Anna Meets Her Match

“They’re not too big!” Gilli insisted. “And I’m old. I am!”

Reeves pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gilli, I’m not going to argue about this. All I need is you flailing around here on skates. You’ll break a leg. Or worse.”

“All the more reason to teach her,” Anna Miranda insisted.

It was the last straw for Reeves. Lifting Gilli by her upper arms, he sat her in a nearby Victorian lyre-back chair and began stripping off the cheap demi-skates, which consisted of nothing more than rollers attached to a platform that belted to shoes with fasteners. He’d thought to placate her with them when she’d discovered that she couldn’t wear the “real” skates that her mother had sent, but he hadn’t realized she could get the demi ones on by herself, which was why he hadn’t refused when she’d insisted on bringing both pairs with her to Chatam House.

“When you become a parent,” he told Anna Miranda coldly, “maybe your opinion will matter.”

“You know what your problem is, Stick?” she shot back. “Your problem is that you were never a child.”

Straightening, he whirled. “That’s rich coming from someone who has obviously never grown up!”

“And who never wants to, if growing up means achieving pure stupidity.”

“Stupid would be teaching my daughter to do something so dangerous as skating!”

“As opposed to letting her teach herself, I suppose.”

“As opposed to dropping these in the nearest trash can!” he yelled, holding up the skates by their plastic straps.

Gilli threw herself off the chair and pelted from the room, yowling her outrage at the top of her lungs. Reeves sighed, slumping dejectedly. Wow, he’d handled that well. Once more, he’d let the brat get to him, and he didn’t mean his daughter. What was it about Anna Miranda Burdett that turned him into a crude adolescent? And why could he never hit the right note with his daughter?

Father, forgive me, he prayed, squeezing his eyes shut. I fail at every turn, and I’m as tired of me as You must be. In the name of Christ Jesus, please help me do better!

He sucked in a deep breath and grated out an apology. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“Well, you sure do plenty of it” was Anna Miranda’s droll reply. She glared at him from behind folded arms.

Suddenly, Reeves craved a run with every fiber of his being. Maybe some exercise and a long, private talk with God would give him the serenity and clarity to deal with this latest insanity. Loosening his tie, he said to Anna Miranda in what he felt was a very reasonable tone, “Please tell my aunts that I’ve gone for a run before dinner.”

Some seconds ticked by before she reluctantly nodded. Reeves headed for his room and the numb exhaustion of a hard run in the February cold, more heartsick than angry now and helpless to do a thing about any of it.

Intellectually, he knew that Gilli’s behavior had to do with her mother’s abandonment. Marissa hadn’t even said goodbye to Gilli before she’d slammed out of the house and run down the drive to jump onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle, which made her recent communication all the more absurd. Marissa had been a pitiful mother, but Gilli couldn’t know that. All she knew was that her mother had walked out, and she seemed to blame him. It hurt far more than he would ever let on. In fact, nothing in his life had ever made Reeves feel like such a failure as Gilli’s resentment of him, which was undoubtedly why he had been so rude to Anna Miranda just now. For some reason, it embarrassed him to have her know in how little regard his own daughter held him.