Inheritance Tax by InitialLuv
Chapter Twenty-Eight (In which a song is sung, an illness occurs, and a bet is made. Also, Mark pouts.)
McCormick felt his face flush, wondering how much his daughter had witnessed, and heard. Damn. I'm not used to having someone impressionable around. Obviously Martina had been aware of their daughter's presence in the nearby room. That was apparent by the way she had redirected his wandering hands. He grinned slightly, remembering how his hands had moved almost of their own accord to the terrain that had been so familiar those many years ago. By the second month of his and Martina's summer romance, Mark had made his way around three bases, but neither teenager had yet felt comfortable with bringing in a run. Only took another eight years, he thought, as his grin broadened.
Olivia was still gazing at him, and he reluctantly pulled out of the fervid memories. Not now. Not appropriate. He did his best to replace his leer with an innocent smile. He gestured toward the family room, with its mountain of keepsakes.
"So, what should we look at first?"
ooOoo
The next hour found them seated side-by-side on the love seat, a photo album on McCormick's lap and two more tucked in between the father and daughter.
Each photo was described to the best of Olivia's recollection. The older photos' descriptions were mainly from anecdotes during prior viewings. "I think maybe my mom or grandma would be better guides for these baby pictures," the girl admitted, as they pored over the early photographs. "I'm kinda guessing at some of these."
Mark turned a page of the album. As much as he was interested in the petite, pink-skinned baby in the photos, he was mesmerized by the shots that included Martina. In the posed photos, Martina was holding her daughter and beaming at the camera. In the candid photos, where Martina's hair was messy or her clothes stained or mismatched, the young woman was still radiant in the glow of early motherhood. Just seeing her image, so soon after their heated kiss, caused Mark's mouth to go dry and his palms to get clammy.
McCormick realized he'd been staring at the same page in the photo album for over a minute, without any protest from Olivia. He glanced at her self-consciously, only to see that she was smiling, a knowing look on her young features. In that moment she didn't look like him at all – that shrewd expression was pure Sandra.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"No reason." Innocent. The face cleared to match the tone.
Mark leaned back, closing the photo album. "All right, I think you're jumping the gun here. Yeah, your mom and I kissed. But that doesn't mean anything."
"That's not what it looked like."
He stared at her, humiliation causing the heat to again rise in his face. "What do you know about it? You're nine!"
"I'm not blind. Or stupid."
"I didn't say that, Livvie, I just think you need to slow down, okay? Pretty soon you'll be setting up some pretend romantic restaurant scene to get me and your mom to fall in love, like we're in The Parent Trap."
Olivia stared at him, perplexed. He waved a hand weakly. "Old movie. Twins get separated as babies when their parents get divorced, then they meet at camp and switch places – "
"I know. I've seen it. You called me Livvie."
"Oh, that." McCormick smiled. "Yeah. I just thought I should have a special nickname for you. 'Kiddo' is gonna get confusing, since that's what the judge calls me. And you didn't seem too keen on me calling you 'Rivera.'"
The girl looked down at her bare knees, poking out from the hem of her shorts. She seemed contemplative. Mark took a breath. "It's okay if I call you Livvie, isn't it?"
Olivia lifted her head, meeting her father's eyes.
"Can I call you 'Dad'?
A different type of warmth came over McCormick, starting in his chest and filling his entire soul. The photo album slid off his lap as he pulled his daughter into an elated embrace.
"Heck, yeah."
ooOoo
Olivia had awkwardly accepted the hug, and recognizing her stiffness, McCormick had cautiously pulled back. The girl soon begged off to scrounge for a snack, leaving Mark to wonder if he had done something wrong.
When she left for the kitchen, Mark picked up the fallen photo album, and placed it and the two others back on the table. He stood and stretched, winced at the slight catch in his right side, and hoped it wouldn't advance to the point that he would need a painkiller. He was definitely avoiding aspirin now, but that raised another dilemma. If he had to ask Sandra or Martina if they had an aspirin alternative in their medicine cabinet, or if he asked the judge to stop at a drugstore so he could buy something, he knew he'd get worried looks and pointed questions. He wondered how long it would take for his disease to transition from a thing that elicited sorrowful sympathy to a thing that was just a part of who he now was. Still Mark McCormick: an ex-con, an ex-race car driver, a law student . . . He just had to watch what he ate, take his pills, and see his doctor more regularly.
Oh, and try to not get kicked in the kidneys by any bad guys. He smirked. Hmmp.
Mark wandered over to the piano. He raised the fallboard to expose the keys, and stared down at them with the same wary expression he had recently given the table of mementos. Sitting on the bench, he lifted both hands and placed them on the keys in an arched position, ignoring the chafing of the hospital band still on his wrist. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had been taught, decades before.
"You hear that, Markie? That's a D. Like your momma. 'D' for Donna."
Hearing Olivia return from the kitchen, he quickly removed his hands from the keyboard. He turned on the bench to face her. She had a small bowl of what looked like mashed potatoes, and was carrying a banana. When she reached Mark, she placed the banana on the top of the piano, at his eye level.
He looked at the fruit with a questioning expression. "You started the antibiotic pills, right?" she asked.
"No – Well, I just picked them up. I'll take one with my other pills, around dinner." I'm gonna have to get one of those damn pill organizers. "Why?"
She indicated the banana. "You'll thank me later."
McCormick was about to ask when the girl continued. "My grandma calls it the BRAT diet – you know, bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast? The antibiotic pills usually make me sick for a day or two, and the BRAT diet is all I can handle." Still standing, she lifted a spoonful of food to her mouth, and swallowed before she went on. "Once I'm no longer in the bathroom every couple of hours, I can eat normal again." She frowned. "At least, as normal as my grandma lets me. She's really on a health kick since I got diagnosed." She held out her bowl under McCormick's eyes. "See?"
He shrugged. "What's wrong with mashed potatoes?"
Olivia gave him an aggrieved expression. "Nothing's wrong with mashed potatoes. Oh, and with butter. . . I love mashed potatoes. This is mashed cauliflower."
Mark's expression mirrored Olivia's. "That's – just not right. What's for supper, blended broccoli?"
Olivia had taken another bite, and she laughed, putting her hand over her mouth to keep the food in.
Making short work of the snack, she set the bowl on the piano, near the banana. Olivia sat next to Mark on the bench, facing the keyboard. Mark twisted around again so they were both facing the same direction. Olivia tilted her eyes up, giving him a sidelong glance.
"Can you play?"
He shook his head quickly. "No. I thought the judge told you that." He looked downward, returning the glance. "But I heard you can play. I don't suppose you'd play me something."
Olivia didn't respond. She leaned back, nibbling at her lips as she thought. "No. . ." she finally answered, "we'll play something."
"I told you, I can't play – "
The girl waved him off. "This'll be easy. The same finger placement, repeating notes." She pointed to a section of the keyboard. "Put your left hand here."
"I'm right-handed."
Olivia sighed impatiently. "It's the left-hand pattern. If you're going to learn, you're going to do it right." When Mark opened his mouth to contradict her, Olivia predicted his response. "I mean, correctly."
Once Mark had his hand in the correct position, Olivia placed her smaller one to the right of it. "Okay, I want you to watch my fingers, and do the same thing, but on your keys." She proceeded to play the bass hand notes of "Stand By Me."
McCormick looked at the nimble fingers in awe. Glancing up from the keyboard, the girl admonished, "You're not following. You're supposed to copy me." She started over, playing slowly, placing each finger precisely. Mark watched closely, trying to follow along.
As Olivia hit the keys, she began to sing out their notes, to the tune of the intro. "F, F, C-E, F, F. . ."
Mark's fingers halted. Olivia drew her hand back, studying him carefully. "What's wrong?"
"I'm not gonna remember the notes." He shrugged despondently.
The cautious expression on Olivia's face gave way to affectionate annoyance. "Well, not with that attitude," she chided him playfully.
McCormick breathed in, feeling a pang in his chest that he couldn't readily describe. This girl amazed him. Intelligent, gentle, funny, talented, empathic, stubborn, confident. And she was his. He recalled his earlier statement, when first seeing the table she had waiting for him: "I don't think I deserve all of this." He didn't feel deserving of her.
Especially knowing he eventually would have to leave her.
He exhaled, then nodded at his daughter. "Okay," he said, resolute. "Tell me the notes."
After mirroring Olivia's fingers and plinking out the bass hand notes several times, Mark felt more secure playing on his own. Seeing his confidence, Olivia began to pick up the chord melody of the song. Disrupted by the addition, Mark lost his place. "Damn it," he muttered, starting over.
Olivia slowed her normally fluid playing to match her father's tentative speed, and the song began to take shape. Choppy at first, then recognizable, then almost competent. Olivia began to hum along under her breath, not wanting to sing and throw Mark off his playing. She was surprised, then, when Mark began to sing.
"When the night has come,
And the land is dark,
And the moon is the only light we'll see.
Oh, I won't be afraid, no, I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me."
Olivia joined in for the chorus, her voice softly accompanying her father's tenor. Then she stopped playing, abandoning the second verse. Mark stopped as well, leaning back on the piano bench and dropping his hands into his lap.
"You said you couldn't sing." Olivia's voice was challenging, almost accusing.
"I said I couldn't play piano. Everybody can sing."
"No," Olivia said seriously, "not my grandma. And, no – it was the judge. He said you couldn't sing. Why would he say that? You . . . you're good."
Mark grinned. "Prison glee club."
He'd said it without thinking. Just a joke, a quick aside, something he'd say to Hardcastle to ease a tense moment. He panicked, unsure of how to rectify the slip.
"What I meant – when I say that – what I meant to say – " He realized he was restlessly waving his hands, and forced them back into his lap. He lapsed into a nervous silence.
Olivia reached out a hand, resting it lightly on his arm. She had barely touched him when he abruptly rose from the bench, leaving the room without looking back.
ooOoo
She found him sitting at the dining room table, staring at the cheery centerpiece of fake wildflowers in a small tin watering can. He had stretched the hospital band just enough that he'd been able to slip it off his wrist, and was now playing with it idly.
Olivia pulled out a chair beside her father, and didn't miss the tiny jerk he made, as if to move away from her.
"Are you okay?" She also kept her eyes on the centerpiece.
He had to clear his throat before he answered. "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" He tossed to hospital bracelet onto the table, still not lifting his gaze.
"I don't know. You just . . . seem sad." Looking at him as she spoke, Olivia thought that maybe that wasn't quite correct. It was more like scared.
"Just tired." And he was. Even after the short nap in the car, he could feel exhaustion pulling at him. He sighed, then looked up with a frown. "Hey. Your mom said you weren't feeling well today, that you were tired. Are you okay?"
Olivia debated between giving him an answer, or congratulating him on the deft change of subject. The genuine concern on his face did her in. "I'm fine. I just get tired sometimes. So I slept in today, and just hung around the house." When she saw her father's frown hadn't changed, she said defensively, "I didn't even have a temperature."
"Does that happen a lot?" Momentarily forgetting his own weariness, Mark straightened in his chair. "I mean, you getting tired, having to take it easy?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes. I mean, that's one of the reasons we were trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Before we knew it was PKD. I was tired a lot, and didn't have any energy. I just wanted to sleep or lie around." She reached out for the centerpiece, drawing it closer, and began to rearrange the plastic flowers. "My doctor said it's mostly the high blood pressure, but I also have mild anemia, so that makes it worse. I'm on pills for them both, I have been for a few weeks. But my grandma and my mom don't think they're helping enough . . . Well, Grandma thinks my dosage just needs to be adjusted – my doctor said that's not unusual when someone starts on a new medication. But my mom, she worries a lot." The girl sent Mark a knowing look. "Mom called the clinic this morning, but they're only open until noon on Saturdays, so she just made an appointment. I'm gonna see my doctor on Tuesday."
McCormick absorbed the matter-of-fact explanation with a slowly growing anger. I specifically asked Marty to tell me if something was wrong with the kid, and she just shined me on! He pushed away from the table, rising to – well, he didn't know what. Pace, rant, hit something. Except a debilitating sense of vertigo came out of nowhere, and he had to grab on to the back of the nearest chair just to stay upright. The room began to rotate.
"Mark? Mark!" Olivia jumped out of her own chair, rushing to his aid. "Sit down!" She all but pushed him back into a sitting position. "Put your head down," she directed. He complied, somewhat disoriented. He lost a small space of time; suddenly the girl was holding out a glass of orange juice, again calling his name. She took one of his hands and rested the glass against it. "Drink this."
He grasped the glass, and was dismayed to see his hand shaking. Afraid he would drop the juice glass, he wrapped both hands around it before attempting to drink. After a small sip, he grimaced. "Ugh. Pulp."
"Too bad. Finish that." Olivia was perched on the edge of a chair, apprehensively regarding her father.
Mark drank tentatively, feeling vaguely nauseous and not wanting to tempt fate. After a few more sips, the nausea reduced, and was suddenly replaced with an almost ravenous hunger. "I don't suppose you'd want to grab that banana for me?" he asked the girl hopefully.
"No. An apple is better." She was again on her feet, returning to his side with a sandwich bag containing apple slices. She placed the bag on the table in front of McCormick. "Eat these."
"What is this, Alice in Wonderland? 'Drink this'? 'Eat this'?"
She shook her head at his remark, but her unease overshadowed her appreciation of his humor. "Just eat them. Somebody should. My grandma cuts up an apple for me every day, and I'm getting sick of them." Picking up the small bag, Olivia waved it in front of his face. "Here."
Mark obediently reached out for the sandwich bag, but was unable to produce the fine motor skill needed to undo the seal. Olivia took the bag from his trembling hands, quickly opened it, and then handed it back.
The two sat quietly as McCormick varied between nibbling on the apples, and sipping the juice. He gradually felt the hunger back off, but the lightheaded feeling was more stubborn. He dropped his head to the table with a groan.
"When did you eat last?"
Mark turned his head to the side to cast one eye at Olivia. "What, before this? Lunch. At the hospital."
Olivia checked the clock, calculated the hours, then exhaled shortly. "So that was like four hours ago, maybe more?
"Prob'ly." He closed his eyes as an unexpected pain pierced his head.
"Didn't a dietitian talk to you?" Olivia's voice had taken on a brisk, almost lecturing tone. "Mine told me I have to eat different now, with the PKD and the meds I'm on – I bet they told you the same thing, huh?"
Mark grunted an affirmative response.
"Yeah, see? You need to eat more often, like have healthy snacks, or do the small meal thing, okay? Like five little meals, instead of three big ones. I bet you're having a low blood sugar attack." Olivia shook her head again. "You should have eaten the banana."
Mark didn't reply; he kept his eyes shut, and his head on the table. Olivia leaned forward, her stomach twisting with sudden fear.
"Mark?"
No answer.
"Mark? Dad?"
McCormick grinned. He opened his eyes to look at his relieved, but now irritated, daughter.
"You think you can get me another glass of juice?"
ooOoo
Mark had eaten most of the apple slices, and was finishing his second glass of juice, when he and Olivia heard Sandra's car pull up in the driveway. Both the girl and the man looked at the rear doorway in expectation.
"You don't have to mention this right away."
Olivia turned her gaze to her father, staring at him with wide, confused eyes. "What do you mean? You don't want me to say anything about what happened?"
He spread his hands in a pleading gesture. "I feel better now. Really."
Olivia huffed. "Well, I hate to tell you, but you still look pretty crappy. I think they'll figure it out. Wanna bet who notices it first?" She grinned. "Bet you a buck it will be my mom."
"I'll take that bet." He grinned back. "Hardcastle's got a 'McCormick's in trouble' radar. It's probably already beeping."
The sight-seeing trio was now entering through the back door, conversing amiably. Mark did his best to retain a look of healthy innocence, and smiled a greeting at the returning adults. "How were the sights?" he asked. "Did any horsemen throw pumpkins at you?"
Hardcastle edged away from Martina and Sandra, pausing in front of the chair where Mark sat. He scanned the items on the table, looked briefly at Olivia, and then grumped, "Okay, what's wrong?"
Olivia stood up. "Shoot." She left the table, to go down the hall toward her room.
Martina and Sandra were now also looking at Mark inquisitively. Martina sat down in the chair Olivia had just vacated, and carefully regarded Mark. "You look pale. Are you all right?"
Sandra came up alongside the judge, and hearing her daughter's question, she also studied McCormick. Her hand was on his forehead before he realized it, and he jerked back, embarrassed. "I'm fine!"
Milt cut his eyes at Sandra. "He only says that when he's sick."
"C'mon, for Pete's sake – " McCormick broke off as Olivia reentered the room. She held a crumpled one-dollar bill in her hand.
"I think you cheated, though," the girl said, as she held out the bill to her father. "I bet he only noticed you first because you made a joke."
Hardcastle watched the familiar transaction silently. He felt a strange sensation in his chest that he was quick to shrug off as indigestion, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized it as jealousy.
"What was that all about?" he asked roughly, glaring as McCormick pocketed the bill.
"Nothing, Judge." The father and daughter held matching looks of innocence. Neither Milt nor Martina were having any of it. They returned identical looks of expectant impatience. Olivia's innocent expression began to wane, and she fidgeted nervously. "Livvie. . ." Mark murmured, seeing that she was about to crack. "Settle down."
The words came out in a rush. "We were just betting who would ask first. You know, about what was wrong." The girl shrugged at McCormick, who was staring at her in disappointment. "I told you before, I don't lie." After a beat, she added, "A lot."
Milt snorted a laugh. "You sure you're his kid?"
"That's enough of that," Sandra cut in. "What is wrong? Mark, what happened?"
McCormick surveyed the three adults now regarding him with that sympathetic look. Damn. So much for a normal life.
"It's not a big deal. I had a little dizzy spell."
"Try almost passed out," Olivia corrected. Mark slowly shook his head at her, his look of disappointment morphing into frustrated anger. His daughter glared back at him. "Be mad at me! I don't care! As long as you take care of yourself!" Olivia breathed in shakily, then quickly left the room. This time when she went to her bedroom, she slammed the door behind her.
McCormick was again the target of inspection. "Mark, is she right?" Martina asked, reaching to place a hand on his arm. She looked up at her mother. "Mom, I thought you were getting the thermometer."
Sandra shook her head. "He didn't feel warm." She looked down at the table, at the remains of the apples and the juice, and then addressed Mark. "Tell me exactly what happened."
"I was fine. I am fine. Tired, that's all." Even as he said it, in the calmest, most reassuring tone he could muster, he was able to see his white lie wasn't getting any takers. Damn, this is too much truth-telling for one day. He heaved a weary sigh. He really was tired.
"Okay. I was fine, I'm not lying about that. We were looking at the photo albums and stuff, we spent most of the time doing that. Then I needed a break, so I came in here to sit down." At the mention of needing a break, Mark saw both Martina and Hardcastle nod in quiet understanding. He was mildly amused that they both seemed to know him so well.
"Olivia came to check on me, to make sure I was okay, and then we ended up talking about how she has a doctor's appointment on Tuesday." McCormick looked accusingly at Martina. "You didn't tell me about that."
Martina dipped her head in affirmation, but wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me, Marty? I asked you if she was all right!"
"Mark, you can talk to Martina about that later," Sandra said. "You're avoiding the issue."
"The issue is trust, right? Lies? She lied to me!"
"I didn't – not when I talked to you this morning." Martina was looking in Mark's eyes now, and she again rested a hand on his arm. "I didn't call Olivia's doctor until later, after we talked on the phone."
"Yeah, well I bet it wasn't some sudden thing. I'm sure you knew you were gonna call."
"McCormick!" Mark jumped slightly at the judge's shout. The older man was scowling at him. "Drop it," he ordered. "Knock off the act and tell us what happened."
"Not an act," McCormick grumbled, but he grudgingly continued. "When Olivia told me that, about needing to see her doctor, I got a little peeved. I stood up, probably a little too fast, and got hit with a bad dizzy spell. And maybe I lost a minute or two." He shifted nervously in the chair, and scanned the concerned eyes aimed at him. He settled his gaze on Sandra, and spoke directly to her. "One minute I was holding on to the chair, thinking I was going to fall over, and then I was sitting down again, and Olivia was next to me with a glass of juice. I might've blacked out for a few seconds. I don't know."
There was a brief silence. McCormick adjusted his position again, and when he began speaking his voice was quiet, but firm. "I'm really okay now. I drank something, got a little food in me. That really helped. Olivia said something about low blood sugar? I don't know, I thought that was a diabetic thing. . . I think I'm just worn out. God knows why, I got enough sleep in the hospital."
Sandra pulled out a chair, sitting down to face Mark. "Did you take any of your meds right before it happened?"
"No. . . I got my morning dose at the hospital. I usually take the second dose around dinner. The pharmacist said I should start the antibiotic then, too." Mark checked his watch. "Guess I could take them now."
"No, that's not what I meant," Sandra said. "I mean, yes, you should, but I wanted to know if your reaction was from recently taking your pills." She looked at him critically. "Did you feel better after drinking the juice?"
"A little. I didn't feel like I was going to pass out anymore, but I was still pretty shaky. And then it felt like I was starving. Olivia shared her daily snack with me." He gestured at the sandwich bag with its few remaining apple slices.
Sandra rubbed her mouth lightly, looking thoughtful. "I think you may have had a hypoglycemic episode. You can have them even if you're not diabetic. Certain medications can trigger them, they can happen if you haven't eaten in a long time - "
"I ate lunch. Before I left the hospital."
Sandra waved off his interruption. "That was at least five hours ago, now. When did this happen?"
Mark shrugged. "A half hour ago, maybe more."
You can't wait that long between eating – you need to eat more often."
"He needs to eat more?" Hardcastle had moved behind Sandra's chair. "That shouldn't be a problem," he scoffed.
Sandra turned around, looking at the man with a slight smile. "Not more, more often. It's better that he eat several small meals a day, or three small meals with substantial healthy snacks in between." She turned back to Mark. "I know that's what the dietitian would have suggested, so it had to be on the information she gave you."
"Haven't had a chance to read all the paperwork yet," McCormick mumbled at the table top.
"You need to read it," Sandra advised soberly. "Another thing that could cause low blood sugar issues is kidney problems. This is important, Mark. You have to take responsibility for your health. You need to talk to your doctor about what happened."
"What? Wait, no. I just got out of the damn hospital!"
"I'm not saying you have to call him this minute," Sandra clarified. "I think Monday will be fine. And hopefully you'll find out it was just an isolated event. "
"I don't like it," Martina said. "What if he had been alone when it happened? Or God forbid, driving a car?"
McCormick again dropped his head to table, closing his eyes. Martina quickly moved closer to him, leaving her chair to kneel at his side. "Mark? Are you okay?"
Hardcastle snorted. "He's fine. He's just pouting."
Mark's voice was muffled as he spoke into the table. "I'm not pouting." He lifted his head, looking up dejectedly. "I'm just tired of this, all of this. I'm just . . . tired."
Sandra smiled sympathetically at the young man. "That's obvious. You need to get some real, restful sleep. It might have felt like all you did was sleep in the hospital, but I'd bet a lot of that was interrupted?"
McCormick nodded. "I guess."
"So this is what you're going to do." Sandra rose from her chair. "You're going to take your pills, eat dinner with us, and then head to the hotel and sleep for at least eight hours. Preferably more. Either way, I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow afternoon." She left the table to begin puttering around the kitchen area, pulling bowls and dishes and ingredients together.
Mark stared, momentarily too stunned to speak. When he found his voice, it came out as a pleading whine. "Tomorrow afternoon?" He looked at Martina, still at his side. "Marr-teee?"
"Oh, for the love of –" Hardcastle gestured at his friend in exasperation. "Listen to you, you sound ridiculous. Sandra's right, and you're gonna do as she says. Now where's your pills?"
"In my bag," McCormick sighed, "in the family room."
The judge retrieved the duffel bag, bringing it back into the kitchen to drop it on the chair closest to the younger man. Mark glared at him. Martina took Mark's glass, rinsing it and refilling it with water. She replaced it in front of Mark. He glared at her, too.
Milt fought back a grin. "Knock off the pouting. You're setting a bad example for your kid."
McCormick dug into the duffel bag, pulling out prescription bottles. "She's not even here," he muttered. "She's in her room."
"No, I'm not."
Olivia stood in the hallway near the entrance to the dining area. She inched forward, casting an appraising eye at her father, but didn't quite step over the threshold.
Sandra turned from the kitchen counter, wiping flour from her hands. "Are you done moping?" she asked her granddaughter.
Olivia shot a glare at the older woman. The judge jabbed Mark with an elbow, then jutted his chin out at the girl. "Forget what I said before," he said quietly. "Definitely your kid."
Olivia turned to glower briefly at the two men, prompting both to smile at her in return. Frustrated, Olivia looked to her mother. "Is he okay?" she asked, nodding at Mark.
Sandra answered before her daughter had a chance. "He should be fine. We talked about what happened, and he's going to call his doctor on Monday. Everything's taken care of."
Olivia sighed, but still seemed tense. She looked at Mark. "You have to stop doing that. Making me worry."
"Get used to it, kid," Hardcastle said. Mark sent him a look nearly identical to Olivia's recent glare. He was rewarded with a shrug and a grin. Shaking his head at the older man, Mark addressed his daughter.
"I'm sorry, Livvie. Really."
Olivia's expression immediately softened. She came quickly to the table, wrapping her arms around her father in an appreciative embrace. Then, pulling away as fast as she had approached, she called to Sandra. "Grandma? Do you want any help?"
Mark watched in silence as the girl began to assist her grandmother in preparing dinner. He was still slightly shaken by the sudden hug, and just as sudden release. He was reminded of how awkward they'd both felt when he'd hugged her after the "Can I call you Dad?" inquiry. He wondered if their forced separation was to blame for these stilted demonstrations of physical affection. I get enough of that porcupine response from Hardcastle, he thought sadly.
The porcupine in question was jabbing him again. "Are you gonna swallow those pills or take them by osmosis?"
McCormick looked down, seeing he was still holding the pills he'd been about to take when Olivia had returned. "Funny, Judge." He tossed the pills in his mouth, following them with a long drink of water. "I'm surprised you know what osmosis means," he said.
"Sure I do. And I know what recalcitrant, irksome nudnik means, too."
McCormick stared at the older man, nonplussed. From the kitchen area, he heard his daughter's voice pipe up.
"Obstinate irritating pain in the neck!"
Martina began to laugh, and Hardcastle's face spread in a wide grin.
"Got it in one!" the judge cheered.
Author's Notes: Discerning readers will recognize the joke in McCormick referencing the movie "The Parent Trap." In the original 1961 version, the role of the father (Mitch Evers) is played by Brian Keith.
The song McCormick sings is "Stand By Me" (1961), written by Ben E. King, Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller.
-ck