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Her Daddy’s Debt

Jillian Cumming

Copyright 2018 Jillian Cumming

All Rights Reserved

Author’s Note: All characters depicted are 18 years of age or older and of no relation.

Felicia bounced down the sidewalk of her hometown. Her dad’s little colonial on the corner looked so quaint now that she was back for the summer from her first year of college.

The warmth of the summer air kissed her tanned skin and the sunlight seemed to glisten in the blonde lengths of her hair.

She’d gone out to grab a soda from the 7-Eleven down the street. Gone maybe 15 minutes at most.

But by the time her childhood home came back into view, another car sat in the driveway behind her dad’s.

It was some expensive sporty red coupe, all glossy paint and shiny chrome with tinted windows.

When she climbed the couple stairs of the stoop to the front door, she heard her dad and someone she’d never met before arguing.

“I’m sorry, Bill, I just don’t have the money to pay you right now,” her dad said.

Felicia paused with her hand on the cool metal handle of the screen door.

She didn’t like the tone in her dad’s voice. He sounded worried.

“That’s tough, Sam. Real tough,” the stranger, Bill, said, “But times are tough all around. You think I’d be coming here asking for what you owe me if times weren’t tough?”

“They cut the hours at the plant. No more overtime for at least a month, maybe two. Can’t you wait until then?” her dad said.

“Not if you want to keep your nice little life good for you and your daughter,” Bill said.

“Damn it! If I pay you now I’ll miss the mortgage payment this month. Probably next month’s, too.”

“Not my problem, Sam,” he said.

Felicia’s stomach went all tight. She hadn’t even realized her dad was in any trouble at all. He’d been a good dad, shielding her from that sort of thing, letting her go off to an expensive, out-of-state school.

Just who does this guy think he is?

“I need more time!” her dad said.

Felicia couldn’t take it anymore. She yanked the screen door open and danced her way into the house.

The two men, her dad and this Bill guy, stood in the living room, each of them gripping a sweating brown bottle of Bud.

Her dad was red in the face.

“Hi, daddy!” Felicia said.

“Hey, sweetie. I’m a bit busy right now. Can we talk later?” her dad said.

Meanwhile, Bill kept looking at her. She knew that look from guys at school. Knew that hunger as his eyes ran their way up and down the lithe tightness of her youthful, 18-year-old body.

Bill was a tall, mean-looking sonofabitch with a couple days’ worth of salt-and-pepper stubble on his sharp cheeks. A scuffed-up gold wedding band adorned one finger. His knuckles looked all scarred up.

He reminded her of some heavy from a gangster movie, sent to collect a debt.

Is that was this is? Who is this guy? Why does dad owe him money?

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