“Ooh, your little girl sure is a cutie!” she said with a smile on her face. “Hello, sweetheart!”

I inspected the car while she chattered away about how long she had owned it, what the mileage was, and how she had just come from vacuuming it out and putting in a vanilla-scented air freshener that she’d made herself—detailing the whole process with words like infusion and scented oils. She was super nice, but she was driving me crazy as she prattled on and on. The longer we stayed in one place, the antsier I became to get on the road. When she finally got around to handing me the title, my girl was fidgeting with impatience, but she sat silently, waiting for me to put her in the car. She was used to staying quiet while around any other adults, except for me. She knew the punishment that could come from speaking up at the wrong time.

We got on the road about twenty minutes later, driving away in a car that smelled strongly of patchouli oil and vanilla. I didn’t mind the smell though. All that mattered was the car worked like a dream. I just hoped it continued to do so.

After a quick stop to get us fast food for a late lunch, we got back on the interstate and headed south. There were no more errands to run and no other stops to make. I was almost home, and I was worried that once we got there, life would become even more complicated.

I grew up outside of a town called Eugene. Its biggest claim to fame was the state university and, more specifically, the university’s football team. It was where I’d met my husband although I never brought him home to meet my father. I’d been trying to distance myself from that life, so I’d pretty much just pretended it didn’t exist during my four years of college.

My husband strangely never asked to meet my pop. For a while, I’d wondered why he chose to completely ignore that part of my life. It seemed to me that someone would want to know his or her future spouse’s family. Eventually though, I’d chalked it up to total self-absorption. He didn’t care about my previous life because it didn’t directly impact him. That had worked in my favor, so I’d been happy with the status quo.

I’d gone home only a few times during college, and the last weekend home during my senior year had changed the course of my life forever. After that, I’d refused to look back.

We got to Eugene at about three in the afternoon, and I’d left the city, taking back road after back road on my way to where I’d find my father. I wasn’t sure where he was living, but I knew exactly where he’d be at three o’clock on a Tuesday. It was the same place he’d been every Tuesday my entire life and where he’d be every Tuesday until he died.

As we pulled up outside the gate, I was filled with a jumble of emotions I didn’t even bother to sort through. It had been a very long day, and my body was so weary that I wasn’t sure how I’d even make it out of the car. Maybe I should have waited, grabbed us a hotel room, and returned bright and early the next morning, but as soon as I brought the car to a stop, the guard at the gate was walking toward me. There was no time to back out, so I sighed quietly and rolled down my window.

“Whatcha need, beautiful? You lost?” he asked me with a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“Nope. Looking for my pop. Can you let us in?” I muttered distractedly, rubbing the bridge of my nose with my fingertips. A headache was building in between my eyes, and I didn’t have the energy to care how annoyed he looked that I was neither nervous nor trying to flirt my way in.

This guard was new. He hadn’t been here five years before, and it looked like he was a recruit. No patch yet.

“Well, who’s your pop? Is he expecting you? This is private property.” He was smirking with a cocky look in his eyes that hadn’t been there seconds before.

Five years ago, I would have put him in his place, but I was too tired to fight. I just wanted to get to my pop, so I could finally rest.

“Poet,” I answered him shortly. “Look, just call him, okay? No, he’s not expecting me, but it won’t matter. You’re new here, so I’ll give you a little heads-up. You don’t want to keep me waiting.”

He looked at me quizzically, and then he stepped away from the car and pulled out his cell phone. Soon after that, his hand came up to rub the back of his neck, and he turned to face me as he disconnected. “Sorry about that. I’ll just get the gate open, and you can go on up.”

It was obvious that whomever he’d spoken with wasn’t happy to hear that I was waiting at the gate.

When I pulled up at the clubhouse, there were a few guys outside, working on motorcycles and sitting at picnic tables, shooting the shit. All of them turned my way as I parked and got out of the car, holding tightly to the doorframe to steady myself. I recognized a few, but I didn’t acknowledge any of them. I was here for Pop, not to socialize. These weren’t my people anymore. I was surprised to find my backbone returning though, the longer I stood in the yard of my childhood. I was the princess here. It may have been long ago, but I knew my status had not changed.

My thoughts went blank as I saw my father walk quickly out of one of the garage bays with two men on his heels. I didn’t even glance at the men; my eyes were eating up my father as he paused for a few moments and then took long strides toward me. He hadn’t changed a bit. His gray long hair was parted down the middle and hanging down his back in a ponytail. His beard, which had always reached his chest, was cut short, but his smile and shining green eyes, which were just like mine, were achingly familiar. He was smiling at me up until we made eye contact, and then his face changed to one of concern. I wasn’t sure what emotion was showing on my face, but he knew that something was wrong.