On Sunday I'd intended to skate the paved trails at Shelby Park, but my legs were stiff and burning like someone had poured them full of molten concrete. So instead, I curled up on the couch, popped a bag of popcorn, and downloaded the movie Whip It. That counted for something, right?

Dad called halfway through the movie. I paused the movie. "Hello?"

"Is that my Lulabean?"

No matter how old I got, I was sure I'd always be Dad's "Lulabean."

"Hey, Dad. Are you back at home?"

"Yes, ma'am. We got in late last night." His gruff voice from a thirty-year, two-pack-a-day-habit had the gentle drawl of a vacation hangover. Like all of his stress was still floating on a wave somewhere in Costa Rica. "How are you, kiddo?"

"I'm good. How was your trip?"

Geez, I couldn't even bring myself to say the word "honeymoon." I thought of my brother, his tone extra impudent in my head. You suck at it, indeed, Lucy.

"It was wonderful. If you ever get the chance to go, I highly recommend it."

"What was your favorite part?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "Eating breakfast every morning with Katherine. I swear the sunrise is prettier in Central America."

My mother had not been a morning person. At all. I doubted she and Dad ever saw the sunrise together unless they had never gone to bed the night before. Which was a real possibility. Up until she got sick, their date nights were mandatory, not to keep some dying spark of their marriage alive, but because even after two decades and two kids, they were still that in love. Or at least, so I'd thought. He sure had found her replacement awfully fast...

"I also enjoyed zip-lining."

My brain snapped back to the conversation. "You went zip-lining?"

Dad laughed. "I know. Me! At my age!"

"Dad, you're only fifty-six," I reminded him. "You don't exactly need man-diapers and a walker just yet."

"I guess," he said with a chuckle. "I hope you'll come over soon and see all the pictures Katherine took."

"I'd like that," I said, trying so very hard to mean it. "Did she have a good time too?"

"Why don't you ask yourself? She's right here..."

My heart leapt into my throat. Leave it to Dad to pounce on any effort where Katherine was concerned. Before I could politely decline, a syrupy-sweet voice floated through the speaker. "Hello, Lucy."

And that was the thing about Katherine. She was syrupy sweet, all the damn time. And genuinely so, which nullified every reason I wanted to have to hate her.

I had thought Dad was joking the day he told me he signed up for SilverLinings.com, a dating site for singles of a certain age. Mom had only been gone four months. I hadn't even finished moving her clothes out of his closet. Oh, but he wasn't joking. He wasn't joking even a little bit. He went on two miserable dates, which I'd wrongly assumed would scare him off the premature dating scene, and then he met Katherine.

Katherine Woodville—57, non-smoker, from Waynesboro, TN—squelched any hope I had of slowing my father's freight-train speed through the grief process. Katherine was beautiful in a classic sort of way, with a smooth complexion and her hair cut in a frosted golden-gray bob. She was a volunteer at the senior activity center, and her hobbies included tennis, swimming, and playing with her new granddaughter.

The baby's name was something floral...Daisy? Daffodil? I couldn't remember. But pictures of her were splashed across Katherine's dating profile. It was the only fault I could find with the woman, putting pictures of her grandchild on a dating website. Didn't she know that sickos lurked online these days? But of course, she didn't.

Katherine was also a widow—another point firmly in the We Can't Hate Her column of their relationship. And she was an excellent cook, which my mother had never been. Dad was lost to us after tasting that first stupid casserole. Poppy Seed Chicken, I believe it was.

I straightened on the couch. "Uh...hi, Katherine. How was Costa Rica?" I tried to sound bright and inquisitive, but my emotions were toppling like dominos in my head.

"It was beautiful. Everything was so green and lush, and the flowers were still blooming, even well into August. It was like a postcard." She gave a melodic sigh. "But we're also glad to be home. We've both missed our kids. How have you been? I hope your new job hasn't been too stressful."

"Ask her if she's met any big country-music stars yet," Dad said, so close to the phone that Katherine needn't repeat his query. He honestly didn't need to ask it either. This question was a staple of every conversation with my father since I moved to the city. A true product of Small Town, USA, Dad was easily impressed by all things that glittered in Music City.

"Tell him I got invited to a party at Jake Barrett's house next month," I said.

Katherine parroted my answer back to Dad.

"Jake Barrett, no kidding?" he asked. "Ask her if she can get me his autograph."

"Tell him it's a work thing, but I'll try," I said.

I realized I was still talking to my dad through Katherine, but that counted for me making an effort, right?

"See if you can take a peek inside his garage. I saw on CMT that he's got one helluva hot rod collection." Dad's voice was no longer muffled by distance. He must have snatched the phone back from his new wife. "Take some pictures if you can."

"I'll do my best."

"When are you coming home, Lulabean?"

"Soon, I promise. Though I won't be able to come for a whole weekend for a while. My Saturdays are all booked up at the moment," I said.

"Yeah? Got'churself a boyfriend now?"

"Oh no. Nothing like that. Just a new hobby. I'll tell you all about it when I come visit."

"Sounds mysterious. Nothing illegal, I hope." I could hear the smile in his voice.

I grinned. "You know me, always teetering on a life of crime."

He chuckled. "I miss you, kiddo."

"I miss you too, Dad."

"See you next weekend?" he asked, hopefully. "We can fire up the grill. Maybe make s'mores and drag out the cornhole boards. It's been a long time since we've had a weekend cookout."

My heart twisted. It had been a year, almost exactly. Because family cookouts had been Mom's thing. She loved to be out back by the river so much she'd insisted Dad pour the concrete for the patio, and she'd laid the rocks for the fire pit. Before cornhole became the tradition, it was family baseball, but that ended the day I knocked myself unconscious with the bat. Ethan had started calling me Lights Out Lucy, which would make a hell of a derby name, come to think of it.

How would we ever do any of that without her?

My jaw clenched. "I'll see what I can do. I love you."

"I love you too."

***

BRITCHES GET STITCHES IS IN STORES NOW!