Dad grimaced. “Ah, damn. I think I left my phone in the car.”
He still hadn’t answered her question, the big, overarching one, the one that had brought her here. “And the house?”
Dad scraped his hand over his jaw and gave another weary-sounding sigh before stepping back from the door, gesturing for her to come inside. “You want something to drink? I think I still have a box of that tea you like floating around in the cabinet somewhere.”
She wanted answers, not tea. But if she was going to drink anything, it needed to be a whole heck of a lot stronger than chamomile.
“You know what?” She set her hands on her hips. “I think I’d like one of the beers you keep in the fridge in the garage you think I don’t know about. Thanks.”
Dad headed down the hall without a word, returning a minute later with an uncapped bottle in each hand. At least it was light beer, better for him than the regular kind.
She took her bottle with a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Dad nodded to the sofa before taking a seat in his recliner, the one that was older than she was. He took a long pull of his beer and she did the same, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She’d never been much of a beer drinker, but over the last few weeks, she’d gotten used to the flavor of the dark, bitter brews Margot favored. This tasted like water by comparison.
Dad must’ve seen her make a face because he snorted. “Weak, huh?”
“But doctor approved.” She settled back against the couch and tossed the flyer on the coffee table.
“Okay.” Dad heaved another one of those great big sighs and set his beer on a coaster before leaning forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to tell you, I swear, but—”
“Never once did you even hint that selling had crossed your mind, let alone that you were already in the process. I just . . .” Her eyes had started to sting, but if she blinked she was terrified she’d cry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Honest to God, I was planning on it.” Dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, Livvy, my insurance covered most of the hospital bills from last year, but there are still some out-of-pocket charges I’ve been paying off because of some rigamarole between the hospital and insurance company.”
Her stomach sank. This was the first she’d heard of Dad having to pay anything out of pocket. “Okay. But not a lot . . . right?”
Dad waffled his head from side to side. “My savings—”
“You had to dip into your savings?” She strangled her beer bottle so tightly the seam where the glass had been molded bit into the palm of her hand.
“Only a little,” he promised, holding a palm up as if to placate her. A little was still shitty when his savings were slim to start. “And I only had to do that because they’ve got me working fewer hours. Remember? I told you I scaled back.”
She nodded.
“I’ve got more money going out and less coming in and . . .” Dad swept a hand out. “Too much house for one person. I don’t need this much space and, to be honest, things have been getting a little tight at the end of the month. Much more of this and something was going to have to give, and I’ve got too much equity in the house to lose it in a short sale.”
A little tight and short sale didn’t go together. “If money was tight, how come you didn’t say something? If you’d have told me, I could’ve—”
Her grip went slack and she nearly dropped her bottle, catching it around the neck. A dribble of beer ran down the back of her hand and she stared at it blankly.
She could’ve what? Offered Dad money she didn’t have? Volunteered to move back home and help with the bills? She winced. Maybe there was more truth to what Margot had said than Olivia had first been able—or willing—to acknowledge. Where was her line? Did she even have one? Something told her the fact that she didn’t know was a problem. An issue she needed to address.
“I’ve got it under control, okay?” Dad said. “This is the best solution all around. Your mom and I refinanced when you were a kid, which set the clock back on the mortgage, but the property values have really skyrocketed in the past five years. I can sell, get the equity out of the house, and downsize into something smaller, with a more manageable monthly payment. Or, hell, I might even be able to buy something with cash.”
Olivia nibbled on her lip and glanced around the living room. Pencil marks that had never been scrubbed away marred the trim of the kitchen entry, each tiny tick capturing her height over the years. If she craned her neck, she’d be able to see into the bathroom, with its god-awful toile wallpaper that Mom had picked out. “But you love this house.”