Tribute

ought to . . .”
    The full phrase, and the fact that Cilla’s father sat at his counter drinking iced tea, sank in, and had him clearing his throat. “Listen, Mr. McGowan, Cilla and I— That is, it’s not . . . Well, it is, but—”
    “Ford, I’m not shocked by the fact that you and Cilla are sleeping together, and I don’t own a shotgun.”
    “Okay. Well.” He took a deep gulp of tea. “Okay then.”
    “Is it?” Gavin opened another paper. “If you read this one, you’ll see it’s suggested you’ve been seduced by the lonely, trapped spirit of Janet Hardy—or you’ve seduced the granddaughter in an attempt to become Janet’s lover.”
    Ford actually snorted. "Sorry, but it just strikes me funny. I don’t know, if they had any real imagination, I’d be the reincarnation of somebody cool. Bogart or Gregory Peck, who’s slaking his lust for the reincarnation of Janet Hardy by banging Cilla every chance he gets. And God, sorry about the banging comment. Really.”
    Gavin sat back, took a sip of his tea. “You were one of my best students. Bright, creative. A bit awkward and eccentric, but never dull. I always enjoyed what could be called your unique thought process. I told Cilla this morning I’ve always been fond of you.”
    “I’m really glad to hear that, considering.”
    “And considering, what are your intentions toward my daughter?”
    “Oh boy. I just got this thing in my chest.” Ford thumped on it. “Do you think extreme anxiety can cause a heart attack in somebody my age?”
    “I doubt it, but I promise to call nine-one-one if necessary.” Eyes direct, Gavin inclined his head. “After you answer the question.”
    “I want her to marry me. She’s not there yet. Still got that thing,” he added, rubbing now with the heel of his hand. “We’ve only been . . .” Probably not the way to go, Ford decided. “We’ve only known each other a few months, but I know how I feel. I love her. Am I supposed to tell you about my prospects and stuff? This is my first time.”
    “It’s mine, too. I’d say between you and Cilla, your prospects are more than fine. I’d also say, in my opinion, you suit each other.”
    “There, it’s going away.” Ford took his first easy breath. “She needs me. She needs someone who understands and appreciates who she is, and who she’s decided to be. And I need her, because who she is, and who she’s decided to be are—big surprise to me—what I’ve been waiting for all my life.”
    “That’s an excellent answer.” Gavin rose.“I’m going to leave those here,” he said, gesturing to the papers. “You handle that with Cilla however you think best. I’m going to go paint. I’ll see myself out.” At the edge of the kitchen, he turned back briefly. "Ford, I couldn’t be more pleased.”
    Pretty damn pleased himself, Ford sat down at the bar and read through all the papers, all the stories. And knew just how he’d handle it.
    It took considerable time, but the end result more than satisfied. He and Spock crossed the road, and finding the front door locked, Ford used the spare key she’d given him. He gave a shout and, when she didn’t answer, started upstairs. The sound of the shower solved the mystery of where Cilla was. He thought briefly and intensely about joining her, but that would spoil the order of events.
    Besides, surprising a woman in the shower in a locked house invited screams—and the woman could produce a serious scream. So he contented himself with sitting on the side of the guest room bed—as it remained the only bed in the house—to wait.
    She didn’t scream when she saw him, though from the amount of air she sucked in when she stumbled back, she’d have shattered every piece of glass for five miles if she’d cut loose.
    “God, Ford. You scared the hell out of me!”
    “Sorry. I figured I’d scare you more if I came in the bathroom while you were in the shower.” He fisted his hand as if over the hilt of a knife, pumped it and did a fair imitation of the Psycho shower scene.
    “It might’ve been worse. No Spock?”
    “He wanted to go see if there were any invisible cats out back.”
    “I need to get dressed. Why don’t you go sit out on the patio. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
    Unhappy, he thought. Irritated. And with a faint haze of discouragement. His idea would either help or make it worse. He might as well find out.
    “I brought you something.”
    “What? Why don’t you take it down, and