I shook my head. I didn’t want anything except to get the hell out of there.
* * * *
When my father pulled his car to a stop beside my own in front of the garage, I thanked him again for dinner. I’d thanked him at the restaurant, but felt the need to thank him again.
He cut the engine and looked at me. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” I told him. I was anxious to get out of his car and into my own, but felt I hadn’t been formally dismissed yet.
He reached for his wallet and pulled a check from it. “Here,” he said, shoving the folded piece of paper into my hand.
I didn’t even bother looking to see how much the check was written for; I just stuffed it into my jacket pocket. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”
He nodded and unlocked the car doors, signaling I was free to go. He watched me back my car out of the driveway and disappeared into the house before I’d even driven away. 6