33. Lucas
33
LUCAS
Darien, Connecticut, hasn’t changed a bit in my brief absence. It’s still stuffed with money and prestige, with mega-mansions around every corner, all trying to outdo each other in opulence.
My stomach churns as I pull up in front of the red brick Georgian Colonial that I haven’t visited in so long. It’s the site of painful memories, the sprawling estate that my mother walked away from.
I grew up here, raised by a series of nannies as my father built his business empire. His empire got bigger and bigger, but it never seemed to be enough for him.
The one thing I am grateful for is that when I woke up this morning, I quickly realized that we hadn’t been missing for weeks. I’d woken up the morning after the lightning strike that blew up my life.
It was Brooke, trying to call me, that woke me up.
So she’s here safe, too.
I assume Serena is as well, and even though that woman annoyed the hell out of me, I’m glad for that.
I didn’t even call my father to tell him I was coming. I just felt drawn to come see him in person today. It had been a few weeks since he visited the office, and he hasn’t even been calling that often, now that I think about it.
Our house looms over me as I pull up in the circular driveway and park. Ten bedrooms, two guest houses that no one ever visits, and it feels like a mausoleum.
The house is situated on ten sprawling acres, and as I climb out of the car, I spot my father walking across the broad emerald lawn. The gardener, who lives in one of the guest houses, has a full-time job maintaining it.
Today, my father is walking by the pear tree grove, which is a hopeful sign. From what I gather from his nurse, he hardly leaves the house most days, just wanders around the rooms aimlessly.
He’s leaning on his cane, and his nurse is sitting on a bench nearby, reading a book.
I cross the lawn, waving at him.
He spots me, and the strangest thing happens.
His face lights up, and he waves at me.
When I reach him, I see that he’s wearing his bathrobe and pajamas. He’s got a bit of stubble. This is a man who used to take so much pride in his appearance.
I stop and he looks at me with the strangest expression, and then something else amazing happens. He puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Are you all right?”
I was prepared for insults, snarky undercutting, maybe some comments about how I’m destroying the legacy he built from scratch.
Anything but this.
I swallow hard. I have to deal with the Brooke situation. I have to deal with the fact that I started something that I could never finish, because I’m a selfish bastard and I wanted it so much.
That’s why I didn’t answer when she called. I’m not ready to deal with what I need to do .
“I’m fair to middling,” I say. “I’m not sure about the McRawlins contract. I missed an important call from them yesterday afternoon. You know how demanding they are. If everything isn’t done exactly their way, if Mr. McRawlins feels the least bit insulted, he’ll pick up his toys and go home. Stomp off and find someone who will jump higher when he snaps his fingers.”
My father shakes his head. “Fuck Mr. McRawlins.”
I almost fall over where I’m standing. “Excuse me, what?” I laugh. “This is a huge project for the company. Everybody’s trying to land the McRawlins contract.”
My father nods. “They are, and you know what?”
“I’m not sure I know anything anymore.” Reality is fluid. I was just abducted to another universe and lived in another man’s body and then woke up in my own bed. I made love to a woman who is a million times too good for me. And now my father’s being nice to me.
And he’s cursing out the people who could sign a contract worth several hundred million dollars.
My father fixes me with a cool stare. “Mr. McRawlins has burned through several other property development companies, and he’ll burn through more, because nothing is ever good enough for him. That’s probably why I can’t stand him. He reminds me of myself.”
And now my father has suddenly become self-aware?
I surreptitiously pinch myself. Ouch. Yeah, I’m awake.
My father starts walking towards the house, leaning heavily on his cane. He still has left-sided weakness and always will.
“How’s the physical therapy going?” I ask him. “Four sessions a week, right?”
He shrugs. “For what? What am I trying to get stronger for?”
I glare at him. “For me. Wow, thanks, Dad. Way to make me feel special. Seriously? I’m not worth sticking around for? Maybe someday I’ll have grandkids. Maybe they’d like to know their grandfather.”
I don’t know why I just said that. And now my father’s suddenly looking at me with real hope in his eyes. “Grandkids,” he says wistfully. He picks up the pace a little. There’s more pep in his step. “A chance to do it right this time. I could spoil them rotten. Teach them how to play golf. Be there for them, and for you.”
“You could, if you did your damn physical therapy.” I scowl at him. I shoot a dirty look at his nurse, who stood up and is now trailing after us.
“I told her not to tell you about it, because I know you’d be all over me. Don’t get mad at her. I sign her paychecks.”
I heave a sigh.
“You’re a stubborn old ass. And you’re going to start doing your physical therapy again. I’ll come out here and work while the therapist is here.” I nod to myself. “Also, you’ve lost weight, and you’re going to start eating more. I can make it here to dinner most nights. And you will finish your damned meals.”
“Well, look at you and your brand new brass cojones.” But he’s smiling.
We walk in silence to the house, with the nurse still walking behind us, and he slowly, carefully climbs up the broad front steps, and I resist the urge to help him. We sit down on the front porch swing seat, and he sends the nurse into the house to bring us drinks.
She returns with a tray holding a glass jug of lemonade and two glasses that she’s already poured for us, setting it down on the table and then retreating into the house.
“Call me if you need me,” she says, sticking her head out the door.
“Physical therapy!” I snap at her, as I pick up my glass.
She sighs. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but it’s patient confidentiality. And he didn’t want me to tell you.” And then she vanishes inside the house.
“Back to McRawlins. What will happen if we don’t get the contract?” my father asks.
“Uh . . . well, you’ll be extremely pissed.”
My father grimaces. “Okay, it’s fair you would think that, because I made you feel that way. Things have changed. Number one, no, I won’t get mad, because that asshole is impossible to please, and it would have been a miserable experience having their business anyway. They’d have bitched about everything and tried to nickel and dime us for every single nail and stud. Number two, without this contract, will we go broke? Will we lose everything? Will I be out on the street in a cardboard box, and will you have to get an OnlyFans account to pay for those Italian shoes of yours?”
I choke on my drink. I cough and cough. My father pounds me on the back, surprisingly hard. Okay, he’s still a strong old bastard.
“Man up, for God’s sake,” he says. “You think I’m going to be the one with the OnlyFans account? Like anyone wants to look at my wrinkly old ass.”
I cough again. “Don’t do that to me when I’m drinking.” My eyes are watering.
“OnlyWrinkles,” my father muses. “That’s not the worst idea. Might be a market for it. People are weird.”
“Please don’t,” I beg him. “Don’t put that image in my head.”
We settle back down and I manage to get down some lemonade while shooting my father warning looks.
“Anyway, what happens when we get more and more accounts is that we have more and more property to maintain. More and more work. Less and less time for any kind of life. We could stop chasing new business right now, spend our energy on maintaining what we have, and live the rest of our lives in supreme comfort. ”
I stare at him in shock. “Seriously. Did you have another stroke? You’d tell me, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But no. I just got all of your voicemail messages last night, and they made me think.”
I go cold as ice.
I set my drink down carefully.
I poured my heart out in those messages. I told him how much he hurt me, how much I loved him, how sorry I was that I was such a disappointment to him.
I only did it because I thought they’d never go through to him, and it was a way to express the things I’d always felt but also been afraid to say. Every time the stress was getting to me in Green Acres, I’d sneak off and call him and leave another message.
I left him fifteen messages. He must have gotten them all in one day.
“I gathered you were having a bad day. Worrying about the McRawlins thing,” he says, staring down at the ground. “And it’s my fault that you felt that way. Every single bad feeling you’ve had is my fault. I made my pain yours. I’ll never forgive myself.” Suddenly, his eyes flood with tears. They stream down his cheeks and splash onto his shirt.
My father is crying.
I have never seen him cry a day in his life.
I reach out and hug him, and he freezes, and then he hugs me back and just sobs. We both cry, so hard that we’re shaking.
“Am I too late to make it up to you?” he asks me.
My heart is in my throat, and my eyes burn with tears. “Of course not.”
He looks around. “I’ve been thinking I should sell this place. I could move a little closer to the city. Make it easier for you to come around and be a pain in the ass.”
I grin at him. “Whatever you want to do. I promise you, no matter where you live, I’m going to be coming around multiple times a week, and I will be such a pain in your ass, I’ll give hemorrhoids a run for their money.”
My father smiles wryly and sniffles. “Well, I haven’t made it pleasant for you to visit me, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”
I lean back and wipe at my eyes with my sleeve. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m saving all the abuse for you.”
My father lets out a long, slow sigh. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t know if I could sell this house or not. It’s the only memory I have of your mother.”
“My mother?” I say, shocked. He never talks about her.
“Yes. I loved her, you know. I never showed it, not a day in my life, but she was the only woman I’ve ever loved, and I drove her away.” He smiles at me sadly. “That’s what Sheffield men do. We’re poisoned inside, and that poison leaks out and corrodes everyone who gets close to us. My mother was a good mother for maybe the first five years of my life, but she cried all the time. And my father hit her in front of me, and I was helpless to stop him. And then she vanished into a bottle. That’s why I never drink. I was the one who found my mother’s body. Did you know that?”
“No,” I say, horrified. I think he was ten when she died.
Tears well in his eyes as he stares into the distance, remembering. “That’s what we do to women. We’re broken. We can’t help it. And grandchildren are probably too much to hope for, and more than I deserve. I can’t ask that of you, passing down the family curse. And while I’m above ground, I promise you that I’m going to be different. I appreciate what you’ve done with the company. You’ve done an amazing job. I was just so pissed off at being weak and old and not able to run things anymore, I took it out on you.”
“I know,” I say, and my eyes are watering again. “And you’re not weak. Go ahead and punch me in the arm. Do it. Ow!” I add as he socks me hard.
“Oh, no need to play it up on my account. ”
“I’m not playing it up.” I glower at him, rubbing my arm. “Child abuse! I’m reporting you to the authorities.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” he scoffs. “Bring it. I have better lawyers than you. They’ll eat you for lunch and crap you out. Now finish your lemonade. Mrs. Henson makes it from scratch.”
“You finish your lemonade,” I tell him, and I watch as he drains his glass.
I lean back in my chair. I’ll have lunch with him and make sure he eats all of it. And the physical therapist will come over this afternoon, and I’ll watch my dad work out, give him grief, and tell him to quit whining if he complains.
And in the coming days and weeks, I’ll visit him as often as I’ve promised—or more often. And when I’m not with him, I’ll work until I pass out from exhaustion.
I’ll need to keep myself busy night and day, because I won’t have Brooke by my side anymore, and I don’t want leave a free second to myself. Not ever again.