Chapter 15 #2
She would assure him that even though she was a married woman and would no longer be living there, she was certainly going to play her part at the bookstore.
She had not discussed it with Leon yet, but she was going to.
She certainly had no intention of leaving her dad high and dry.
She was still going to be there to see to it that the business continued to blossom.
*****
She decided to wait until after they had finished eating. The beef stew went well with the bread she had picked up at the bakery. And the strawberry shortcake was his favorite. Topping it off with coffee, she suggested going into his tiny sitting room.
"I really like the gifts," he began, breaking the awkward silence between them.
He was smart enough to realize that she had been very distracted since she returned.
Oh, she had done her job, of course, running all over the place and attending to her duties.
But he had seen the faraway look on her face, and because he had been watching her closely, saw when she stepped away to take a phone call.
He had no doubt it had been from the mysterious man she was seeing.
"I'm glad you liked them." Her smile was fleeting and absent, confirming his suspicion. "Dad—"
He held up a hand and put away his cup. Forcing a smile to his lips, he spoke.
"I know I haven't been the best of parents to you, and I'm sorry for it.
I could tell you that I'm not good at that sort of thing and I have been feeling very sorry for myself.
I could also tell you that it's because of my health.
" He pressed a hand to his chest where his heart was beating in solid, even beats for good measure and noticed the look of concern on her face.
"But that's no excuse. You've given up so much for this old man, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am. " He drew in a breath.
"Dad—"
"No," he shook his head. "Please let me finish.
I want to get this out and clear the air between us.
I resented your mother for a very long time, and that was not fair to her.
She came from money, you see." He had to concentrate on keeping the bitterness from his tone.
"She was an only child, and her parents hated me.
They didn't think I was good enough for their daughter.
But Kathy loved me. Or at least she did at first, and then when things got rough and she was disinherited, she changed.
" He paused for dramatic effect. "I tried to do my best to give her what I could, but it was never enough.
" He shook his head. "I don't know if she slept with that—that conniving Robert Whitlock, but they were best friends.
" He spread his hands. "I felt insignificant, you see.
He was wealthy, and I was struggling. He was everything I was not. "
Kadian sat still for a moment, her heart beating fast. She didn't know how to tell him her news now. But she had to and hoped for the best.
"Dad—"
"I love you," he interrupted again. "You're my daughter, and you've always been there for me. And I appreciate all you're doing. You've turned the place around and made it into something. I'm proud of you."
Tears clogged her throat and made it hard for her to breathe. This was not something she had expected. He had never spoken to her this frankly before, and she felt an awful sense of foreboding settling inside her chest.
She swallowed hard, the weight of years—of silence, sacrifices, and unspoken gratitude—settling over her like a cloak. The lamp's golden glow seemed to ripple between them, reflecting off the rain streaking their window, blurring the world beyond into something soft and forgiving.
She wanted to reach for his hand, but her nerves felt too fragile, her fingers trembling. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you." The words nudged their way out, quiet but determined.
He met her gaze, eyes patient and tired, ready for whatever burden she had carried home. "You can tell me anything, Kadian."
She took a deep breath, feeling the tremor in her chest and the strengthening resolve in her heart. "I know I haven't said much about my relationship. I—I got married. Leon Whitlock and I are married. Almost seven months ago." The admission hung in the air, fragile but unmistakable.
The air in the room felt thick with tension as he stared at her in utter and complete shock.
He had expected her to tell him she was seeing someone, that it was getting serious, but nothing had prepared him for this.
It was worse than he expected, and he wanted to lash out at her.
Taking several deep breaths, he opened his mouth, but the words didn't come out. And he knew exactly what he had to do.
Rising slowly, he grabbed at his chest and swayed, making her spring to her feet. "Dad!"
"My pills," he gasped, gesturing toward his bedroom. "The bedside table. My heart."
He almost laughed as she rushed into the room and came back in seconds, the bottle grasped in her hand.
"Two."
Opening the cap, she shook out two tiny pills and placed them in his mouth. "I'll get you some water." She rushed into the bathroom and came back with a glass half filled.
He drank it all and handed her the glass.
"I need to lie down." He was playing the part perfectly, he thought grimly, as he leaned on her heavily as she guided him into the room.
"Let me pull back the sheets." Her hands trembled as she helped him into bed and took off his shoes. "I should call the doctor—"
"No." He lifted a hand that seemed fragile to her. "It takes a moment, but it will work in a minute. I need to be alone and try to get some sleep. You should do the same."
"Dad—"
"Please." He made his voice sound thready and weak.
She stood there for a minute as if to reassure herself that he was not going to expire, before turning on her heels and leaving.
He waited until she closed the door before grinning in triumph.
The smile faded, his eyes glittering as he processed the stunning and completely unwelcome news.
She was just like her mother, he thought viciously, heart pounding heavily.
His wife had betrayed him with the senior Whitlock, and now his daughter had done the same with the son.
Well, we'll see about that, shall we? he thought with a malicious smile.
If she was hoping for happily ever after, she had another thing coming.
*****
By the time she got to her room, the tears were already running down her cheeks.
She had almost caused his death, and that would have been on her conscience for the rest of her life.
She had told him, and it had not gone well.
What did she expect? Swiping her hand over her cheeks, she sat on the edge of the bed, despair wrapping around her like a heavy cloak.
What was she going to do? How was she going to tell Leon that she needed more time?
And how much was she talking about? Several months?
A year? How could she expect him to continue waiting?
The feeling of impending doom that had been with her for several weeks now had become a reality. It had not been her imagination at all.
Pushing off the bed, she made her way out of the room and went quietly to check on her dad.
Careful to open the door quietly in case he was sleeping, she stepped inside and made her way toward the bed.
He was sleeping, head propped up on pillows, one hand over his chest. Tugging on the quilt, she pulled it over him and ascertained that he was still breathing before leaving the room.
She had to tell Leon.
Closing her bedroom door, she picked up her phone and sat on the edge of the bed, the device digging into her palm.
Taking several deep breaths, she pressed his number. He answered immediately, as if expecting her call. Of course he had been.
"How did he take it?"
"Not well."
"We expected that." She closed her eyes as his deep voice screamed over her ragged nerves. "He'll get over it."
"No." She shook her head wildly, the tears starting again. "He had a heart attack."
"What? Is he in the hospital?"
"No." She gripped the edge of the bed and felt her body start to tremble. "He took his pills and seems to be okay. He's sleeping. I'm going to have to check on him through the night."
"Call the doctor."
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"He's sleeping now."
"You said he had a heart attack. As far as I know, you're not a goddamned doctor. You don't need to be dealing with this."
There was silence for a few minutes that stretched her already worn nerves.
"What does this mean, Kadian?"
"I need more time—"
"How much more?"
"I don't know. Until he's stronger—"
"Ballpark it for me." His voice had turned ominous and distant.
"A few more months. I—"
"Take it. Take a year, several as a matter of fact. Take all the time you need. I'm finished."
She went still. It was as if everything inside her had gone to stone. Her heart felt as if it had stopped beating, and then it was roaring inside her ears and drowning out everything else.
"What?" she asked faintly, the sweat popping up on her forehead. She felt hot, then cold.
"I cannot do this anymore. I think we should get a divorce."
"I have to go." Hanging up the phone, she flung it from her and just made it to the bathroom on time.
As soon as she slid to the floor and hung her head over the bowl, she was violently sick.
By the time she was finished, her sweater was soaked to the skin, and her body was trembling.
Propping herself up against the tiles, she closed her eyes and willed the queasiness inside her stomach to settle.
She was too weak to get up and just wanted to curl on the tiled floor and die. She could not bear it. It was too much.
She felt as if she was being torn into two pieces and had no idea what to do.
She pressed her palms to the cold, hard floor, letting the chill seep upward in a feeble attempt to anchor herself. Tears gathered and spilled, unchecked and silent, merging with the sweat that matted her hair to her forehead. It was impossible to tell where grief began and exhaustion ended.
Somewhere beyond the closed door, the world continued its rhythm—traffic sighing, the indifferent ticking of the hallway clock. But in the tiny, tiled room, time was stuck. Every breath was an effort, every thought bent under the weight of things unsaid and the sudden, gaping absence of hope.
After a while, she forced herself up onto her knees, knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the sink.
In the mirror, her reflection was unrecognizable: eyes rimmed red, lips pressed into a trembling line, an unfamiliar resolve flickering in the depths of her gaze.
She splashed water on her face, not to wash away the pain—nothing could—but to remind herself she was still here, still present, still capable of something, even if it was just surviving the next moment.
Her phone lay where she had thrown it, dark and silent, a mute witness to the shattering of her world.
She stared at it, breath hitching, then wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing herself in as tightly as she could.
For now, that small gesture was all the comfort she could summon.
Tomorrow, the world would expect her to move, to speak, to act.
But tonight, she let the sorrow wash over her, untethered and wild, until at last she drifted into a restless, broken sleep, the sheet wrapped around her like a cocoon.