On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard

       Four

      By Thursday evening, Abby’s spirits hit rock bottom, and her opinion of Lara’s romantic advice fell lower still. Forty-eight hours had passed and not a single word from Duncan Stewart. The man kissed her as if she had been the only oasis in a trackless desert, and then he had simply walked away.

      She almost opted out of dinner with friends. It was difficult to fake a good mood when all she wanted to do was watch romantic comedies and mope around her small house. In the end, she went, but only because the outing took her mind off Duncan and the affair that never was.

      No matter how many times she told herself it was for the best—that it was completely inappropriate for her to date the grandson of one of Mr. Chester’s influential clients—she didn’t believe it in her heart. How long had it been since a man was really interested her? Almost never?

      Duncan Stewart might ruin her for other men, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Even knowing he would be in Candlewick a limited amount of time, maybe only two years (and that their affair would likely be far shorter than that), was not a negative.

      He fascinated her. For once in her neatly planned life, she wanted to make the rash, dangerous choice. She wanted Duncan.

      When dinner wound to an end, she decided to leave her car at the restaurant and walk the relatively short distance home. She’d had several glasses of wine, so she didn’t want to take any chances that she might not be in full control. The night was crisp with a hint of autumn, but not cold. Other people were out and about on the streets even at this hour.

      Crime was virtually nonexistent in Candlewick. Some people compared their little town to the fictional Mayberry. In many cases, that description wasn’t far off.

      By the time she made it to her street and up the block to her own sidewalk, it was late. Sleepy, and still caught up in wondering about Duncan, she didn’t spot the intruder at first. Then something moved in the shadows, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

      Frozen with fear and in quick succession disgust, she called out to the shadowy figure. “What are you doing here, Daddy?” She stayed where she was out at the road, not wanting him to follow her into the house.

      The large hulking shadow turned into an old man under the harsh glare of the streetlight. Once upon a time her father had been handsome and dapper. Even now—when he wanted to—he could clean himself up, get a haircut and present to the world a reasonable facsimile of a sophisticated adult.

      Unfortunately, his demons—both mental and pharmaceutical—now controlled him to such a degree that most days he was a broken-down shamble of a man.

      “I wanted to see my baby, but I couldn’t get in the house,” he said. The words were slurred. When he moved closer, she smelled alcohol on his breath.

      Abby clutched her purse more tightly in her arms. “Well, you’ve seen me. I need to get to bed. It’s late.” She took a breath. “The reason you couldn’t get in is because I changed all my locks.”

      He held out his hand, his expression half cagey, half pitiful. “You’re doin’ mighty well in that lawyer job of yours. How ’bout giving your old man a loan? I’m running a little short this month.”

      Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. The mantra had preserved her emotional health and sanity on more than one occasion. “I have to go,” she said. No matter how unfounded, waves of guilt battered her self-esteem. It was not even the middle of the month. He received several pension checks, one from the government and a couple of others from his few stable periods of employment. There was no reason in the world for him to be out of money.

      Even if he was, it wasn’t her responsibility. She turned her back on him and took a step. But Howard Lander was not giving up.

      He scuttled up beside her. “A hundred, Abby girl. That’s all. And I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

      Fury rose inside her chest in a choking cloud. Good parents provided a loving, nurturing environment for their children to succeed. Not only did Abby’s father not support her as a teen and young adult, he had actually harmed her and nearly derailed her academic successes.

      “If you don’t stay away from me,” she said, her throat raw with tears, “I’m going to take out a restraining order against you.”

      The old man stumbled and gaped, genuine puzzlement in his half-vacant expression. “Why would you say that?”

      Abby laughed, though she wanted to sob. “Every time you come inside my house, you steal from me, Dad. Money, jewelry, prescription drugs. Did you somehow think I never noticed?”

      Even in his addled state, he didn’t bother to deny her accusation. “I’ve had a few hard times. No reason for a man’s daughter to be cold and cruel.”

      “I can’t do this anymore, Daddy. If you won’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll move to the other side of the country. It’s embarrassing enough that the whole town knows what kind of man you are.”

      He’d been a door-to-door salesman back when that was still a thing. A combination of charm and dogged persistence had given him moderate success. In between bouts of selling encyclopedias and household items, he’d chased one get-rich-quick scheme after another, always convinced that his fortune was just around the next corner.

      By the time Abby was eight, Howard Lander stopped wasting his money on babysitters, instead choosing to leave her at home alone after school and on the weekends. Fortunately, she had been mature for her age and not prone to wild stunts that might have endangered her life or burned down their home.

      For Abby, high school graduation brought a moment of release, of freedom. College and grad school had been some of the happiest years of her life. Coming home to Candlewick and working for the Chesters’ law firm, on the other hand, had been a mixed blessing.

      Her father stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. “I never meant to harm anyone. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I had good intentions.”

      Sadly, that part was probably true. There was no malice in the old man. Only unfounded optimism, a total misunderstanding of finances and an ability to con people out of their money one way or another.

      “Good night.” Abby made herself walk away, but her father was in one of his more stubborn moods, fueled by alcoholic courage.

      “You owe me,” he shouted. “I could have given you up for adoption when your mother died, but I didn’t. That’s worth something. Wouldn’t look too good for you if I start telling everyone how badly you treat the only parent you’ve ever known.”

      The callous, calculating threat put another crack in her shattered heart. She had paid for her meal that night with cash. The change was in her pocket. Seven dollars and thirty-two cents. She fished it out and shoved it at him. “Take it and go. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”

      She