TWELVE: Blueberry Hill

The Blueberry Hill Family Restaurant was just shabby enough that he'd claimed it as one of his favorites years ago. They had great pancakes and were open all hours of the day and night. The table in the back was a good vantage point to watch the door. It was always a force of habit for Bruce McLeod to choose that spot in any establishment, keeping his back to the wall and completely aware of the back way out through the kitchen, should the need arise. He felt that itchy premonition in his guts that had been there since the moment his daughter had asked him publicly if her new boyfriend Smith Jones could tag along. Maybe, deep down, the girl knew something was up and wanted to have that buffer, that backup in case things went sideways. He'd only agreed because he didn't want to cause a scene, didn't want her to think this was some sort of planned ambush. He felt like an escape plan might be needed, himself. The fact that his daughter and Smith had grown serious enough this quickly hadn't even registered. He hadn't been thinking about it until now.

He raked a hand through his long hair, wishing he'd found the time to get it cut beforehand. He didn't usually bother with his appearance much – hadn't really cared about how he looked in years. Now, though, he was checking his reflection in the napkin dispenser, wondering how in the hell he'd gotten so damned old. His hand was shaking, just a little when he rested it on the table, knowing that was going to get much worse before it got better. He needed a damned drink in the worst way. Sighing, he tried to mask that by tapping his fingers one by one against the sticky tabletop. He was still doing that, still pretending not to watch the door when his daughter stepped in out of the darkening afternoon. He heard the hushed tones of the hostess and then the girl who'd called herself Sam since she was old enough to write her own name was on her way down the aisle. He felt his heart lurch at the sight of her, how much she'd grown since the last time he'd seen her in person and he slipped to his feet when she arrived at the booth, giving her a show of respect on autopilot even though he was still struggling to think of what he was going to say to her.

"Possum," the pet name he'd had for her since she was little slipped out, filled with relief and a strange sort of warmth. He hesitated, wondering if he should try to give her a hug or just let it go.

"Hi, Da." She said this as she opened her arms to him. Sam felt as though there was brick of cement in the pit of her stomach. The hug was awkward but she held onto him a little longer than either had expected. As nervous as she had been about this meal together, it was clear how much she missed him. Pulling back, she looked up at him. "It's been a minute."

He let out that old familiar chuckle as he slid back into the booth, motioning for her to follow suit before anyone started paying attention to them. "Aye. That it has." Reaching for the coffee that was already lukewarm at best, he took a long sip, watching her over the rim before setting it down. It tasted awful but it was at least something that might settle his craving for booze. "Glad yeh decided to come alone," he finally broke the silence before it became too awkward, "not that I've anything against Smitty. He's a good fella. Solid as a rock. Just some things need sayin' that the whole world doesn't need to be privy to."

"He's waiting back at the hotel." Sam took a seat and there was a water at her spot. Unwrapping a straw, she placed it into the glass. "So, what's going on? When we talked on the phone you didn't say anything about being in or coming to Vegas. Did you just decide to come on a whim?" She had her suspicions, but wanted to hear it from him.

"Been here since the winter of 2015. A shitty little house, twenty minutes outta the city, away from all the tourist bullshit. It's in Henderson." Rather than try to spin a new web of half-truths, he came right out with it. "I shoulda told yeh, absolutely right. On the phone. Before tha'…" his accent was growing a little thicker as he struggled to fill the silence. "I just didn't wanna-"

Sam looked at him, her eyes then drifting up to the ceiling of the diner. "Big surprise, when do you ever tell me anything?" There was hostility behind her words. "I woulda been more surprised if you had actually involved me in your life."

"It's nae like that," he snapped, his own ire rising at that snark in her tone. "Am tryin' to get things sorted. Have been for the last year, not that it's any concern of yours. What'm I gonna do, call ya up in the middle of the night, weepin' an' wailin' about how that promisin' wrestling career an' me perfect little slice of heaven fell apart all in one fell swoop? Aye. That'd be a sight, wouldn't it? Then yeh'd have free reign tae say 'told yeh so, yeh dumb fucker. Told yeh tha' Grace was no good.' Aye. Yeh were right. Course yeh were. Is that what yeh wanna hear?"

Sam sat back in her seat, her fingers tapping on the table. "Ever occur to you that if you put your stupid pride on a shelf and actually talked to me, maybe I wouldn't act like this?" She had narrowed her eyes at him. "It's like you wanted our relationship on your terms and I never got a fucking say."

"Pride?" He scoffed, leaning back against the seat, mirroring her posture as he reached for the disgusting coffee again. "Sure, love. That's what it is. Great big overblown ego of mine, eclipsin' the damned sun." He took another swallow, forcing it down before setting the cup back on the table with a thump. When he spoke again, he was making a hell of an effort to be civil. "Listen… I wanted tae see ya. Now. Isn't that… doesn't that count for somethin'?"

"Why is it just now? Why not before?" As much as she wanted to stay calm, she didn't have it in her. For so long she had wanted her father consistently in her life. Her bottom lip started to quiver and she had a hard time blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes. She kept her eyes focused on her glass of water. "Do you know how often I've wanted this… just wanted you around?"

"Wouldn't have been any good if I were." He sighed, shaking his head. "Am here now… I know. Too little. Too late. Am trying, Sam." He called her by the name she preferred, for the first time ever. He'd always been so insistent on calling her by the name he'd chosen for her. Swallowing his pride, he averted his eyes, looking for the waitress. "Order whatever yeh want. I'll pay."

"I'm not very hungry." Her eyes were still downcast and he could see, radiating off of her, something he hadn't seen since she was a little girl – vulnerability. At a young age she had gotten to where she would shut down after a certain point. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"All forgiven." He murmured, holding up a hand to signal the woman that seemed terrified to come over. When she finally arrived, he ordered a double stack of cinnamon swirl pancakes and two old fashioned shakes. As soon as the woman left, he felt the need to explain. "Haven't eaten since last night...can't pass them up."

Hearing him order cinnamon swirl pancakes triggered something, a memory. Sam lifted her head, furrowing her brow "You used to make those for me. It was when Mom was on the road and you'd get me ready for school…" She looked at Bruce. "Sometimes I was late to school because the pancakes weren't done." As she talked through the memory, her face softened and a small smile started to form. "You'd take me to school on your bike and you would charm the secretary and I never got any tardies." Nodding, the smile widened. "We had to have our pancake mornings. You made sure we did."

He smiled, nodding and looking wistful at the memory. "Theirs are better than mine." Leaning forward, he rested his arms on the table. "More consistently cooked. Less disasterly." He chuckled, "but if you're not hungry...won't force it on yeh." He hesitated for a moment and then plunged ahead into the next subject, knowing she was going to be upset and hoping the prospect of the pancakes would assuage that. "I... need tae tell ya somethin' else."

The smile she had stayed in place, but became a tad strained. "What is it?"

"I spent last night with someone." At her strained expression, he clarified. "Your ma. We…" The words seemed to stick in his throat but he forced them out. "I still love her. We're gonna try… tae make it work this time. I just want yeh tae know. Before we…" he trailed off, unable to figure out what she was feeling or thinking behind that brittle smile. "Am goin' back with her – tae Florida. We fly out tonight."

The smile slowly faded as she took in the news about her parents. "Like you guys are back together?" What he'd said was pretty clear, but she still was taking it in. "How are you gonna make it work? You guys fought all the time and when you didn't it was because you guys were in different places."

"We didn't always fight," he protested, "just after…" Even after all this time, he couldn't bring himself to say her brother's name.

"I don't remember how things were before…" she also couldn't say her baby brother's name. The memories of holding him as he died still haunted her daily. "I mean I remember how excited we were. You'd sing to Mom's stomach or tell her that poem. I used to sneak outta bed for cookies and I'd see you guys on the couch."

"Don't sing too much these days." He remarked, finishing off the last of the terrible coffee. "We've healed, haven't we? Always carry a little of that pain with us, I think. Doesn't hurt as much. I was so damned angry. At God. At... everyone. Your Ma got the brunt of that. Gonna be making amends on that until the day I'm roastin' in hell."

Sam considered what he said and couldn't disagree about carrying the pain around. "I think we just learn to live with it and it gets easier, but never easy." Leaning over, Sam drank from the straw in her water glass. When she finished, she looked her father in the eye. "I want you and Mom to be happy, but please… if things start to crumble? Go see a therapist. Don't ever let it get that bad again. I can't see you guys go through that again."

"Can't do it again. I'll put a bullet in my head before I let…" He stopped himself before he got too carried away with the description. "We're grown. That's what matters most. I think...when you came, we rushed into this unprepared. An' I don't mean I didn't love her or that we didn't want yeh. Yer ma, she was… she was young. We did what seemed best. It was just a choice was made that we didn't plan on and I think mebbe Cherry needed space to grow without me there. I was crampin' her style, taintin' the ground. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I know she was young when she had me, but you guys were happy. I remember that. When I was little, you guys always touched each other. You sang and she smiled so much. Before…" she swallowed hard, not wanting to say her brother's name. "I know you guys were solid, then. Even if you don't think you were. I remember the love when you guys looked at each other. I know you guys can be solid like that again." Taking a first step, she slid out of the booth and slid in next to her dad. "I love you, Da." She put her arms around him, hugging him tight.

"Thank you," he murmured, grateful for her blessing. He hugged her tight, glad that the purple-tinted glasses he had on hid the tears in his eyes. "Love you, Siobhan... Sam. More than anything."