His eyes glinted with annoyance. "I stood by my principles. I'd do it again."

I wondered when he'd gotten his notions of fathering. Maybe he thought it was good for his children to have the authority figure he'd never had. His fear of ever admitting he was wrong, about anything, seemed like strength to him. It seemed like weakness to me.

"Dad," I said hesitantly, "I wish you could be there for me even when I'm doing the wrong thing. I wish you could love me even when I'm screwing up."

"This has nothing to do with love. You need to learn there are consequences in life, Haven."

"I already know that." I had faced consequences Dad didn't even know about. If we had had a different relationship, I would have loved to confide in him. But that required a kind of trust that took years to accumulate. "I shouldn't have rushed into marriage with Nick," I admitted. "I should have had better judgment. But I'm not the only woman who's ever fallen in love with the wrong man."

"Your whole life," he said bitterly, "all you ever wanted was to do the opposite of what your mother or I said. You were more contrary than all three boys put together."

"I didn't mean to be. I just wanted your attention. I would have done anything to get some time with you."

"You're a grown woman, Haven Marie. Whatever you did or didn't get when you were a child, you need to get over it."

"I am getting over it," I said. "I'm done with expecting you to be any different from what you are. I'd like you to do the same for me, and then maybe the two of us could stop being so disappointed in each other. From now on, I'll try to make better choices. But if that means doing something that pisses you off, so be it. You don't have to love me. I love you anyway."

Dad didn't seem to hear that. He was intent on finding out something. "I want to know what's going on with you and Hardy Cates. Are you taking up with him?"

I smiled slightly. "That's my business."

"He's got a reputation," Dad warned. "He lives at one speed: wide-open. Not cut out for marrying."

"I know," I said. "Neither am I."

"I'm warning you, Haven, he'll run roughshod over you. He's a no-account East Texas redneck. Don't give me another reason to say 'I told you so.'"

I sighed and looked at him, this parent who was always convinced he knew best. "Tell me, Dad . . . who would be the right guy for me? Give me an example of someone you'd approve of."

Settling back comfortably, he drummed his thick fingers on his midriff. "George Mayfield's boy, Fisher. He'll come into money someday. Good character. Solid family. Nice-looking too."

I was aghast. I had gone to school with Fisher Mayfield. "Dad, he has the blandest, limpest personality in the entire world. He's the human equivalent of cold spaghetti."

"What about Sam Schuler's son?"

"Mike Schuler? Joe's old buddy?"

Dad nodded. "His daddy's one of the best men I know. Godfearing, hardworking. And Mike always had the best manners of any young man I ever met."

"Mike's turned into a pothead, Dad."

My father looked offended. "He has not."

"Ask Joe if you don't believe me. Mike Schuler is single-handedly responsible for the annual income of thousands of Colombian ganja farmers."

Dad shook his head in disgust. "What's the matter with the younger generation?"

"I have no idea," I said. "But if those are your best suggestions, Dad . . . that no-account East Texas redneck is looking pretty good."

"If you start up with him," my father said, "you make sure he knows he'll never get his hands on my money."

"Hardy doesn't need your money," I took pleasure in saying. "He's got his own, Dad."

"He'll want more."

After having lunch with my father, I went back to my apartment and took a nap. I woke up replaying the conversation we'd had, and brooding over his lack of interest in any real father-daughter communication. It depressed me, realizing I wasn't ever going to get the same kind of love from him that I was willing to give. So I called Todd and told him about the visit.

"You were right about something," I said. "I do have a pathetic daddy complex."

"Everyone does, sweetheart. You're not special."

I chuckled. "Want to come over and have a drink at the bar?"

"Can't. Got a date tonight."

"With who?"

"A very hot woman," Todd said. "We've been working out together. What about you? Sealed the deal with Hardy yet?"

"No. He was supposed to call today, but so far — " I stopped as I heard the call waiting beep. "That might be him. I've got to go."

"Good luck, sweetheart."

I clicked over to the second call. "Hello?"

"How are you feeling?" The sound of Hardy's drawl slow-blistered every nerve.

"Fine." My voice sounded like a squeaky balloon. I cleared my throat. "How are you? . . . Any pulled muscles from yesterday?"

"Nope. Everything in working order."

I closed my eyes and let out a breath as I absorbed the warm, waiting silence between us.

"Still mad at me?" Hardy asked.

I couldn't hold back a smile. "I guess not."