Joan rode with Maggie, and Phil followed behind in his work truck. When they arrived at Maggie’s home, Joan noticed the dilapidated condition of the house and yard. If her lawn was unkempt, this one was a wilderness. It looked as if there’d once been flower beds, but they had long disappeared behind weeds that reached halfway up the side of the porch. The lawn, what was left of it, was nearly knee-high. The steps to the porch had collapsed on one side and one window was broken and covered with cardboard. It was little wonder Maggie had been desperate to leave. The house was falling down upon itself.
Unsure whether he was doing the right thing, Phil left his truck and joined Maggie and Joan on the sidewalk outside the house. He took in the sight of the run-down property and frowned, glancing toward Maggie and then Joan.
“Dad’s drunk,” Maggie explained. “He’s probably sitting in front of the television…The power is about to be turned off because he hasn’t paid the electric bill. He didn’t used to be like this, but then my mom died, and drinking became his coping mechanism.”
With all the counseling he’d had through the years, Phil was fairly hopeful he could keep Maggie’s father talking.
“No worries,” he said. “I’ll chat with him while you and Joan collect what you need.”
Together the three of them entered the house. Just as Maggie had said, her father had situated himself in the recliner in front of the television. When he saw Maggie with Phil and Joan, the other man half rose from his chair, only to stumble and fall back into a sitting position.
“You can’t come in here,” he shouted. “This is my home. Get out.”
“We’ll only stay a few minutes,” Phil assured him calmly. “Just long enough for Maggie to get what she needs. I’m Phil Harrison. What’s your name?”
“Roy Herbert. Now leave. My daughter is no longer welcome in this house. She made her decision; as far as I’m concerned, good riddance.”
While Maggie’s father continued explaining what a thankless daughter he’d raised, Joan and Maggie went down the hallway to Maggie’s bedroom.
Phil listened as Roy continued. “Ungrateful, she is, after all I’ve done for her. Selfish, too, only thinking of herself. She doesn’t give a damn about me or what will happen to me once she’s gone.”
Phil let him speak without interrupting. As Roy’s tirade continued, Phil noticed Joan and Maggie leaving with several boxes.
“It’s hard to let go of our children, isn’t it?” Phil said, after he was convinced the two women had finished collecting Maggie’s items.
Roy snorted and shook his head.
“For some, but not for all of us. I remember when my daughter left for college, I was a basket case. I didn’t want her to go, and at the same time, I realized she was an adult now and needed to find her own way in life.”
Roy didn’t say anything for several seconds. The anger seemed to have drained out of him. “My Maggie wants to be a nurse. I can’t afford to help her with all those college expenses. She doesn’t realize she’s in over her head, taking out loans she’ll spend years paying back.”
Phil could appreciate Roy’s concern. “Maggie has to make her own decisions, though, the same way my Amanda did.”
“Maybe,” he grumbled. “I never thought she’d abandon me.”
“It feels that way, doesn’t it?”
He huffed. “Told her if she leaves, then she’s not welcome back.”
Phil wasn’t convinced Maggie would take his angry words to heart. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“She’s stubborn, that one. Gets it from her mother.” He paused and choked back tears. “Miss that woman every day. Nothing seems right with her gone.” He sniffled and wiped his forearm under his nose.
Knowing well what the other man must be feeling, Phil nodded in commiseration and said, “Looks like Maggie has her things. We won’t be troubling you again,” he said.
Roy shrugged with defeat.
“Nice meeting you, Roy.”
He snickered. “Wish I could say the same.”
Phil left the house. Both Joan and Maggie stood outside and seemed to be waiting for him.
“How’d it go?” Maggie asked, her forehead wrinkled with concern.
“Good,” Phil said.
“I appreciate your help.”
“No problem.”
“I do my best to help him,” Maggie said, glancing back toward the house, “but I just had to get away.”
Phil held Maggie’s gaze, letting her know he understood.
Maggie crossed her arms over her chest as though to hide the emotional pain she’d endured through the years.
“He talked about losing your mother.”
Maggie lowered her eyes. “Everything went downhill after Mom died. He changed a lot. He used to keep up the house with Mom’s encouragement, but after she died, he didn’t even try.”
Phil noticed Joan’s reaction to his comment. Her eyes rounded and she looked down and folded her arms as if protecting herself. He wondered what she was thinking, and if she was comparing herself to Roy, who had let his yard and life deteriorate. Phil wanted to tell her she was nothing like Maggie’s father, but he kept silent.
“My mother held everything together in our family,” Maggie whispered. “And with her gone, all that was right and good fell apart.”
Phil understood all too well what grief and heartache could do to a soul. He looked to each woman before he said, “I was happy to help, but I best head home.” Dinner was likely waiting for him.
“Again, I can’t thank you enough,” Maggie said earnestly.
“Yes, thank you,” Joan echoed. “You came to give me an estimate and went far and away beyond that.”
He shrugged off their appreciation.
He started toward his truck and turned back. “I’ll have that bid ready for you on Monday.”
“No need. Consider yourself hired.”
He nodded, grateful for the work and the opportunity to know both women better.
Chapter 10
On the drive back to the house, both Maggie and Joan grew quiet.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Joan said, glancing Maggie’s way. Her own musings were caught up in appreciation for Phil’s help. How he’d been willing to step in, even not knowing what the situation was. She wasn’t sure what might have happened if Phil hadn’t distracted Maggie’s father. Hearing what Maggie said about the changes in her father after her mother died had hit close to home. Everything seemed to have come to a head at once, and Joan realized she’d continued to carry her grief these last four years like a piece of luggage, hauling it with her through each day, refusing to release the burdensome weight.
“I’ll help you take your things up the stairs,” Joan offered, once they reached the house.
“Please, you’ve done so much already. I can handle this.”
Joan was more than ready to help. “I’m sorry I didn’t get around to moving Nick’s things out of the bedroom. I’ll see to that while you unload the car.”
“Okay.” Maggie offered her a weak smile. She remained in the car, her look pensive.