Ever the Same (2 page)

“Come on. I got that calf in the barn, and you can feed him tonight.” They would even stop at the truck stop and grab a cookie or some fried mac and cheese.

“Yeah? Is he better? I think his name should be Snoopy.”

“Snoopy?” Huh. A calf named Snoopy. Duke went nuts as soon as they came into view.

“Duke!” Grainger wiggled to climb down, then ran over to the truck. “Duke, it’s been a yuck-o day.”

Duke hopped down to meet his boy, licking Grainger’s face. Poor kid. Audie’s mom was gonna have a fit when she saw her grandson with a black eye.

Of course, kids healed quick. Maybe they’d just beg off dinner over there tomorrow night, go have pizza in town….

He grinned at the little voice in his head that sounded like his momma.
Coward.

Yeah, yeah. Still. If he worked it right, he wouldn’t see her until she came to pick Grainger up for Sunday school….

“Daddy! Can we have ice cream?”

Well, that settled it. He knew what they were getting on the way home. “Sure, buddy. Just a small one, huh?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about pushing Randi, but she’s real mean, and she hit me.”

“She’s got a tough row to hoe, kiddo. Her daddy is blind, did you see?” That was a good start to a conversation, and he hoped Grainger might find a little understanding.

“Blind, Daddy?”

“He can’t see. That’s why he has that special white cane.”

“Like he can’t see nothing? For real?”

“For real.” He had no idea how much vision Mr. White had, but the cane told a grim story.

“How does he work?”

“I don’t know what he does, buddy. I can’t say.” He had no idea what a guy like that would do. Maybe that was why he came to live with his folks.

“Can I tell you a secret, Daddy?”

“Sure, kiddo.” He would never say no to that.

“Randi had a whole ’nother dad, and she said he was smashed to death in a car.”

“Oh man.” He lifted Grainger up, then waved Duke back into the truck. “That’s terrible, huh? No wonder she’s so mad.” Christ. A wreck. He wondered if that was what took the live one’s sight.

“Nobody else has another dad.”

“Not one?” He knew that, but this was also a prime opportunity to get some stuff talked out.

“Uh-uh. Well, not and no mom.”

“That’s not bad, though. Just different.”

“Yeah? It’s okay? Shelly and Hannah say it’s not.”

“Well, Shelly and Hannah are likely just saying what their folks told them. What do you think?” He had always been super careful not to push anything with Grainger around, but people who lived in glass houses didn’t teach their kids to throw stones, either.

“I think they don’t like her ’cause she’s got ugly hair.”

He snorted, trying to hold back laughter. “She has wild hair, bud. It’s not ugly.”

“Uh-huh. It’s like the old man book, the one with the beard that has birds in it. Gram reads it to me.”

“Lord. You might like her, you gave her half a chance. She sounds a lot like Auntie Grace.”

Grainger turned to look at him. “Auntie Grace has short hair, Daddy.”

“I know that.” He decided on Braum’s rather than the truck stop, heading into town instead of toward the house. “I mean her temper and all. Auntie Grace used to wale on me.”

Grainger nodded, bouncing as they drove. “She was bigger than you forever, huh?”

“She was. She can still whap me real hard, it just doesn’t hurt as much.” Grace was a horse trainer. She had some strength.

“But you don’t never whap her ’cause she’s just a girl.”

“I’ve wanted to a time or two.”

Grainger crowed when they pulled into Braum’s, and even Duke got to barking. Audie knew he’d have to work on Grainger over the weekend to try to keep this from happening again, but he was pretty pleased with his son’s resilience.

He was a good kid, no matter what the principal thought.

Chapter 2

The sound
of the Buick was low, and most days it would be soothing, but not today. Today it grated on him like nails on a chalkboard.

God. What else was going to fucking happen?

“Miranda, what were you thinking?”

Nothing.

“I’m talking to you.”

Silence, and then he heard Mom inhale, and he growled. “Don’t.”

“But—”

“No. No, she’s old enough to tell me herself.”

“He’s mean. They’re all mean!”

“Every single child in three kindergarten classes are mean? Jesus, you must have your dad’s luck.”

“Dixon!” Mom snapped.

“I hate you! I hate this school! I want to go home!”

The shrill sound of Randi’s voice drilled into the back of his head, damn near killing him. He got it. He did. It sucked here. Austin was liberal, for Texas. It was big; it was hip. This was… backwater hell.

What other choice did he have? Houston with Ron’s people, where eventually he’d get forced out of his daughter’s life, maybe get to go to her cotillion when she was a teenager?

No. He’d had to come to his parents’ place.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to block out the screaming, the noise. He didn’t know how to talk to her. How could he, when he couldn’t even look into her eyes? He wasn’t sure he even remembered what color they were.

“Miranda Jeanette White,” his mother snapped. “You have until the count of three, or I will stop this car, and you and I will have a prayer meeting.” There was a beat, and then Mom said, “Two.”

Randi gulped, the sound swallowing the rest of the noises.

Wow, Dixon wished he could learn how to do that. He guessed having a teenager still at home kept the mommy voice honed. He hated to admit it, but Randi was a daddy’s girl. Daddy Ron. The dead one.

He’d always been the dad who did mornings, got her to school. He’d been working as a sound guy in the clubs at night, hadn’t been home in the evenings. Heck, he’d been the fun dad, taking her and the dogs to the park on the weekend, taking her out on the boat on the lake.

Now he was the worthless dad, the disabled one. The one who was left behind.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Ron’s voice played over and over in his head.

Shut up.
The idea of Ron lecturing him made him grin.

“Do you think this is funny, Son?”

“What?”

“Pay attention to your expressions.”

Shit.

“Sorry.” It was harder than he’d imagined, to look like everyone else. It hadn’t been long since he’d seen his face in the mirror, but apparently time wasn’t kind once you lost your sight.

He felt the road change under them, and they were in the driveway, Randi still sniffling in the backseat.

“I have to go into town, buy groceries. I’ll drop y’all off here by the porch.”

“Can I come, Gran?”

“No, ma’am, you may not.” That tone held no softness. “You fought at school. You hit that little boy like a hellion. You can go inside and think about how bad little girls don’t get to have fun.”

“
I hate you
!” The door opened, slammed shut, and then he heard the storm door do the same.

“She doesn’t hate you, Mom.”

That earned him a snort. “Don’t be a dipshit, Son. I know that. She’s pissed off at the world, and she knows she can’t hurt my feelings. You need to speak to her, though. The hitting has to stop, or they’re going to expel her.”

“I know, Mom. I will.”

“We’ll figure it out. I promise. You want fried chicken or chicken fried steak for supper?”

“Fried chicken, please.” Cutting and finding pieces was still hard. Hell, he was supposed to go spend some time “training” to be blind down in Austin, but he couldn’t leave Randi right now. “I’ll give her a minute with the pups, and then I’ll go sit and chat.”

“You can do it. Dalton should be home soon. He doesn’t work today.”

“Uh-huh.” Because all seventeen-year-old boys came home right after school. Not that Dixon had any idea how that was supposed to help. “Can you buy Pop-Tarts?”

“Sure, Son. What flavor?”

“Randi likes cherry.” He loved the brown sugar, but she wouldn’t eat those.

“Okay.” His mom was trying so hard, but sometimes he could actually hear her looking at him, trying to get him to see her.

“Okay. Heading in. Love you.” He got out of the car and got his cane. Tap. Dirt. Tap. Dirt. Tap. Sidewalk. Woo. He didn’t trip, which made him ridiculously proud. The dogs met him at the door, his two dachshunds, his mom’s Westie.

Okay. Okay. Stairs.

“Five stairs, Daddy.” Randi’s voice was rough from crying, but she was still there.

“Five?” He nodded. “Help me count?”

“One. Two.” Her little voice became his guide, and she took his hand when he got inside.

“Thanks, baby girl.” He held on and let her lead him in. “You want to sit on the sofa together?”

“Uh-huh.”

They settled on the couch, the pups hopping up with them. He waited a few moments, just to see if she would start.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I am.”

“I know, baby.” He reached out to stroke her hair, finding it with no fumbling. That he didn’t need to see to do. “What is it about this boy that makes you nuts?”

“I don’t know. He looks at me like I’m dirty. Everybody does.”

“Oh, honey, I know it’s hard to be the new kid.”

“No. I mean, yes, but they say it’s wrong to have two dads!”

“That’s because they’re raised by closed-minded assholes that wouldn’t have an original thought if you paid them.” Oh, wait. Had he said that out loud?

She snorted, the sound eerily like her other dad. “Daddy, you said asshole.”

“I did! I’m fired.”

“Out of a cannon. Bang.” He didn’t think she even knew what that meant, but Ron had always said it.

“I miss your dad, kiddo.” Like breathing.

He felt her nod. “Me too.” She moved closer, holding his arm. “I’ll try not to hit anyone anymore.”

“I would appreciate it. I would take you back to Austin if I could, but I can’t. I’m still learning how to do everything.”

“I’ll help. I promise.”

“You help every day.” She was such a good kid. That was why it hurt so much when she acted out.

They sat there together, quiet and still, then Randi asked, “Do you want a cookie?”

He couldn’t have fought his smile if he’d tried. “I don’t know, do I?”

“Grandma made new ones. Chocolate chips.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll show you.”

“Okay.” He stood and held out one hand. Thank God the house was simple, straightforward. Front room, kitchen, powder room, Mom’s sewing room. Then the long, long hallway of bedrooms. The worst obstacle was the dogs, as they moved underfoot, but they seemed to understand when he had the cane, and they stayed out of the way. The bathroom trips at night were another matter altogether.

Thank God, Damon and Daniel were both out of the house so he wasn’t sharing a bedroom with Randi. Or with Dalton, for that matter. Dalton was a pig.

“Table, Daddy.” Randi steered him around and toward the cabinets.

“How many cookies are there?” he asked.

“Lots.”

“Enough for Poppy and Gran and Dalton to have one too?”

“Yes. Them too. Dalton called and said he would be home at four thirty. Do we have to wait?”

He chuckled. “I don’t see why we should.”

“Oh good.” She bounced a little at his side, her mood changing with the wind.

“So, what did you do today, besides wale on some boy?”

“Daddy! He said I had ugly hair and I was stinky.” She tugged him forward until his cane banged the kitchen island. “I painted.”

“You have amazing hair, and, well, I’d have to smell you to see if you were stinky.” He grabbed her, dropped the cane and lifted her up, nuzzling into her hair. “Nope. Shampoo and sugar and spice.”

She squealed, flailing just enough to make him cackle like a big bird.

“Maybe a hint of strawberries….” He hugged her tight, praying that he could do this, figure life out now. “I love you, Bumblebee. I swear to God.”

She patted his cheeks like she had when she was two. “I love you too, Daddy.”

“Cool. Cookies.”

“Can we have Coke?”

“Milk.”

Her sigh was dramatic and long-suffering. “Yes, sir.”

Dixon put her down. “I’ll get glasses, okay?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll get the milk.”

“Good girl.” His mom had started getting smaller milk containers and putting them low in the fridge door for Randi. And hiding the Coke on the top shelf.

“Can we dunk our cookies like on the TV?”

“You can if you want.”

“You don’t like to dunk?” He heard her grunt, heard the scrape of the milk carton against the counter.

“I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t since I was little. I used to dunk Oreos.”

“Oh, we should get lots of different cookies and try.”

“Should we?” His scientific little girl. He had a feeling science fairs would be a hoot later in her life. “I think we should maybe get one cookie a week, huh? Not so much sugar that way.”

“You need two to ’pare.”

“To ’pare?” He carefully poured the milk.

“Uh-huh. Pappy says you put one against the other. Joy the llama is nicer than Ben the llama. You ’pare.”

“Oh. Com-pare, baby.”