There I was again, staring at the unfinished fifty-piece jigsaw puzzle and a bunch of its loose, separate pieces. It had been a few years after the encounter with the lizard. Even though Dad would often take mini vacations to visit the cottage and make sure he completely turned off the gas stove and all the faucets, the only alteration to the puzzle was the addition of four pieces to their proper place. I remembered the half smile on Mona Lisa's face the last time I was here. Now her smile, at least, was complete.

Other changes to the cottage were more obvious. The old love seat and rugged leather recliner had been replaced with a smaller sofa upholstered in an ugly pattern that resembled the inside of a kaleidoscope with a matching warped wicker chair.

"How'd you like the place?" Dad stood in the middle of the small living room area with a gleaming smile and his palms raised as if presenting me with the best gift on Earth. "I cleaned the place up a bit. You notice?"

I sensed the wit a state away. "For me?"

"Yep, all for you."

"Well, you shouldn't have," I said in mocked enthusiasm. "I mean, this sofa must be part of the Barf Bag Color Selection Palette." I snorted, allowing a bit of my humor to push through.

He huffed and swiped the air dismissively. "Plans still on to catch some trout later?" It was his lazy attempt to change the subject, something he did often when the conversation veered into say-something-you-might-regret territory.

I grinned, letting him think he was the expert at subject changing as he pretended to be. "Sure. Trout or bass, I'm still up for it."

"That's my girl." He patted my head like he would a finicky Chihuahua.

I always wanted a furry companion. Since Mom left it has only been Dad and me, and sometimes that became lonely. At home our focus was always on work, school, and other everyday responsibilities. When at the cottage, Daddy could let go of obligations and smile more, not worry, and be his true happy self. A dog or any other animal would prevent that. Pets were too much responsibility. I understood that.

I would rather not have a dog at all than get one and then abandon it because I later decide it was too much work and I didn't really want to be a dog owner.

I wasn't one to fight with Daddy often, especially over trivial things like pets. I knew how lucky I was to have him, and I would do anything to keep him. Didn't have the opportunity to do the same for my mom.

I knew exactly how difficult it was to be raised by one parent as a child. My friend's dad left her and her mom when she was five. She cried for him every night that first year. Life for her and her mom have been hard ever since, having to live with the pain of parental rejection.

Dad never once made comments or hinted that he'd leave me. I loved him for that and I'd do anything for him because of it.

My room was one of the two that shared space with the living room and kitchen. If it weren't for our bedroom doors we would've been sharing one huge space. I entered my room to find my fishing gear for the walk down to the lake we aptly dubbed Shit Creek due to the color of its waters.

As a young man, Grandpa had bought a few acres of the land near Shit Creek to build what he referred to as his lake house but what we called the cottage. He claimed the lake held some of the best trout. Later I found out it was because the lake was manmade and the fish were imported to supply the Arizona rivers and lakes. He would've constructed the cottage directly on the lakefront if the soil were suitable. Instead he built a fifteen-foot stone path that led to a half-mile-long dirt trail and directly to the lake.

Visiting the waters when at the cottage became a ritual.

Upon entering my room it struck me that it wasn't quite the way I had left it. My twin bed, pillows, and sheets were untouched. The cherry-wood dresser and matching nightstand were there too, but the addition of a rug strewn over the pale wooden floor perplexed me.

"You got me a rug?" I peered over my shoulder, making sure my voice carried into the kitchen, where Dad lined the cooler with ice. "Where'd you get this one from, the Barf Bag Company's doorstep?"

"Funny, Mesa." His huff was louder than the ice falling from the bag and hitting the plastic cooler. "I thought you'd like it. Gives this place a whole new feel."

I scoffed and kicked, attempting to send it sliding under my bed and into obscurity, but it didn't move.

"What'da do, glue it down?"

The bag stopped ruffling and silence permeated the space for a few seconds. "Uh, yeah. I tacked it down so you wouldn't trip over it." Seconds later the tousling of the plastic bag continued. "It has a Gila monster design on it. I thought you'd get a kick out of that."

A kick and a final resting place in the closet were definitely in the cards for the rug. I slid my fingers along the edge of the mat and gave it a yank. Only two of the four corners popped up. I folded the mat over and saw an uneven golf-ball-sized stain stare back at me from the wood, stopping me in my tracks. My fingers skimmed the reddish-brown blemish. It became obvious Dad was attempting to hide the spot. But why? Did he think I'd be upset over an accident? Had I ever become upset over something so trivial to persuade him to tack down a rug over evidence of a spill?

Footsteps approached from behind me and I dropped the mat back down to its previous position and stood.

"Hey, honey," he said from over my shoulder. In his hands were two steaming mugs. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You almost ready?" The hot cocoa hit my nostrils as he handed me a cup.

I nodded. "Yep," and flashed a grin.

He jerked his head and pivoted, oblivious.

I followed.

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