31. Franki
thirty-one
Ihit the FaceTime button. I want to see Jonny’s face. More than that, I want him to see mine. My call is automatically forwarded to Jonny’s assistant. I’m not at all surprised. The only part that surprises me is that when I say, “Put him on the phone now,” he does.
Jonny’s face comes into view. His normally perfectly styled white hair is disheveled and a bruise shadows his jaw. He smiles. “Francesca. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I heard.”
His brows come together before he visibly forces his face to relax. “Sweetheart, I’ve been concerned. You didn’t answer your phone. Your mother called me with a crazy story about you being abducted. She went to the police, and they brushed her off. Henry McRae isn’t a situation like your old nanny where she can throw around accusations like that and make them stick. He’s too powerful. She doesn’t understand that he isn’t like other people. She’s not the one in control here, but I thought he’d want to know what she’s doing. So he could prepare a defense, and so you don’t fall for her tricks.”
I watch him, but don’t say anything at all.
He clears his throat. “I thought he’d appreciate a heads up. I can help you. I scratch your back. You scratch mine.”
“He is powerful,” I say.
He nods and gives me a hopeful smile. “You’re a good girl, Francesca. You’ve always been a good girl. When you were little, no one ever had to yell at you to get you to behave. All anyone ever had to do was give you a look.”
I don’t react at all. Just watch and let him talk.
“Honey, I need your help. This is important. I’m in trouble. I should have told you that when I asked you to go out with Leo in the first place. I’ll admit it. I didn’t ask you to date him because I thought you’d like him. I’m losing it all, honey. If you can’t be with Leo, I understand. No one betrays a McRae, but I need you to intervene with Henry. Be a good girl. Tell him to bail me out, Francesca. He can do it with a snap of his fingers. He seems like he cares about you. He’ll do it for you. Tell him it’s a wedding present.”
“Mom had my nanny arrested?” My question is flat. Unemotional.
He frowns in confusion. “Yes. That was years ago. Will you speak to Henry for me?”
“Did you speak up for her?”
“What?”
“What did you do when Mom went off the rails because she was jealous of a nanny?”
He shakes his head. “It was a long time ago.”
“You did nothing. You didn’t get involved,” I say.
“She was just a nanny. It wasn’t worth the publicity. She didn’t end up in prison. There wasn’t enough evidence to even go to trial. It was best to just forget about it.”
“When I begged to stay with you so I didn’t have to go to boarding school? What did you do then?”
He shakes his head, his expression turning desperate. “I wasn’t equipped to take care of a child on my own. You were better off there with professionals.”
“When I left voicemails begging you not to let Mom move me every time I settled in and gave the slightest indication of being happy?”
“Your schooling wasn’t something I knew anything about. I assumed she had good reasons for changing your schools.”
“When I begged you to move me from the last one where I was bullied relentlessly, and she decided to leave me at that one for years?” I ask curiously.
“If you’ve got some laundry list of my parenting failures, I don’t know what to tell you. I did my best. I loved you. That’s what matters.”
“Did you?”
He stiffens with affront. “Of course I did. I paid for you. Even more than what the child support agreement included. Didn’t you see my post online? You should read it. I told you how proud I am of you. You turned out to be beautiful.”
At my expression of disgust, he narrows his eyes. “I couldn’t have been that bad of a father. I still have the ‘World’s Best Dad’ mugs you sent me for Father’s Day.”
Henry’s hand rests on my back. No pressure. Just there.
My breaths come hard, though my face remains blank.
At my continued silence, Jonny’s attitude cracks fully and unrestrained anger pours through. “You selfish bitch! Not everything is about you.”
“This is.”
He frowns and shakes his head.
“You tried to sell me to a business associate for money. You’re trying to use my relationship with Henry. You tried to steal my dog.” I bite out my last words.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that. Say, ‘I’m sorry, Franki.’”
He shakes with fury, his face vermillion against the white of his hair as he chokes on his words. “I’m sorry, Franki.”
I dip my head. “I accept your apology.”
“Will you help me?” he grinds out. “Please. I’m begging you.”
I shake my head. “I’m swamped. You know how it is. You’ll figure it out on your own. I’m blocking your number. If you mail me anything at all, it will be returned to you. If we’re on the same street, I will look right past you. If you speak to me, a bodyguard will remove you from my presence.”
“You can’t do this.” He has the nerve to look like I’ve hurt his feelings.
I press End Call.
I sit like that, leaning forward on the edge of the sofa, phone held loose in my hands between my knees. I stare at the screen, but my vision blurs too much for me to read the numbers in my contacts. A fat teardrop lands on the glass screen. Then another. Another. Hands shaking, I pass the phone to Henry. I choke on my words, but he still manages to understand me through my ragged breaths. “Will you block . . . his number . . . for me? I can’t . . . see what I’m doing right now.”
He presses his lips to my temple. “Anything you need.”
Henry blocks my father for me, then sets the phone on the coffee table and lifts me onto his lap. Oliver whines at his knee. Henry lifts him onto my lap. I wrap my arms around Oliver, and Henry curls his around us both. He holds me, arms tight, rocking gently, a hand on my back and one holding my head to his shoulder as I grieve the loss of the father I never had.