“No, it’s... out of my reach,” he told her, remembering the display he’d seen behind glass at the Smithsonian.
“Where are you from, Hornblower?”
Cal switched his attention to Libby’s father. “Philadelphia.”
“Your work must involve a lot of traveling.”
Cal didn’t bother to suppress the grin. “More than you can imagine.”
“Do you have a family?”
“My parents and my younger brother are still back... back east.”
Despite himself, William thawed a bit. There had been something in Cal’s eyes, in his voice, when he’d spoken of his family.
Enough, Libby decided, was enough. She pushed her bowl aside, picked up her tea with both hands, then leaned back, her eyes on her father. “If you have an application form handy, I’m sure Cal could fill it out. Then you’d have his date of birth and Social Security number, as well.”
“A little snotty, aren’t you?” Will commented over a forkful of salad.
“I’m snotty?”
“Don’t apologize.” Will patted her hand. “We are what we are. Tell me, Cal, what’s your party affiliation?”
“Dad!”
“Just kidding.” With a lopsided grin, he reached over to pull Libby onto his lap. “She was born here, you know.”
“Yes, she told me.” Cal watched Libby hook an arm around her father’s neck.
“Used to play naked right out that door while I was gardening.”
Despite herself, Libby laughed, even as she closed a hand over her father’s throat. “Monster.”
“Can I ask him what he thinks of Dylan?”
She gave his head a shake. “No.”
“Bob Dylan or Dylan Thomas?” Cal asked, earning a narrowed look from William and one of surprise from Libby before she remembered his affection for poetry.
“Either,” Will decided.
“Dylan Thomas was brilliant but depressing. I’d rather read Bob Dylan.”
“Read?”
“The lyrics, Dad. Now that that’s settled, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here instead of driving your board of directors crazy?”
“I wanted to see my little girl.”
She kissed him, just above the beard, because she knew it was partially true. “I saw you when I got back from the South Pacific. Try again.”
“And I wanted Caro to have the fresh air.” He sent his wife a smug look over his daughter’s shoulder. “We both figured the air around here worked well the first two times, so we’d try it again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this place being good for your mother’s condition.”
“Condition? You’re sick?” Libby was up and grabbing her mother’s hands. “What’s wrong?”