Six

It was the smell of cat piss and coffee grounds that hit her first. Then it was the mounds of dirty dishes in the sink, piles of junk mail and old newspapers on the table, and the dirt of past ten years that overwhelmed her senses.

“Jesus. What a mess." she said to the empty house. While covering her nose and mouth she reached over the kitchen sink and yanked up the shade and window. Through the stream of light the dust particles danced in the air like dirty snowflakes. She turned back to the door and wedged it open with a stack of newspapers. She knew the effort was futile since there wasn’t a chance of a breeze and the house needed hurricane winds to air it out. She was making her way across the kitchen to inspect the damage of the rest of the house when she heard the screen door creak open behind her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” a man’s voice snarled.

“It’s nice to see you too, Pa.” she said without turning around.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said as she turned to face him. “You pissed a lot of people off leaving the way you did. Including me. So what the hell are you doing back?” He glared at her, daring her to answer.

She knew he was angry, there was no doubt about that, but it was the fleeting sense of hurt that caught her attention. It was brief but present, like a child who gets picked on at school and fights the urge to cry by fighting the bully instead. Hurt or not he was putting up a fight now and she’d be damned if she was going to be the one to step down.

“I'm here to tell you you need a housekeeper. I've seen dark alleys in the projects that feel more like a home than this place." she decided to fight back with the help of her old partner: sarcasm. He had always hated it and he wasn't having any of it now, so she decided to tone it down. It was still his house. “Listen, dad. I got as far away from this place as I could and made something of myself. It was the best decision I ever made and I've never looked back." She looked down at the boards on the floor, her body language offering a truce. "Most fathers would be proud.”

“So what, you here to rub it in?” he almost chuckled. “Or to do some more damage? There are a few businesses in town you ain't ruined yet.” he said contemptuously. He stood there for a moment, waiting for her answer. He wasn't ready to let go of so many years of pent up anger, but there was so much more bubbling inside of him.

"Can I stay here?" she asked, taking her eyes off the floor and looking at him blankly. He hadn't seen his daughter in ten years and all of a sudden she was standing in his living room asking for shelter. "I'll clean up the place" she said.

He stared at her for a few moments and then headed for his bedroom. "I'm gonna take a shower." he said finally. "You can start with the dishes."

"O.K." was all she could muster. He had the right to be mad at her and she was thankful for the place to stay, but she couldn't bring herself to show any remorse or gratitude. Not now, not in front of him or anybody in this town. Her armor was staying on this time.