Tribute

repair and re-lay, and I know you cut me a break on the labor.”
    “You had a problem. And the fact is, I was proud of that work and wanted to make it right.”
    “I don’t know how to make this right with your wife. I could talk to her, try to explain.”
    “Better let me do that.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry I came at you.”
    “I’d have done the same in your place.”
    “Who’d do something like this? Mess with you, get Kay all upset?”
    “I don’t know.” Cilla thought of Mrs. Hennessy. Her husband was doing two years in a psych facility. “But I hope I can head it off before it happens again.”
    “I guess I’d better swing by home, straighten this out with Kay.”
    “Okay. You still on for Thursday?”
    His smile was a little sheepish. “Yeah. Ah, you got any reason to call me at home, maybe you should come up with a code word or something. ”
    “Maybe I should.”
    She stood in the shadow of her barn, with trim propped against the wall and laid out to dry, stretched across her sawhorses. And wondered how many times she’d have to pay for the crimes, sins, mistakes of others.

TWENTY-SIX
    C illa stood in her bedroom, staring at the freshly painted walls while her father tapped the lid back on the open can of paint. She watched the way the strong midday light flooded the room, and sent those walls to glowing.
    “The trim’s not even up, and the floors still have to be done, and still, standing here gives me an ecstatic tingle.”
    He straightened from his crouch, took a long look himself. “It’s a damn fine job.”
    “You could make a living.”
    “It’s always good to have a fallback.”
    “You’ve damn near painted the entire house.” She turned to him then. She still couldn’t quite think what to make of that, or what to say to him. “That’s saved me weeks of time. Thanks doesn’t cover it.”
    “It does the job. I’ve enjoyed it, on a lot of levels. I’ve liked being part of this. This transformation. We missed a lot of summers, you and I. Spending some of this one with you, well, it’s made me happy.”
    For a moment she could only stand, looking at him, her handsome father. Then she did something she’d never done before. She went to him first. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then wrapped her arms around him. “Me too.”
    He held on, hard and tight. She felt his sigh against her. “Do you remember the day we first saw each other here? I came to the back door, and you shared your lunch with me on the sagging front veranda?”
    “I remember.”
    “I didn’t see how we’d ever get here. Too much neglect, too much time passed. For the house, and for us.” He eased her back, and she saw with some surprise, some alarm, that his eyes were damp. “You gave it a chance. The house, and me. Now I’m standing here with my daughter. I’m so proud of you, Cilla.”
    When her own eyes flooded, she pressed her face to his shoulder. “You said that to me, that you were proud, after the concert in D.C., and once, earlier, when you came to the set of Our Family and watched me shoot a scene. But this is the first time I believe it.”
    She gave him a last squeeze, stepped back. “I guess we’re getting to know each other, through interior latex, eggshell finish.”
    “Why stop there? How about we go take a look at the exterior.”
    “You can’t paint the house. The rooms, that’s one thing.”
    Lips pursed, he scanned the room. “I think I passed the audition.”
    “Interiors. It’s a three-story building. A really big, three-story building. Painting it’ll require standing on scaffolding and really tall ladders.”
    “I used to do my own stunts.” He laughed as she rolled her eyes in a way he could only describe as daughterly. “Maybe I didn’t, and maybe that was a long time ago, but I have excellent balance.”
    She tried stern. “Standing on scaffolding and really tall ladders in the dog-day heat of August.”
    “You don’t scare me.”
    Then simple practicality. “It’s not a one-man job.”
    “True. I’ll definitely need some help. What color did you have in mind?”
    And felt herself being gently steamrolled. “Listen, the old paint needs to be scraped where it’s peeled, and—”
    “Details, details. Let’s take a look. Do you want it painted by Labor Day, or what?”
    “Labor Day? It’s not even on the schedule until mid-September. When it’s, hopefully, a little cooler. The crew who painted the barn—”
    “Happy to work with