CHAPTER 19 #2
I jerked at my thoughts spoken aloud, turning to find Dad standing in the doorway.
Dad’s dark hair was wet, dripping onto the shoulders of his dark gray T-shirt. He’d shaved, too, scrubbing off the stubble and leaving a slightly pink canvas behind. His eyes were still hollow, and his cheeks were still pale, but he looked more alive than when I’d last seen him.
He stood just inside the study doorway, eyes locked onto the picture frame in my hand. “Do you remember why we went to the beach that day?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “Because Destelle wasn’t coming home. You were trying to cheer us up.”
Dad shook his head slightly. “You spelled perspicacious right.” His eyes were still on the picture frame.
“You’d been struggling with it for weeks.
You kept switching the P and the I, leaving out a C.
You kept spelling persipacious. No matter how many times we practiced, you kept spelling it wrong.
” He smiled at the memory. “You finally got it right, so we went to the beach.”
I turned my back to him and set the photo down, and from that angle, he wouldn’t have been able to see my hand tremble. “I don’t remember that.”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it? How easily we remember the awful parts, but not the good ones.”
The words sounded like a hidden lesson. I felt my shoulders stiffen. “I’m sorry for being disrespectful,” I got out. “It was wrong of me. And it was wrong of me to talk to Destelle the way I did. I shouldn’t have stormed out. I’m sorry.”
I expected him to nod, to dismiss me, to turn into a ghost like he always did. In fact, aside from our fight, this was the longest conversation we’d had in months. Surely it wouldn’t last much longer.
Dad scratched his cheek, uneasy in his newly scraped skin. “Do you want to have a seat?”
I looked at him in surprise. Wordlessly, I sank into the chair under the window, in the direct sunlight.
Dad sat down at his desk, and I wasn’t sure if it was because it was probably too big for the space, but Dad looked so small behind it.
Shoulders hunched ever so slightly; a man with his confidence lost.
I swallowed hard, and even though I was going to wait until Dad spoke first, I suddenly needed to chase away my thoughts. “Mom said she talked to you.”
“Nellie,” Dad began, and then stopped. It took me a moment to realize he was only speaking my name as if trying it out for the first time in a long time. “Eleanor.”
And then he lifted his gaze, settling on me.
Dad’s eyes were dark, the same eyes all of us siblings shared.
They were dark, could almost perfectly blend in with his pupils, and from here, they were bright.
For the first time in a while, they were bright.
“Have you ever done something you knew was wrong because you were afraid?”
It was a rhetorical question. He knew about the garden. He knew my answer. Still, I nodded.
“That’s how I felt. Realizing you were following in my footsteps, I was scared. And I said things I shouldn’t have.” There was another long pause. “When I look at you, do you know what I see?”
S-I-L-L-Y, I spelled the word on impulse. “Someone misguided?”
“Someone smart.” Dad scratched his cheek again. “Calculating. You know what you want, and you figure out how to get it.”
I turned away, feeling too exposed. My eyes landed on his framed Mullhound College diploma on his wall, right beside his law degree from Harvard. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s not. Not inherently. But you have a hard time deciding on what you want.”
I grumbled, “I know what I want.”
“Tell me, then. Tell me why you chose Mullhound. And don’t say it’s because I went there.”
I whipped my head toward him. “Why is it so wrong of me to want to do something because you did it?”
“Because you need a reason for you.” He pressed his lips together. “You can want to go to Mullhound because I went there, but you also have to go there because you want to. You have to want it for yourself, not to impress anyone else.”
“If Destelle had wanted to go there, you would’ve been happy for her,” I grumbled, now turning to face out the window, because I couldn’t stand looking at him or his framed degree any longer. “You wouldn’t have questioned it.”
My words were the grumble of a child’s, pouting, embarrassing, and I was grateful my face was turned away.
“When I look at Destelle, I see all the things I forced her to do against her will,” Dad told me quietly.
“I see the scholarships, the fundraisers, the clubs. We forced her into AP classes in high school, ten hours of volunteering every week, keeping her so busy she had no life outside of what we wanted. I see all the things she wanted to do that I forbade her from doing. Sleepovers, birthday parties, dating.” Regret clogged his voice.
“I look at her and see a spirit I’d unknowingly crushed. ”
My gaze unfocused a little. I didn’t remember my parents having such total control over her. I remembered her being out of the house a lot, and I remembered her studying all the time, but I never thought about the why.
“Around here, Nellie, that’s what people do.
They see their children as a car they can steer.
That’s what they encourage. And your mother and I held onto Destelle’s steering wheel until she threatened to crash the car herself.
I don’t love Destelle more than I love you.
” The undercurrent in Dad’s voice caused the pressure in my eyes to increase.
“I love all three of you all the same, but I also love you differently. I love Destelle for her adventurous spirit, and I love Jamie for his unshakable strength, and I love you for your steadfast determination. I don’t want your mother and I to steer your car, Nellie.
I don’t want you to let us. I want you to steer it yourself. ”
I tried to discreetly reach up and swipe at my cheek, but another tear fell down the other. “Even if I steer it to Mullhound?”
“You don’t have to go to Mullhound for me to be proud of you.” There was a soft sound, like Dad standing from his chair. “I’m proud of you, regardless.”
I let out a sharp breath, as if he’d knocked the wind out of me.
I’m proud of you, regardless. It sounded so simple, but just in the same way the sun shining through the window warmed me, those words melted me on the inside.
I kept my face turned away from Dad as I cried, but I couldn’t quite keep silent.
And then his arms came around me, and he bent down so that he could envelop me in the slightly awkward hug.
“I didn’t realize how important it was for you to hear that from me,” he murmured as I cried harder, because I couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged me like this.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it, but know that I’ve always felt it. ”
I tried to swallow a sob. “Even if I have a big ego?”
“You get that from me.” His hand smoothed down my back. My heart cracked apart, but this time, warmth chased away the sadness, both bitter and sweet. “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I’m sorry.”
Dad held onto me as I cried from all the pent-up feelings I’d been carrying these past weeks.
Heck, these past months. Tears of disappointment and worry and pressure, Dad’s presence was a reassurance through it now.
It felt like a dream, something I’d hoped for but never thought I’d get.
I wondered what kind of talk Mom ended up having with Dad. It must’ve been a good one.
“I’m not saying don’t pursue law,” he murmured, wiping away my tears as I pulled back. “I’m saying go to college and study what you want. I’m saying don’t lock it down in your mind. Don’t be like a dog with a bone and miss the juicy steak sitting behind you.”
I choked on a laugh.
“I know,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Leave the metaphors to Jamie.”
Dad passed me a tissue from the box he had on his desk, and I watched him discreetly rub at the corner of his eyes. “When did you talk to Beck all those years ago?” I asked Dad, afraid to look at his expression in case it hurt him. “I… never realized you had.”
Dad’s face did change, guilt now touching it. “His father told me he’d been having issues with Beck. Back then, since I’d mostly been on the juvenile circuit, he asked me to give Beck a little talk. It was before the fire—right before.”
Right before. That same night.
“I thought Beck was like the other teenagers I’d come across. Troubled. Filled with emotions they couldn’t handle and let out their anger in ways they shouldn’t. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was never Beck’s fault, but his parents’.”
My heart started beating faster. “What did you say?”
“I told him that reputation sticks. That people will only give you so many chances before they stop trying, and once people decide you’re trouble, they wash their hands of you.’”
The other kids don’t like me, Beck had said the night of the fire. Your dad doesn’t like me. My parents only pretend they like me when other people are around.
And then, more recently—You threw me away.
“I thought he was giving his parents grief.” Dad moved and leaned against the edge of his desk. “It didn’t occur to me that it could’ve been the other way around. It’s… another big regret of mine.”
“He said he hasn’t talked to his mom in four years.”
“Some people shouldn’t be parents. The Jennings’s are an example. As a parent, you’re promising to be there for your child when they need you.” His eyes turned sad. “I don’t think anyone’s ever chosen Beckham in his life.”
It broke my heart to think of how similar Beck and I could be—wanting the love of our parents, wanting their pride. I’d been upset when Dad stopped supporting me for a couple of months, but Beck hadn’t had the support of his parents for years.
I dropped my gaze to my lap. “Destelle chose the bad boy.”
“She chose someone with a rocky past, but with a good heart. It’d be different if she’d chosen an ex-convict—well.
Hang on. She kind of did.” Dad shook his head.
“My point, though, is that bad boy is just a label. Harry refused to live by it. And with Beck coming home… I’ve got a feeling he’s trying to refuse it, too. ”
For half of my life, I’d tried everything I could to be exactly like Destelle.
I tried to dress like her, tried to talk like her, and dreamed of growing up to be just like her.
The other half of my life, I’d done everything in my power not to be like her.
I forced myself to like the things she didn’t, forced myself to do the things she hated, and forced myself to act the way she never did.
I thought you were better than your sister, Mrs. Johnson had said. Better than kissing bad boys.
Four years ago, I didn’t choose Beck because I did not want to be like Destelle.
But now, whatever choice I would make wouldn’t be choosing it because of her, or choosing it for my parents.
I’d be choosing it for me.
I looked up at Dad, and for the first time in a long time, my head felt clear. There were no words spelling out frantically in my mind. Just calmness. “Can I have my phone back early?”
Dad arched a brow. “Why?”
“I have plans to make.” My lips twitched. “And I have a car to steer.”
I didn’t want your mother and I to steer your car, Nellie. I want you to steer it yourself. And I would.
Dad just gave a small chuckle, reaching around his desk to pull my phone from his main drawer. “Don’t forget a seatbelt,” he said as he stretched it out to me. “And don’t crash it into a tree.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said, grabbing my phone, but neither one of us pulled back for a moment. We stood there, bridging a gap that’d felt too large for too long. “Maybe let’s just leave the metaphors to Jamie.”
And for the first time in what felt like a long time, Dad and I shared a grin.