9. Something to Cry About – Zoe
Chapter 9
Something to Cry About
PLAYLIST: ”THE HOUSE THAT BUILT ME” BY MIRANDA LAMBERT
ZOE
I turned on the speakerphone option and set my phone on the nightstand, scrambling to grab my discarded clothes off the floor as I waited for whoever was on the other end to speak.
“How you doing today, baby girl?” My dad’s voice washed over me and a wave of relief followed. My knees went rubbery, and I dropped my clothes, sinking down on the edge of Roman’s bed.
“I’m good, Daddy. The real question is, how are you?”
Roman grabbed his big flannel shirt off the floor and draped it around my shoulders. The fabric was still warm, and I pulled it tight around me, snuggling into it as I offered him a smile of gratitude and a quick peck on the cheek.
Roman scooped up his jeans and boxer briefs, mouthing, “I’ve gotta get back to work, baby.”
I nodded as Roman tugged his underwear and jeans back on, then bent to give me one more lingering kiss.
My dad’s voice broke into the heat that washed over me at the touch of Roman’s lips. “I thought about what you said, about wishing I’d stick around for my grandbabies.”
My breath caught, and I leaned forward, my heart stuttering as I leaned toward the phone. “Yeah?”
Roman grabbed another shirt out of the closet and waved to me before hurrying down the stairs, leaving me to have the rest of the conversation with Dad in private.
Dad cleared his throat, a wet, phlegmy sound that made me shudder. “Well... since you and Roman are getting married and grandbabies are a real possibility now, I’ve reconsidered my stance on the cancer treatments and all that.”
“You have?” The room spun, and I went light-headed, my chest aching with the intensity of the hope that filled me in that moment.
“Yeah. I told the doctors here this morning, and now I’m telling you. I’ve smoked my last cigarette. I’ll never pick them back up, and the doctors feel they caught this lung cancer early enough to really do something about it if I’ll agree to the treatments, and to taking better care of myself.”
My heart thundered an erratic beat and my pulse pounded in my ears. “And what did you tell them?”
“I told them I’ll do the treatments, and I’ll work on taking better care of myself, but that I’d like to do whatever we can with a live-in home healthcare nurse. I’ll come to the hospital when it’s necessary, but I’d like to do the majority of what I can do from home, so I can spend more time with you and Roman, and god willing, my future grandbabies.”
Big, hot tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I’d never felt such intense relief before in my life. I reached up and wiped them away with the sleeves of Roman’s flannel shirt. “That sounds great, Dad. What do you need from me?”
Dad coughed, and the plastic-covered hospital mattress creaked as he shifted his weight. “They said they’ll release me in a few days, after they’ve had time to get all the tests they need to figure out what we’re going to do going forward. Get the big house ready for me to come home. Move me into the back bedroom downstairs, so I don’t have to fuss with going up and down the stairs if I don’t have to.”
I nodded, chewing on my bottom lip. “What do you want me to do with the master bedroom? Close it up, or?—”
“No, I’d like you and Roman to move into the master bedroom and be up at the main house with me.”
“Of course, Daddy.” My gut twisted at the thought of moving back into the house where I lost my mother, but I’d do anything for my father, even that.
“And get the guest bedroom ready for that live-in nurse. They said my insurance probably won’t cover it, but I told them it’s that or nothing.”
I waved a hand, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I’ll cover whatever the insurance doesn’t cover, Dad. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of everything.”
Even as I reassured him, I had to wonder whether I was really up to the task, or if I was setting myself up to fail.
“I know that between you and Roman, I don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll see you both in a few days. I’ve gotta go doll, the nurse is here with a tray full of horse pills and syringes.”
“See you in a few days, Daddy.”
After we hung up, I scooped my clothes up off the floor, reveling in the pleasant ache between my legs. The sex between Rome and me had always been good before I left, but what just happened before that phone call was beyond good… it was fucking spectacular.
I shivered with pleasure, deciding I needed a fresh underwear set and a shower because there was no way in hell I was going to face the rest of the day with damp panties that smelled like I just got my brains fucked out by the one man whose heart I seemed built to break over and over again. A man who just made me feel like a goddess… a man I didn’t even begin to deserve, not even for a minute.
I scanned the room, looking for my bag and shaking my head when I spotted it sitting on the handmade wood foot locker sitting at the end of the bed.
“Presumptuous much?” I muttered the words under my breath, even as I rolled my eyes at myself.
Stop trying to look for things to be mad at him about, idiot.
I knew it made sense for my bag to be in his bedroom if we were fake engaged.
Hell, it made even more sense if we were going to go through with getting married for real, like I told him we should when we went to see Dad at the hospital yesterday.
I unzipped my duffel bag and grabbed a fresh underwear set, taking them with me into Roman’s bathroom along with the jeans and fitted black and pink floral patterned tee shirt I’d worn out to the paddock that morning. Not wanting to waste a lot of time, I piled my hair up in a bun on top of my head and skipped washing it, just doing a quick scrub-down to freshen up.
I grabbed a towel off the bar beside the shower and dried off, shimmying back into my clothes. I had my marching orders from Daddy to get to, and I was in a hurry to get up to the big house and get to work on them. Sitting on the edge of Roman’s bed, I tugged my boots on, then grabbed my phone off the night stand, and opened it to text him.
My finger hovered over his contact information, and I winced at “Fuckface” because I knew he wasn’t the bad guy in our story. Not really, anyway. I tapped the edit button and changed his contact name from “Fuckface” to “Rome” before shooting him a quick text.
Zoe
Dad wants us to move into the big house with him. He’ll be coming home in a few days, so I’m going to get things ready up there while you’re working today. Tell you the rest later.
Rome
All right. See you tonight, baby. Text me if you need me.
Zoe
I will.
Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I zipped my duffel bag up and hauled it down the stairs of the foreman’s house with me.
“Might as well take it on up to the big house with me.” I muttered the words to the empty house, as if I needed to explain myself, even though no one was there for me to explain it to.
With a gusty sigh, I let myself out of Roman’s house and stared across the yard at the big house… the house I’d left behind a decade ago.
I never thought I’d come back, but I fell prey to that age-old Achilles heel so many daughters have when it comes to their fathers. For my whole life, my father was so much larger than life that some part of me genuinely believed he was invincible despite the fact that I’d lost my mother when I was eight years old.
I was well aware that death was all too real, but I wanted to believe my strong, workaholic, kickass daddy was immune to the touch of death.
And I did, right up until my phone rang and Roman was on the other end, telling me my father had collapsed and had to be rushed to the hospital.
Ignoring the heavy lump of dread that settled deep in my gut, I let myself into the big house and went straight upstairs to drop off my duffel bag in the master bedroom. Though my dad had only been gone for a few days, there were dust motes floating through the air in the early afternoon sunlight slanting in through the windows, and I knew there was plenty of work to keep me busy here while Roman worked the ranch.
If I just stay busy, I won’t have to think.
Opening one of the top dresser drawers, I pulled out one of dad’s bandanas and tied it around my hair to keep it back out of my face, and to have something of his on me while I worked. Sucking in a deep breath, I gritted my teeth and marched downstairs to get to work on the back bedroom for Daddy, and the guest bedroom for the home healthcare nurse.
I stripped both beds and got the bedding washing, then opened the windows to let some of the stale smell out and fresh air in while I dusted, mopped, and vacuumed the area rugs.
After I swapped the bedding from the washer to the dryer, my gaze snagged on the downstairs bathroom’s closed door.
“Fuck my life.” I squeezed my eyes shut as my heart froze into an icy lump and dropped to my feet.
Forcing my eyes open, I planted my clammy hands on my hips and glared at the bathroom door for a minute before I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.
“I’d rather kiss a rattlesnake on the mouth than go in there. God damn it.”
I hadn’t been in that bathroom in twenty years, and for good reason.
The big, empty house mercilessly swallowed up my words, and I knew what I had to do. Squaring my shoulders, I grabbed a toilet bowl scrubbing wand with the disposable head, bathroom cleanser, glass cleaner for the mirror, and a rag out of the utility room. Then, tools in hand, I forced myself to put on my big girl panties and go into the bathroom.
Flipping on the light switch, I ignored the tight ache in my chest and the cold sweat that trickled down my spine, opting for a cold, detached, methodical approach.
One thing at a time, Zoe. Don’t think, just clean.
I sprayed down the mirror with glass cleaner first, then wiped it to a clean, streak-free shine. Next came the sink, then the vanity, and the toilet after that.
Finally, I forced myself to turn and face the bathtub. For a second, my whole body locked up, but I gritted my teeth and sprayed the cast iron tub down with bathroom cleanser.
“You’re a big girl, Zoe. You can do this.”
Every instinct in my body disagreed as I turned on the tap and wet the rag, then kneeled on the faded pink bath mat and started scrubbing. Against my will, my gaze strayed to a familiar but faint rust-brown blood stain in the otherwise white grout, and I froze. It was so small and faded that most people would never know it was there, would never notice it. But I knew, and I couldn’t help but notice it, despite my father’s endless attempts at removing it over the years.
My vision blurred as an unwelcome memory assaulted me. I dropped the rag and gripped the bitterly cold edge of the cast iron tub with both hands, trying to steady myself, trembling and completely at the mercy of things I’d spent the last twenty years doing my best to forget.
* * *
“But Mom, I don’t wanna! I’m too tired to take a bath and wash my hair, and if we wash it, we’ll have to blow dry it, and that’ll take even longer?—”
“Quit arguing and get your fanny in the tub, Zoe.” My mom blew out a sigh, wincing and pressing her fingers against her temples as she followed me down the hall and into the bathroom. She’d been complaining of a headache all day long, and apparently it hadn’t let up despite the painkillers she’d taken for it. “If you hadn’t gotten filthy playing with Missy and Roman, you wouldn’t have to take a bath and wash your hair tonight.”
Grumbling under my breath, I stripped down and got in, plopping down gracelessly in the warm water she’d run for me. I reached up and tried to take my hair out of its ponytail holder, but yelped. It was hopelessly tangled and knotted around the hair tie.
I cut a sideways glance at my mother. “Hey, Mom, can you get this out of my hair?”
“Of course, baby.” Mom stopped rubbing at her temples and kneeled on the bath mat, reaching for my ponytail.
Her hands faltered.
“What—”
I turned to look at her. Her brow furrowed with confusion and her beautiful green eyes went unfocused as blood poured from one of her nostrils, dripping on the floor tiles beside the bath mat.
I frowned. “Mom? Are you okay?”
She didn’t say a word, but her body swayed and slumped forward, collapsing face-first in my bath water. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and all at once as I stared at her in disbelief and the blood pouring from her nose turned my bath water pink.
“Daddy.” I tried to scream, but the word came out as a hoarse whisper.
Mom’s body tipped further forward, the full weight of her head and shoulders pressing down on my stomach as her torso slumped over the side, too. I tried to move. Tried to push her up, tried to lift her, tried to get her face out of the water, tried to do fucking anything.
But I was god damn useless, and my mother was dead, and her bleeding nose was staining my bath water red around me.
Finally, something clicked into place in my brain and my throat all at once, and I screamed.
“Daddy, help!”
And as soon as those words were out of my throat, they turned into a sobbing, inhuman, animalistic howl of grief. I stroked my fingers through the tendrils of her wet black hair as it floated in the red bath water and screamed my rage and loss at the ceiling until my father barreled into the bathroom, already on the phone with 911, and lifted my mother’s lifeless body off me and laid her on the floor, desperately attempting CPR.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them, shaking and hollow-eyed, watching the scene play out almost like I was floating outside myself.
When the coroner did the autopsy, he said it was a massive brain aneurysm, and she was already dead before her face ever hit the water, but I’ve never forgiven myself for not being strong enough to lift her out of the water myself, even though I was only eight years old at the time.
* * *
Snapping back to the present, I realized I was sobbing, my face hot and wet with tears brought on by the memory of my mother’s death. Turning away from the bathtub, I slumped against its side. I pulled my knees up, rested my arms on them, cradled my head, and I let myself cry.
I let myself cry for the little girl who died right along with her mother in the bathtub that day.
Someone pounded on the front door and I jumped, pressing a hand against my thundering heart. Sucking in a steadying breath, I used the hem of my shirt to scrub the tears off my face, then grabbed the edge of the vanity and dragged myself upright.
Feeling a hundred years old, I shuffled to the front door and opened it, yowling when the man standing on my front porch grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me out, slamming me up against the wall beside the open door hard enough that I saw stars.
“I can’t believe the gall of you, Zoe Brandt, coming back here after all this time and having the audacity to feel sorry for yourself when it’s my sister who’s dead, but I’ll be more than happy to give you something to cry about.”