“Night, Daddy,” I called over my shoulder.
“Hold on a minute, Katie-girl.” Daddy clicked pause on the TV, and I froze in the hallway. “I wanna talk to ya.”
Warily, I plodded over to his duct-taped recliner. Daddy stood up, a wall of denim-on-denim. My head tilted up, a little crease forming between my brows. He cleared his throat before pulling me next to him on the couch. It felt awkward and strange but not entirely bad. My heart rate was holding steady . . . I didn’t think this was anything too bad.
“Katie, I—” he harrumphed again. “I just wanna say I understand how you feel ‘bout keepin’ Andrew home. I know it comes from a good place, you tryin’ to keep this family together. And I want you to know that whichever way it goes, my decision will be based on nothin’ but doin’ right by my boy.”
Yeah right. I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes so I averted mine to the fake wood paneling.
“One of the worst things that can happen in life is to live with regret. I know all about wasted chances,” he said, referring to the track scholarship he lost back when he still wore a mullet and didn’t have metal pins holding his ankle together. “I don’t want Andrew to look back and blame me for keepin’ him from movin’ up in the world. This ain’t some high-falootin’ prep school we’re talkin’ about here—it’s the world’s most elite military trainin’ facility. Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes, sir.” I wondered if he did.
Daddy shifted on the couch, a peculiar look taking hold now. Uh-oh. Whatever was forthcoming, was the real reason we were sitting here having this little father-daughter chat.
“And that brings me to the next thing I wanted to say.” He straightened up and gave me the kind of toothy smile usually reserved for game-show hosts. “I was over at Tillman Mills this afternoon gettin’ feed. Ronald Tillman Junior was there and made a special point in comin’ over to talk to me.” He paused, waiting for my excitement to catch up to his.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, I think I must have quite a reputation in this town,” he added like it was a compliment, “because that varsity football player was more nervous than a whore in church.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, the truth is Katie—you’re growin’ up and bein’ seventeen and all—I can’t hide you forever, much as yer mama wanted to. So I went ahead and gave my permission for Ronald Tillman to take you to homecomin’ next Friday!” Daddy blurted out the same way Mikey did when he was chosen star student-of-the-week.
“What?” I rocketed up. Me avoiding him all week had been for not.
Daddy frowned at my tone, getting his first whiff of my feelings on the matter.
“What did you say?”
“I said you’d love to go!”
I dropped back down, clapping my hands over my face.
“I know, honey . . . it’s excitin’ news,” he said, choosing to misunderstand my horror for excitement. “Now you know why I was upset to see you breakin’ house rules when I was gone. I gotta be able to trust you to do the right thing when I’m not around . . . like when yer out on a date.” Daddy’s cheeks were two red apples, reminding me of where I got my easy blush. An awkward pause, and more throat-clearing ensued. “Did . . . did yer mama have a chance to talk with you about boys and maintainin’ your virtue till marriage?”
OMG! I’d rather go muck those pens than endure a sex talk from my father. So completely bypassed that last question like a landmine. “But, Daddy, I don’t even like Ron Tillman!”
“Why not? He’s a handsome enough young man . . . and plays football,” he added as though it were a check in the “pro” column.
“Because I don’t like him that way,” I reasoned, sounding like a sixth-grade version of myself.
I could tell, for him, he was trying to be patient. “That don’t matter much, honey. You’ll learn to . . . he’s a good match for you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means that Ron Tillman is the eldest son of Ronald Tillman Senior, owner of Tillman Mills, and therefore, will inherit his father’s business when he passes away.”
“So?”
“So he will most likely stay right here in Clovis and marry a local girl.”
“What does that have to do with me?” I said.
He sighed impatiently. “You could be that local girl.”
Are you friggin’ kiddin’? He was talking as if he were arranging a marriage instead of a date. Did he know what country we were living in? What century? I found myself back on my feet. “Daddy, I ain’t gonna marry Ron Tillman!—I’d rather die!” I added dramatically.
Daddy lifted himself up to his full height, in the same manner he did before reaching for the paddle. “Now you listen up, young lady. This here is a good opp’rtunity—that family has all kinds of money. And this is your chance to put yer God-given assets to good use. . . . A girl in your position could do a lot worse for herself than marry Ronald Tillman Junior.”
I could think of nothing worse—not even drowning myself in the cesspool.
“Now I do not want you to squander this opp’rtunity with yer mule-ish notions of what you ought to be doin’. Do I make myself clear?”
“Daddy, I think you’re puttin’ the cart before the mule here,” I said, calming down. “One date does not a marriage make.”
“Yes, well, Mr. Tillman has told me, on more’n one occasion, that his son speaks highly of you. It’s up to you to parlay this into a relationship . . . you ain’t likely to do better for yerself in life than to marry well.”
Did a college degree and a career never occur to him for his daughter? I snorted but kept my mouth shut. After all, Ron Tillman would likely blow me off the second I didn’t let him get to first base, so this whole convo was a waste of oxygen. And time. I decided to try a different tactic.
“Well, by homecomin’, I’m sure you realize that a dance is involved.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said. “As far as I can see, I’d rather my daughter be at a chaperoned dance than—out who knows where doin’ who knows what at night. Anything bad usually happens after eleven anyway, so I let him know up front that that would be yer curfew. Yer to go to the game and to the dance and back home. With no stops in between.”
I guffawed at that one. “And he still wanted to take me?”
“He sure did. Said he understood perfectly, and that he respected that.”
I pictured Ronnie’s dopey face leaning in to kiss me and felt nauseated immediately. “Daddy, I don’t have a fancy enough dress to wear to a homecomin’ dance and no money saved up to buy one.” I’d never been so happy to be broke.
“I already thought of that.” The proud papa fished around in his back pocket for his wallet, then counted off some bills with great ceremony. But I refused to accept them, knowing both where they came from and what they would be used for.
“That’s a hun’erd dollars, young lady,” Daddy said, impressing upon me the seriousness of the matter while pressing the money into my hand. “Now that’s a lotta money. I expect to see some receipts and a purty, but modest dress . . . not too modest, I don’t wantja tuh look dowdy, but not revealin’ neither. Don’t want the boy gettin’ the wrong idear about you—you are the marryin’ type, not the carousin’ type.” He leveled me with another look.