughter to shut her mouth, he spoke, “Well, I don’t usually jump out of planes anymore. Much boring now,” he said, wondering how to explain his years of absence while not breaking down the wall and revealing the dirty world of espionage and murder his life had become, “I work for a research firm, contracting for the State Department. Diplomatic stuff, mostly advisory.”

Holly felt her jaw muscles twitch as he explained in a shallow excuse that felt so familiar. She laughed suddenly, shaking her head, “Diplomatic? That’s perfect. You’ve never been diplomatic in your life. In fact this…”

She sat forward and pointed at the table, “This visit is the most diplomatic you’ve ever been. Diplomatic, advisory...is that some sort of euphemism like collateral damage?” 

“Mom…” Tilly said in a small voice, reaching over to touch her arm. “Please.”

Holly heard her and felt her and she covered her hand with her own. “It must be damn interesting work, Joseph.” 

Donnelley was white-knuckle gripping his fork as Holly went off on him. That little voice in the back of his head he barely used to listen to told him he deserved it, but there was a lot of other feelings that drowned it out. He opened his mouth, pointing his fork towards her with narrowed eyes, “At least let me fuckin’ try, just one goddamn-“

“Everyone!” Mark rose his voice above the growing others, looking from Holly to Tilly, then finally Donnelley. The fire in the two ex-spouses rising only to lower as the two of them seemed to transfix their poisonous stares on him, “Holly, baby, please. Let’s just take a few minutes if we need to.”

Holly let go of her daughter’s hand, leaning back in her chair and rested her hand now on her swelling belly. Her glare finally pulled away from Joseph’s scarred face, behind all her anger she wondered how he had got that and how close to death he had been. She and Tilly may never have known what happened to him, he might have just vanished completely from their lives. 


Tilly could not look at any of them, her fork now  laying on  her plate. She took a deep breath, her long hair falling forward to hide her face as it often did. Without a word she pushed back from the table and walked out of the dining room. 

Holly called to her, “Honey…”

She did not respond but climbed the stairs to her room and shut the door, it had been the same. Just like when her father had left the first time. The yelling, the verbal darts, the pain that had never healed the absence. And she had asked for it, begging her mother to invite Joe over. The girl sat on her bed and put her elbows on her knees, her fingers combing through her pale hair as she put her head in her hands. 

“Fuck this,” she muttered, pressing her face against her palms to keep from crying. 

Back downstairs, Donnelley sat, not able to look at Holly or Mark. Part of him felt like this was his fault, like his presence just brought a depressive cloud that choked the lightness from the room in its wake. He sighed, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair, stroking his beard. “I, um, I’m sorry.” He said, not able to stop himself from reaching for his wine glass and tipping back the contents of it in one go, not caring if they saw or not. “I’ll just be outside. Or…”

He swore under his breath, shaking his head and desperately needing a cigarette. He remembered he’d left them in the breast pocket of his vest still draped over the seat of his bike. As Donnelley left, Mark looked to Holly, “I should go talk to her.” 

Holly watched Joseph walk out, running away again, she thought bitterly but felt the weight of sadness pull at her. She sighed and rubbed her stomach, then smiled a little at the feeling of a fluttering kicking. She gazed at Mark, “I’m sorry. He just…”

He didn’t wait for Holly’s answer, simply turning for the stairs and climbing them quietly until he got to Tilly’s door. He rapped his knuckles on the wood of her door, not forcefully, but just loud enough she could probably hear, “Tilly, it’s dad.”

Tilly sat in unusual silence, letting the quiet press down until it roared in her ears, like being under water. The knock startled her and she lifted her head, tossing back her hair. It was Mark and she sighed, not wanting to talk about it but she finally relented, “It’s open.” 

She lay back on her bed, the plushie squid she got at the aquarium tucked under her head. The walls were covered in posters until the purple paint she had insisted on using when she was twelve was hardly visible. Her door opened and Mark peeked his head inside, “Hey,” he said, tentatively stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “I’m… I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted this and…”

He didn’t know what else to say, settling for taking a seat next to Tilly on her bed, at her feet.

Tilly sighed then crossed her arms over her chest, “I did...I still do just that Mom. She got so angry and I know she has reasons. It’s just that...I want to talk to Joe, I want to know things and her screaming at him isn’t helping. But I don’t want her to think I’m like...taking his side, because I’m not.”

She sat up, her small frame curled defensively inward, “I don’t want her to think I’m picking him over her or you. I just…”

Tilly sighed and looked over at the wall of posters, mostly bands and album art, a few of her own drawings, art projects from school. Her old skateboard with the wheels removed and dozens of photos with Mark and Holly or her friends and cousins. The latest with her kayaking in a wetsuit, grinning with double oar held out over the water.

“I want to know why he didn’t want to know me. I need to know. If it was just the shit with Mom or…”

She swallowed hard, unable to look at Mark who had been there since she was nine, “Or maybe he just wasn’t interested. I dunno. Kids can be dumb and boring.” 

“Baby, please, no.” Mark said, incredulous at the insinuation that his daughter, that his Tilly was even anything close to dumb or boring, “Of course he wants to know you. He wouldn’t take time out of his… work, to come see you if he didn’t want to know you.”

Mark looked down at the carpet. He wasn’t taking Joe’s side either, but he’d seen the way he looked at Tilly when she came into the kitchen. It was the same way he looked at her the first time Holly introduced him to her. He used to think Joe was as much of an asshole as Holly told him he was. Maybe he was. But he still couldn’t get that look out of his head, that love in Joseph’s eye at the first sight of Tilly. “He loves you.” Mark said, matter-of-factly, looking at Tilly, “And mom loves you, both of them do. They’re two strong personalities. You know…”

Mark frowned and glanced away, “I know how mom gets. But Joe’s still outside. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you.” He said, “Just you. He told me he did when he first got here.”

Tilly rolled off her bed, setting her feet on the floor. “I know, I remember how it was.”

She gave Mark a knowing look, then reached to hug him, “Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll go down there, let Mom cool off.”

Rising from the bed, she reached for a black and white cap and slapped it on her head and pulled her hoodie on despite the temperatures being in the balmy mid 70s. She looked at her desk then at him, “Here goes.” 

Tilly jogged down the stairs, passing through the kitchen where Holly stood doing dishes and she recognized the cap on her head as the girl grabbed her skateboard and slipped out the door. 

This time Holly didn’t yell at her to get her helmet but let her go do what she needed. Her heart ached and she prayed aimlessly Joseph did not make promises he could not or would not keep. She plunged her hands back into the warm soapy water, scrubbing hard at the pan. 

A flitting figure in baggy clothes and long pale hair came flying out, jogging down the driveway and the familiar smack and hiss of a skateboard being dropped and jumped on would be heard. She rolled past him and did a sharp turn at the base of the driveway, kicking the tail down so the nose pointed in the air. Tilly rested her hand on it, holding it against her leg as she watched him smoking, her blue eyes shaded under the cap. 

Donnelley heard her, then watched her roll along before hopping off her board and kicking it up to stand opposite him. The two of them stood in the dusky dimness of the driveway. Donnelley didn’t know what to say at first, part of him really didn’t know if he’d get this far after her mother had started with the yelling. As he took her in, he noticed the cap on her head, the white pattern on black, it was the same one he’d given her before the divorce. Before Holly and Tilly moved out. He took another drag off his cigarette after swallowing the lump in his throat, and nodded at her, a small smile on his lips, “Hey, kid.” A lame start, but he figured something needed saying, “I’m… sorry about what happened in there.”

He looked away from Tilly for a moment, suddenly nervous. He mustered up the courage to look at her again and looking at her eyes… they were so much like his own. There was so much he wanted to say, to apologize for. But he wanted to let her ask the questions instead of feeling awkward with her father prostrating at her feet, “You kept the cap.” He said softly, his smirking smile almost in juxtaposition with his moistening eyes.

Tilly reached up and adjusted the cap, pushing the bill so it stood flatter not unlike her upended skateboard. “Yeah, it’s a cool hat,” she said, then pressed her lips tightly together, the slight dimple appearing on her cheek then she breathed out. “It’s my favorite.”

She looked down at her board and kicked a wheel so it spun, “It’s my dad’s hat. Mom said you were a skater, too.”

She glanced at him, “And she says you listened to the same racket I do. But like...I mean, I didn’t tell her but I kinda remembered that a few years ago and started looking into it online and I found songs I liked. Then learned about it and here I am, a super cool girl.”

Her voice held the sarcasm that his responses often did and the little smirk showed her dimple. She dropped the board and pushed off, skating in a wide circle as she let that sit between them. That she had been desperate to feel closer to him so she had researched what he liked at her age, when she had been fourteen and in the throes of puberty, wanting to know who her real dad was. She felt a pang of guilt about that, not for Joe but for Mark. Still, the music and scene had stuck with her and she loved skateboarding. Tilly swerved closer to him then tried an ollie, getting the first part but her foot hit the pavement, not quite landing it. She blushed slightly then shrugged her shoulders in the large hoodie. 

Donnelley watched her as she circled him, head moving from one shoulder to the other and back as he smoked on his cigarette, “You are.” He said, smiling as he watched her go round and round, “A cool girl. Really.”

He watched her try at the ollie, and if it wasn’t for the fact he hadn’t been on a board in years he would’ve offered to try at it and teach her. He chuckled softly as she looked away from him and blushed at her blunder, “I was a skater. One of the only ones in that little town your mom and I grew up in.” He said, looking up at the sky over the trees, “Listened to a shitloa-... er, a lot of punk too. Gang Green, Agent Orange, Crass… you know.”

He snorted, “Used to have hair about as long as yours too.”

Tilly put one foot on the board, moving it back and forth as she listened with rapt attention. “Mom doesn’t really talk about her…[i]y’alls[/i] hometown. She said it was the armpit of Texas and she’s glad she left.”

Her exaggerated Texan word she had picked up from the times Holly drank too much or got upset and the dusty Panhandle drawl came out. Tilly smiled a little, “I listen to those and like Suicidal Tendencies, Black Flag, JFA, Trash Talk...man if you have all night we can compare lists.”

A nervous little half smile touched her lips, he wouldn’t have all night, just the few hours. When he mentioned his long hair she grinned, “No way, I don’t believe you. Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” Donnelley smirked.

She tilted her head, trying to imagine her scarred bearded father her age with a smooth face and long gingery red hair. “That’s kinda rad.”

Her smile faded slightly, looking again at his face. She had her questions she wanted to ask but those were heavy and this was kind of fun, like meeting a new friend at the skatepark but only much more. “What was the first band you ever saw?” 

“Are we talking famous or not?” Donnelley asked, “First band I ever saw was my best friend’s at a house show for someone’s birthday. Dude’s who owned the house were straight edge, but didn’t really care if you didn’t push drinks at ‘em.”

Donnelley smiled and laughed softly remembering that night, wondering whether or not to tell Tilly that it ended with the cops crashing the show. “First big concert? I actually saw Suicidal Tendencies. Seen Black Flag too, got a bloody nose from some other kid in the pit.”

“You go to shows?” Donnelley asked.

“This is punk, fuck famous,” she said then caught herself, her hand cupping over her mouth. Holly would have death glared her for that, Joe only smirked at her. Dropping her hand, she said, “Mom and Dad have let me go to a couple of festivals since last summer, mostly the bigger names in the nicer venues. Youth Brigade, Rancid, NOFX but they kinda suck, and Subhumans, I got to see the Distillers, I love Brodie she’s the queen. Oh and Bouncing Souls.”

She turned and showed the back of her hoodie then swung herself back around, “Mom of course dropped us off but it was cool like the first one I saw was Youth Brigade but man, they’re more like the Middle Age Brigade now.”

Tilly chuckled at her own joke and met his eyes, “But it was cool that they still tour. I want to go to the local shows, the real sh...stuff. But Mom’s like not having it.”

She paused, an almost sly look on her face as she considered telling him how she and her buddies skipped school and took the bus down into the depths of Seattle downtown to see The Accüsed play their possibly final show. Holly and Mark didn’t know about it or she would have been grounded. Tilly held back, shuffling her skateboard again then pushed her long hair behind her ear. 

Donnelley shrugged, “Maybe I could take you some time.” He said, looking at Tilly and immediately regretting it. Already, he was worrying if his obligations would take him away from Tilly once more. Or even if he’d be able to anyway, if Holly would let him see her again. He glanced away, “If you’d like.”

Tilly lifted her gaze, a smile appearing briefly, “You mean it?”

She looked at him then back down at her board, stepping onto it and bouncing to do something against the nervous energy. “I’d like that but...you don’t have to, you know?”

The girl stepped off the board again and popped it up, catching it in her hand. Her hope teetered on her mother’s reminder of not having too many expectations of his promises. “Of course I’d like it but, why now?”

She tucked the board under her arm, looking at him directly, “Why haven’t you come to see me and take me places or just talk to me? You could have written a letter or something.” 

Tilly felt the emotion she had tried to keep in check threaten, her throat tightening.  She turned away from him, moving over to the curb and plopped down, her ass half on the sidewalk and curb with her legs extended, the board across her lap upside down. The deck design was immediately recognizable as a Vision brand with the bright colors twisting with black fragmented Gator spirals.

Donnelley frowned at that, pursing his lips. He took the last drag off his cigarette and pinched out the cherry, stashing the butt in a plastic bag. She was right, and she had every right to ask that. He looked at her across the way from him, sitting alone on the curb and felt his heart skip a beat. He had to ask himself the same questions Tilly did, but he knew the answer. He wasn’t ready to have her when he and Holly did, and in the days he was running with the Wetwork Teams like GRANTOR and THUNDER, he wouldn’t want a man like him around Tilly.

Was he even ready now? Was anyone ever ready? He swallowed his fears and crossed the distance between where he leaned against his bike and where Tilly sat, bathed in the streetlight’s orange glow. He sat down beside her, his legs crossed at the ankles and his elbows resting on his knees, “Tilly…” he began lamely, not exactly knowing what would come after, “Your mother and I… there’s reasons why we aren’t together anymore. I was gone a lot when you were younger, I don’t know if you remember.”

Donnelley sighed, “I don’t want to sugar coat anythin’ or feed you a line of bull…” he sighed again, he hadn’t had to police his language for a while, deciding his daughter was old enough at this point, “Feed you a line of bullshit excuses and hope that patches everythin’ up so I can have my cake and eat it too.”

He looked at her, “You’re one of the smartest I’ve ever met at your age, I wouldn’t insult you by makin’ it out to be anythin’ else than what it is.” Donnelley looked away again, wringing his hands and pursing his lips, aching for a drink again, “What I do… it keeps me busy. And I know there ain’t much empty spots in your life for me now that you got Mark, but I…”

“I want to give you that chance I never was. Watch you find yourself and be just as happy as you are for it and not shame you over it.” Donnelley shrugged, not even knowing if he was making sense, “I wasn’t… I was a fuckin’ asshole, Tilly, and I didn’t want you growin’ up with that for a dad, and I’m happy that Mark seems to be doin’ a great damn job.”

“I was just scared, Tilly.” Donnelley’s lip quivered, “Scared I wouldn’t be good enough. Scared you wouldn’t even remember me, or need me, or want me. Hell, I was scared just pullin’ up to this place. But I did it. Because, I knew you wanted me to. I think I’m finally in a place in my life I realize what’s important and I don’t want to be [i]my[/i] father.”

He pointed at his bike, nodding toward it, “That was his. We never talked much after I left Dalhart.” Donnelley sniffled, wiped at his eye just before a tear could leave it, “Then a year before he dies, he tells me he’s got somethin’ for me and tows his old motorcycle into my driveway like that makes up for all the goddamn stupid shit I had to go through.”

Donnelley looked down at his shoes, grinding his toe into the concrete and shrugging, “I want to mean somethin’ to you.” He said, running his fingers through his hair, laying himself bare to someone wasn’t something he ever did. And here he was, not even Laine could pull it all out of him. It took a sixteen year old girl awkwardly asking who the hell her father was and asking to be accepted by him. He added quietly, “And I can’t blame you if you ain’t so keen on the idea of me still. But that’s the truth of it.”

Tilly almost interrupted him when he brought up the divorce, it was not about him and Mom. It was clearly better they were not together and Mark was good for Holly and for herself. But it did not mean she didn’t long for her birth father and his attention and love. She listened, absently spinning one of the wheels flicking it back and forth then turned to watch his face when he said he had been scared. 

It had taken her a year to ask her mother about calling him, she had written dozens of letters to Joe but without an address she had thrown them away rather than mailing them. It hurt thinking about where her father might be, maybe he had another family and didn’t want to bother with the mistake of his first. 

“I just didn’t think you wanted me,” she said finally, with a sigh. “I get that you didn’t want to be with Mom, and it’s better you’re not but I’m not Mom.”

Tilly looked at him, “I remember when you had that fight with the security guard at school. Mom said you were an alcoholic and couldn’t deal with the things war left in you.”
 
“Man, I just...it really made me feel like shit that you never called me or anything,” she blurted out. “I thought I wasn’t good, I just wanted you to like me and care.”

She swallowed hard, reaching up to remove her hat and looked at it. “I used to cry for you and Mom...sometimes she’d just get mad. Mark...he’s a good Dad. But he’s not…”

With a guilty blush Tilly glanced at Donnelley, “He isn’t you, I still need you, Dad. I still want you to...you know, to give a shit about me. I never thought about it from your side to be honest.”

Her shoulders sagged, the hoodie drooping as she did. “I feel bad because Mom and Dad are great but I wasn’t happy. I guess I’m kind of an asshole, too.” 

Donnelley chuckled, looking over at Tilly. He gazed at her for a few seconds and smiled, “You’re not an asshole.” He said, playfully butting her arm with his elbow, “I give so many shits about you, Tilly, you have no idea.”

He looked away from her and at his hands, toying with them. He sniffled again and cleared his throat, “I saw you in the kitchen for the first time in years and,” He huffed, smiling, “It was like looking at you in the hospital for the first time ever. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter, Tilly, and… I’m sorry for makin’ you feel like I could ever forget about you.”

Tilly sat in silence, nodding her head at what he said. She examined the hat and folded the brim up as she mulled over his words. She huffed a laugh, shaking her head, “I doubt that, I gave Mom a hard time. I used to blame her, you know, that you weren’t around. We’re doing better now but a few years ago...it was tough.”

She turned to look at Donnelley, “Yeah, it’s tough to imagine someone still thinks of you when you don’t hear from them but I get it. Look, don’t be too mad at Mom right now. She’s a hormonal mess, this whole pregnancy thing.” 

Rolling her eyes she said, “I’m just glad it happened so I don’t have to hear about schedules and cycles.”

She gave an exaggerated shiver, then smiled sadly, “This is their third try. First two didn’t make it, it sucked.” 

Tilly put the hat back on and looked over at the house then at him, “But anyway, when do I get to ride your motorcycle? You could start making it up to me.” 

A dimpled grin appeared on her face, the sunshine coming out from behind a cloud. Donnelley laughed, looking at Tilly and then the motorcycle, “I have every intention of doin’ just that.” He said, “I don’t think your mom would appreciate me takin’ you on a ride this late, least of all your neighbors. It’s an Indian Chief, 1953. Dad- my dad- your grandad, he tried to keep it original as possible.”

He looked back at Tilly, figuring she didn’t quite have as much of an interest in the history behind the machinery as he did. “Uh, yeah, though. Next time I’ve got some time I’ll come over and we’ll hurl ourselves down these backroads.”

He looked at the house, how big it was, how much money it had cost to live in. Tilly was in an entirely different world than him when he was her age. He could understand why Holly wanted this for her. Donnelley would too, and he did want that. But he could understand Tilly not seeing it that way, “About your mom. Holly. I hope you still don’t blame her.” He said, shaking his head, “She and I both want what’s best for you. You said it yourself, it’s best for you and for us that we aren’t together.”

“I ain’t mad at her though. I know she’s tryin’ to make sure I don’t… I don’t [i]hurt[/i] you… again.” He said, frowning down at his shoes, “Hormones or not, I know where she’s at with me right about now.”

Tilly looked over at the motorcycle, what the story behind it was and then back up at him. "That would be pretty sweet."

She shrugged, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Tilly said nothing about not being mad at her mother, she finally spoke, “Do you think you will actually come back and teach me how to ride the motorcycle? You won’t forget when you get busy with advising?” 

Donnelley looked over to Tilly with some sadness in his eye. He frowned just a bit and shook his head, retrieving his personal phone from his pocket, “I know what you mean, but I ain’t never forgotten you. I just… got busy with advisin’.” Donnelley sighed, “But, I promise you, Miss Tilly Grier. I will call you as often as I can… right after I get your number.”

He smiled, handing the smartphone over to his daughter.

Tilly took the phone, quickly tapping in her phone number and address then took a selfie with a little ironic half smile that still made her dimple appear to add as her contact image. “Yuck, I hate taking pictures,” she said, hovering over the delete button.

“What if I wanted it?” Donnelley raised a brow, smirking a bit, “Ain’t that what dads do? I got all your old ones.”

“I always make a weird face, drives Mom nuts,” she chuckled then shrugged, “If you want it you can take a picture.” 

She glanced at him, “Yeah? I was a cute kid, I dunno what happened.” 

Donnelley snorted, looking at his daughter and scoffing at her comments, “You’re still a cute kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He shrugged, “‘Sides, you got your looks from me, and I’m damn beautiful.”

Tilly’s voice was dry but also tinged with insecurity. “Sure, you can keep it but can I have one with you?”

He chuckled, smoothing down his shirt and his beard, running his fingers through his hair to comb it, “You can have one with me.”

Tilly put her cap back on and smoothed her long straight hair behind her ears before stepping close to him. She leaned in as she held the phone up, tilting her head towards him with a close lipped dimpled smile. Her hair smelled like bubble gum shampoo and she was tall enough to have her head against his shoulder. “Say...skate or die!” She grinned then, flashing her teeth that had almost invisible braces across them. 

“Skate or die!” And Donnelley had the same smirking grin as he held up his devil horns as Tilly took the picture. He did try to find some flattering angle that didn’t show his scar.

Tilly looked at his phone and at him, an amused smirk on her face but her cheeks glowed pink with delight, “You’re such a dork, Joe Dad. But this is cool, can you text that one to me.” 

After a moment of hesitation she said, “Thanks.”

Her gaze lingered on his scar then she glanced awkwardly away, scuffing her sneaker on the sidewalk. “Mom’s probably watching through the blinds.”

“Yeah, let her watch.” Donnelley shrugged. “Joe Dad… I’ll take it.”

He smiled to Tilly, “Should get back inside. Probably should go soon, got some… advising to do tomorrow.” Donnelley frowned a bit at the prospect of throwing himself back into the fire so soon after, “Plus, I don’t want your mother to think I’m influencin’ you badly or anythin’. Showin’ you how to make pipe bombs or somethin’.”

Tilly rolled her eyes, “She probably would.” 

After a pause she said, “You know how to make that stuff? Not that...I’d ever want to learn.”

She glanced around then stuffed her hands in her hoodie front pocket, “Mom said you were like some secret forces or special forces? Is that what you do, advising like teaching them to make bombs and stuff?” 
 
“We’ll, um,” Donnelley cringed just the smallest fraction and chuckled sheepishly, “We’ll talk about that stuff… later. Your mom pretty much had it right, though, ‘least for a little bit. Jump out of planes, shoot at bad guys.”

“Did it all for you.” He said, and it immediately tasted like a bitter lie on his tongue.

Tilly said nothing to that, just looked at him for a long moment, her hands still in her pocket. “Sounds wild,” she finally said, then stepped on her board. “I guess you’re pretty good at it. I’m gonna take a ride around the block, tell Mom for me will you?”

Waiting only a few moments for him to respond, Tilly pushed off and went rolling down the smooth street, it had recently been repaved and was a joy to skate on. She drifted along the slight downslope, reaching into her pocket for her vape and took a hit, drawing in the flavor with the nicotine. The steam blew out, streaming the scent of mango and mint behind her. 

She liked having Joe Dad around but the pain of missing him was hard to heal, he had been out being a soldier, ‘doing it for her’ while she had thought he didn’t want her. Tilly was not sure how she felt about it, why he couldn’t just tell her, something, anything rather than silence for eight years. Half her life.

Pushing off harder, she jumped the curb to dodge a car coming up the road, throwing him the finger when he honked. 

Holly was watching from the windows waiting to see if Tilly might blow up on him but her fits of temper had abated over the year, the worst of it being between her 12th and 14th years. She was maturing and more liable to think about her problems than scream, that was Mark’s influence to be sure, she thought to herself. Rubbing her belly, she watched them take a picture together and felt a pang in her heart. 

“I swear if he hurts her again, I will kick his ass,” Holly said knowing Mark was keeping an eye on her. She saw Tilly skate away and Joseph was left standing watching her. 

“Give me a minute,” she said to him and went out the door and called from the porch like a Texan mom would, “Joseph?” 

Donnelley turned around from watching Tilly skate down the road at the sound of Holly’s voice. He walked back towards the porch and stopped just short of the front steps, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “Said she’ll be around the block, told me to tell you.” He said, voice not friendly, but not antagonistic, “You wanted to talk?”

Holly crossed her arms, glancing over her shoulder but Mark gave her her space. She looked at Joseph, her gaze guarded, "How did it go, how is she?"

Donnelley looked back over his shoulder as if he’d see her there, but she was gone at that point. He looked back to Holly, “She wants to make it out like she’s fine, but I know,” Donnelley frowned, “I’m just tryin’ at this… bein’ a… [i]step-[/i]dad. I told her as much, but… I’m happy where she’s at, for what it’s worth.”

Holly had a flicker of sympathy in her eyes at that but it didn't last. "She's showing you what it took years to get to. It wasn't easy between the accusations of keeping you away to crying over you not loving her. Mark having to be in your shadow that was mostly made up of wishful thinking and daydreaming. She's had therapy, it helped with her anger issues she had a few years ago. You wouldn't know it now, she learned to calm herself. But there was times I would look at her and just see you. And it scared me."

She took a deep breath, putting her hands on her face then said, "Not that I ever had the best temper. She might be angry and hurt that you stayed away but she always wanted you. Please tell me you didn't promise her anything you can't keep."

Donnelley listened to Holly speak. She was right, he didn’t know a lot of things about his own daughter and it both hurt and made him elated to see how much she’d grown in his absence. How much of life’s misgivings and cruelty she’d skipped over and would never feel the sting of. Except for one, and that was all him. He sighed, shaking his head silently at first, “No.” he said, “No, I didn’t.”

He looked back up at her, “We exchanged numbers and took some pictures. I said I’d call. And I hope to fuckin’ God she knows I’m sorry.” He said, “I can’t take anythin’ back I ever did or didn’t do, but I told her I wasn’t goin’ to be like [i]my[/i] father. You remember him givin’ me that motorcycle.”

He shook his head, knowing how little words would mean in something this tenuous as making sure there was one more sunrise and keeping his daughter happy. “Just let me try, Holly.” He said, and not being satisfied with that word, and knowing Holly wouldn’t be either, “Just let me do this.”

Holly took a deep breath, then nodded, "I won't stop you, I told her not to expect you to drop everything. But I will support you having visits. Here. And only if she wants it."

Donnelley nodded, “Fine. Of course.”

Holly glanced up at the blur of movement, Tilly skateboarding towards the house before pausing to grind the curb and land in the driveway. She saw them together and waved tentatively until Holly beckoned her. 

"Hey, just needed to clear my head," she said, carrying her board. She turned to Donnelley, "I guess you're leaving soon?"

“Yeah,” Donnelley said, turning to Tilly, “Soon. I’ve still got my assignments to attend to, you know.”

Tilly nodded with a sigh and a shrug of acceptance, "Yeah, I know but can you wait a sec? I got something for you."

She grinned with excitement and dashed inside, the skateboard hitting the tile floor with a clatter. When she returned she had a little gift bag and a paper rolled into a tube.

Tilly handed him the bag, "Here, to replace the one you lost."

As he opened the gift bag she toyed with the paper. Tilly handed it to him, "And this, just something I did recently and ... well, I wanted to give you something I made."

Tilly cracked a dimpled grin, slightly embarrassed, "Maybe you can put it on your fridge."

Donnelley eyed the hat, a pattern not dissimilar to the one she was wearing. The one he’d given her as a parting gift before he and her mother split.  He cracked a grin. Having matching hats with his daughter was exactly the amount of cheesy quirk he liked and he laughed as he put it on, wearing the bill to the back, “Thanks. I really like it, used to have one just like this.”

He adjusted his hat and took the paper roll from Tilly, unrolling it and looking at the piece of art. An octopus resting and curling about a heavily textured skull. The colors and shading, everything looked professional and his smile only grew when Tilly said she’d made it herself. He chuckled softly, “Goodness, Tilly,” he said, not knowing what to say about the drawing, or suddenly learning his daughter was so talented, “Tilly, this is… I mean, it looks so good. You… you are [i]talented[/i], Tilly.”

He stared at it for a few long moments, mouthing ‘wow,’ as he shook his head at the quality of it. He glanced at Tilly and then back at the drawing before rolling it back up, “Came a long way from crayons and colorin’ books, huh?”

Tilly blushed with pride then looked over at Holly, then up at Donnelley, “It’s pretty good, I’ve been practicing.”

Holly shook her head, “She’s been in advanced art classes since middle school, entering competitions. She won last year for a mixed media entry and placed second for digital painting. She is talented.”

“The art camps helped,” Tilly said, pushing her hands in her hoodie pocket, uncomfortable with the praise. “And I do some tutorials online.” 

Her mother put an arm around her shoulder, “So modest.”

“Mooomm,” Tilly ducked out, then looked at her natural father. “I’m glad you like it, it’s kinda weird...but I like weird.” 

Donnelley smiled at Tilly’s bashfulness, “So do I.”

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the heart to heart they’d had in the driveway, learning who his daughter was, who she’d become. He forced himself to, just a little bit, so he wasn’t standing there and staring at everyone like a dumbass. He stuck a hand in his pocket, the other still holding Tilly’s art, “I’d better go.” He said, looking at Holly and Mark, “Thank you, for dinner and having me over. It meant a lot…”

Mark smiled back, standing next to Holly with his hand on the small of her back. He offered his other hand to Donnelley, “Thanks for coming over, Joe. Tilly really appreciates it.”

Donnelley took the offered hand and shook it a couple times, returning his hand to his pocket. “Alright, well… I’ll be… around.” He said, then looked to Holly, “Thank you, really.”

Holly looked directly at Donnelley, her gaze like daggers but her words were in a polite tone, “I hope you appreciate what you’ve gotten into.”

She held his eyes, the tension between them strung there, Holly did not want to clean up after him again if he failed Tilly once more or take the blame. She gave a hint of a smile and softened her hard expression, “Take care of yourself, Joe.” 

Donnelley had the same expression as they looked at each other. Like they were both remembering every little thing that had ever happened when they were together, and not quite liking how it all looked on them then. Or now. When Holly’s expression softened, so did his just a touch with a smile as hard to see as hers was. A smoldering remnant of the fire that had once been between them. Love, anger, everything. He nodded, just once, “Yeah. You too, Holly.”

Tilly tugged at her hoodie sleeves, her hands covered now as she hated goodbyes, it made her anxious. When the parents were done, she gave Donnelley a little wave, her slim fingers poking past the cuff of the sleeve. “Thanks for coming to see me, Joe Dad. Can I text you?” she asked, “Like just random stuff.” 

Donnelley’s small smile grew a tad and he looked at Tilly, “I’d like that.” He said, “I’ll tell you next time I’m free.”

Donnelley turned around and made his way towards his motorcycle, every step away from Tilly- and Holly, admittedly- and every step towards the dangerous life he’d chosen was like another crack in his heart. Another pound on the weight crushing his chest. By the time he’d swung his leg over his bike and sat down, putting the denim vest with a hundred patches back on, there was a pain there. Like leaving little Tilly in her mother’s arms before going off to Afghanistan again. And just like those other times, he made himself hide it.

Tilly watched him leave, her blue eyes shining and she started to speak but her voice caught so she waved at him again. The emotions of the reunion were still running high and she wished he didn’t have to leave, there was so much more she wanted to know and for him to know about her. She bit her lip to keep from crying, that would do nothing but embarrass herself. 

“Bye, Dad!” she called out, her voice breaking slightly and Holly put an arm around her, this time Tilly sank back against her. 

Donnelley could see Tilly waving to him from his side mirror. He turned and waved back, not trusting his voice, just before bringing his leg up and kicking down the starter pedal. His Chief roared to life and growled as he rode down the driveway, turning onto the forested backroads. The echo of his engine screaming and slowly fading with the distance.

>1930...///

The forested backroads of Black Diamond and Enumclaw were too much like West Virginia for Donnelley not to notice. He rounded turns expecting to see something just at the edge of his Indian’s headlight. It had gotten to the point where he had to stop at a lone gas station, isolated at the edges of the gas pump awning’s lights with cigarette in hand. He took a hard drag and couldn’t help but to scan the empty parking lot, devoid of any other life but him. It was this hour he felt the most awake, when no one else was.

It was a silence like no other that night brought, no cars on the road, not even the birds sang at this hour. Even the highways were empty save for the sparse night owls and third shift workers. Donnelley closed his eyes and breathed deep, letting it out before taking another drag. His mind went back to the conversation with Dawant. [i]If they can’t find a reason, they’ll make one.[/i] He remembered the unsanitized top secret documents they’d found at the murderer's shed, the mad babbling of Dulane before he cut his own throat. Like he was trying to lead them somewhere and tell them something only he could understand.

He shook his head, what did the Program have to be scared of from him and his team going too deep into Maria’s case? Into Blackriver? What did an absent county sheriff, a murdered girl, an Old Money family, and Russian Intelligence have in connection to each other worth killing for? He wasn’t just taken off the case, he was put on administrative leave, his entire capacity to follow up on the events in Iraq completely slashed and burned when fucking [i]killing him[/i] didn’t work.

He swallowed, looking up with wide eyes, what if Clyde Baughman didn’t die of natural causes? What if… He retrieved his phone from his pocket. The one connected to his contacts within Delta Green. He needed answers. Maria needed answers. Donnelley was feeling pushed, and Donnelley never liked being pushed. He pressed the call button on one of the contacts and it didn’t take long for them to answer.

[url= https://open.spotify.com/track/32dkr35PNyFQ3YriV6CRHV?si=7f8p-OLdQLW2oFk6qK_02g&dl_branch=1]“Queen…[/url] [i]Billy.[/i]” Donnelley spoke out into the cold night air, breath smoking on the breeze.

“I need a [i]favor.[/i]”