Chapter 36
SADIE
“This is just a little something from our family to wish you Merry Christmas.” My mom hands a basket of baked goods to my dad’s secretary, Deborah.
“Oh, Lynette, you’ve outdone yourself.” She points to one of the candies wrapped in waxed paper. “Is this your famous caramel?”
My eyes drift around the space as the two women chat.
This was supposed to be my office. Deborah should be my secretary by now—another part of my life plan that didn’t play out how I wanted it to.
“Sadie?” My dad waves me into his office, keeping his hand on the door until I enter, then he shuts it. “I’m glad you came here today with your mother. I wanted to talk to you about business.”
Running my dad’s company was the dream. I worked for him all through high school and college, and that’s where my mind is still at, even today.
“This operation is small potatoes compared to what you and Nash built in Chicago.” He takes a seat in his massive leather chair behind his desk. “But we’re profitable and growing at a steady rate.”
“I don’t know what Nash and I built in Chicago.”
“That’s right.” He shakes his head, forgetting what I forgot. “Nash has told me a lot about it—about the locum tenens you introduced.”
“He has?”
“Yeah, he’s been down here a few times, comparing notes, sharing information. He knows his stuff.”
Why didn’t I know my dad and Nash were talking and hanging out? It’s not like Nash and I are constantly together. I guess it’s expected that he’d fill his empty days in Skaneateles with other stuff. I just didn’t think about it. In a lot of ways, Nash only exists when he’s with me, like a side character in a plot you only see when they’re in the scene with the main character.
“But as impressive as Nash is, I’ve been more impressed with what he’s told me about you and your ideas.”
My heart lifts. Impressing my dad in a work setting was always at the forefront of my mind.
“I think I was unfair to you all those years ago.” He clears his throat, erasing the hint of emotion I thought I heard.
“How?”
“I didn’t put enough trust and belief in you.” He puffs out a humorless laugh, another mechanism to hide his vulnerability. “I probably micromanaged you to death, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
There’s only been a few times in my life when I’ve heard my dad utter the actual words, I’m sorry. His apologies usually dance around it but never include it.
“I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished. I really am.” He smiles even as his eyes fill with moisture. “You’re smart, and even though you can’t remember everything you’ve accomplished in the last three years, you still should feel proud. I’d be honored to have someone like you take over my business any day of the week.”
I blink back at him, almost like I’m watching in real-time as years of arguments, frustrations, and complicated feelings fall away from our relationship one brick at a time.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to get out. “And I feel like I owe you an apology too. I don’t remember all the ins and outs of why I pulled away from you so much, but I know it wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry I didn’t stick around and figure it all out. I wish I had.”
He wipes a tear.
I saw him cry once at his mother’s funeral when I was a little girl and once in the video of Tate’s funeral.
And now I’ve seen him cry over me and the lost years between us because we were too stubborn to forgive and forget.
“Let’s do better moving forward?” I offer.
“I’d like that.”
I’d like that too.
That simple admission releases years of weight holding me down. I can’t remember how it held me back. I just know deep down that it did.