For Better or Worse by Jennifer Johnson Read Free Book Online Page B

Her eyebrows rose in surprise when she glanced up at him. Just as quickly, she looked down at the small pillow that sat in her lap. She picked at the fringe. In the year that he’d dated Kelly, almost every time he’d talked with Zoey she had a hard edge, an anger that aged her well past her seventeen years. Today, she looked like a wounded twelve-year-old girl, one who’d lost her greatest treasure and could never get it back. He knew at that instant the only thing he needed to do was show her that he’d be there for her.
    “What do you want?” Her tone expressed no emotion, simply asked the question with no anger, no frustration, no hope.
    Harold shrugged. “Can I sit there?” He pointed to the chair in front of her desk. Sure.”
    Being sure to leave the door wide open, Harold pulled the chair away from the desk and toward the door. The last thing he wanted to do was to make Zoey feel uncomfortable. He sat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry, Zoey.”
    She shrugged one shoulder. “Mom and Sadie said you didn’t know.”
    “I didn’t.”
    “It was just—that was what Dad used to say. He’d go on and on about how good I made the green bean casserole, that I mixed it just long enough and cooked it at just the right temperature and for just the right amount of time.”
    Zoey paused, and Harold held his breath. She was talking to him, and he needed to listen.
    “It was silly, really,” she went on. “I knew he was exaggerating. Even as a little girl, I knew that. But I loved the attention. I loved that my dad was so proud of something I’d done.”
    She looked at Harold, brushing tears from her eyes. “You don’t look anything like my dad, Harold. You don’t act anything like him, either. Dad was a pencil pusher. He made good money working behind a desk. He was shorter and thinner than you and GQgood-looking.”
    Harold swallowed. He’d seen many pictures of Kelly’s first husband. The man was a good-looking guy, and he did make three times the income Harold ever would. Just by looking at his picture, Harold could tell the man didn’t mind being the center of attention. Harold tended to shy away from all that.
    “I don’t want another dad, Harold.”
    “I know that.”
    “But you want to be my dad?” “Actually, yes I do.”
    “Why?”
    Harold looked around the room, taking in the nearly all dark colors, fabrics, artwork, and furniture. Only a few light-colored things remained—the pillow she held in her hand, a family picture with their father in a white frame on the dresser, and a pink lamp that she’d probably had since she was born. “I guess because I love your mom and every part of your mom, including you and your sisters.”
    He leaned back in the chair, praying for God to give him the right words. “Did you know my mom died when I was fifteen?”
    “Yeah. You mentioned it.”
    “Did you know my dad married my stepmom seven months later?”
    Zoey scrunched her nose. “That is not cool.”
    “At the time, no, it was definitely not cool. But after I gave her some time, I found that she was a good mom. She couldn’t replace my biological mom. Not really. But she was a good substitute. And I grew to love her. I want to be your, Brittany, and Candy’s substitute. And I hope you’ll grow to love me as well.”
    Zoey didn’t say anything, and Harold knew that he didn’t need to say anything else. He sat there for a little while, watching Zoey play with the fringe on her pillow. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but her expression didn’t appear hostile. He assumed she was trying to decide what to do with all that had happened in her life.
    Finally, she looked up and pursed her lips in a half smile. “Thanks for telling me all that. I’ll think about it.”
    Harold stood and put the chair back under her desk. “You want to come on out and join the family?”
    “I will. I just need a minute more. You can leave the door open.”
    “Okay.” Harold