6. Sky
Love is supposedto be unconditional. It shouldn’t take the threat of illness to pull me back to the man whom I call Dad with no hesitation.
But my heart wavers when Trek and I drive through town to the house I used to call home. Five years is nothing to some, but to those in this sleepy town, it might as well have been a lifetime.
Isolating myself was easier than remaining in a place that irrevocably changed me in a matter of months. The hollow feeling in my gut fuels the anger inward. I was selfish and let the terrible truths drive me away from someone who needed me the most.
A man who didn’t have to save me.
Foster could’ve wiped his hands clean after the fire. Let me age out in the group home. But he chose to find me. To name me as his daughter and shower me with a love I only dreamed of receiving. There are days I wish I changed my last name to Berry instead of clinging to my former life as if it would bring Chase back. I should’ve done everything to erase any trace of the man who truly betrayed me.
My biological father.
He was supposed to protect me and love me wholly and unconditionally. Instead, I was chronically disappointed, just like I am with myself.
Foster doesn’t deserve a daughter as selfish as me.
Our neighborhood comes into view, and all the memories assault me in vivid detail. Details I blocked out because I could. The street where my old house stood. The tomb has since been replaced, but it still doesn’t dull the visceral pain lodging in my chest. Beat up asphalt roads August used to ride on, his bicycle whirling by, taking on air like his hair.
I scowl that image away as I pull into the driveway. I’m not here to think about him—shouldn’t be thinking about him when I’m seeing someone else.
Trek is wordless as he takes my bags and lugs them through the garage and into the house. Everything looks the same on the outside. Except, the shutters are new. Instead of the plastic black ones from before, they’re burned wood with a glossy coating. They’re pretty modern and something I’d choose. Guess Foster got bored with the classic cookie-cutter look and upgraded.
However, I’m assuming it’s the same on the inside. Foster isn’t one for incredible change, and it was Gwen who did all the decorating, according to Trek.
“Dad’s at the station, finishing up some stuff so he can take the time off, and then he’ll be home. I figure I can order something and pick it up for dinner?” Trek says, and I nod stiffly, taking one of my bags from him. With slight hesitation, I head to my old room, bypassing the rest of the house.
My room is at least in its original state. When I left for college, I took a lot, mostly books I wanted to reread, clothes, of course, and some other decorative things. But the rest stayed like a weird shrine of my high school days. Foster figured I’d come home and clean it out once I moved in with Phoebe, but it was easier to buy all new things than risk coming back.
I lie on the bed and sink into my comforter to gaze at the ceiling and the stars still stuck up there with blue, sticky tack.
More memories surface. Specifically, August in this very bed with me. Our first time together isn’t easily forgotten. I unwillingly dip back in time to laying in his arms, feeling the safest I’ve ever felt.
That night cemented my love for him, and I’ve been trying to carve him out ever since—trying to erase his easy smile, the one he reserved for me. The way he anticipated what I needed when our bodies were in sync. The hushed moans that were only heard between us.
Sex bonds people. The role hormones and chemicals play in the body and mind, plus the heart is a lethal combination. One I’ve been running from because I had no choice.
August lied and left me broken. A mirage of the person I once was. But my tattered soul hasn’t clued in, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.
Agitated by my unsolicited walk down memory lane, I sit up and wipe away the silly tears. I’m a grown woman and I have a job to do. Wallowing in self-pity over my first love cannot impact being here for my dad. Even if that means facing Trek because, unfortunately, I can’t pretend he doesn’t exist for the rest of my life. We’re connected through a man we both unequivocally love.
And I refuse to leave this town—and its tainted memories—until he’s better.
* * *
My father’s arms are the strongest I know. When I was an adolescent, he was my biggest hero because of his huge firefighter muscles.
Now, staring into his soft blue eyes, it’s clear he’s my hero on a soul-deep level. He never left, never wavered in his love for his kids, and even in the face of cancer, he takes it in stride despite the edges of worry lining his features.
“I’m going to be okay, baby girl. We’ll speak with the docs and come up with a plan, and everything will be fine,” he says, rubbing my back and giving me an extra squeeze before releasing me.
“I’m a nurse. I won’t believe you until I see it for myself.” I spin to the kitchen and begin setting the table for dinner.
Trek went into town and picked up Foster’s favorite. Fried chicken. I ignore how the smell of grease hardens my arteries while making my stomach growl.
Someone updated the sink—where I wash a spoon for the mashed potatoes—to a large copper farmhouse sink. Foster must have had a bug up his butt to change things since he was home by himself a lot.
That makes my chest hurt.
“I thought you said you were bringing home Sky, not Nurse Sky?” I hear him ask Trek with humor in his voice.
I roll my eyes, fighting a smirk.
“Pretty sure she was playing nurse to both of us long before going to school.”
There’s a definite impasse occurring inside as I smother the urge to laugh. There’s Trek, the fun-loving brother, versus the one who lied.
Focus on Foster.
I turn to him. “So now that we’ve established Nurse Sky is in the house, walk me through what happens next.”
Foster sets his napkin down and pins me with his serious face. “Honey. Not tonight. You just got here, and as of right now, I’m still alive, so?—”
“Dad!” Horror flashes across my face. “Can you please not be funny right now? That’s—that’s…I don’t want to think—it’s too much.”
“Sorry, you’re right, just trying to lighten the mood. I haven’t had you home for longer than like five minutes, and I just don’t want it to be on these terms—me being sick. So do your old man a favor and humor me. Tuesday, you can ask anything you want after the appointment. Okay?”
Unable to refuse his request, I nod and turn my attention to my mashed potatoes, shoving down my unrealistic desire to make everything better immediately. If there was ever a need for a magic wand, today would be it. But this is reality, and there’s no room for fancy, child-like fantasies.