5.
Jonathan
I hung up then stared at my phone for a long moment. Ada Rose sounded strange on the call, like she was in pain of some sort. The strain in her voice was evident. Something in my stomach twisted at the notion. It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t anything to me. So, why did I care about her wellbeing?
Okay, I knew why. It was because of the funeral. A week ago, I’d wanted her out of Mam’s house and out of my life. But now, well, I felt like maybe I’d formulated the wrong first impression of her, an impression that was shadowed by my poor opinion of her father. Ada had walked up to the front of the church in a conservative black dress and matching shoes, her shoulders tense like she was physically carrying her grief, and my throat had constricted. I hadn’t seen it before, but I’d seen it then. She’d truly loved her father, and from her heartfelt words, I’d sensed she’d loved Mam, too.
She’d stood in front of the packed-out congregation, speaking of our parents with such loss and sadness, the weight of their death heavy in her words. I’d felt her emotion like a whack to the chest. It had been genuine. The woman had had a deep fondness for my mother, and I’d felt a mix of discomfort and gratitude. I could’ve been the one up there talking about Mam had it not been for our estrangement. Instead, I’d had to sit silently in a pew like a stranger.
But I was grateful because Ada had been a friend to my mother when I’d been too stubborn, resentful and proud to be in her life.
It was half the reason why I’d extended the olive branch and offered for her to stay on at the house at a cheaper rate. She’d declined, having already found somewhere else, and oddly, I was disappointed.
It meant I wouldn’t see her again, and after how she’d spoken in the church, the stories she’d shared about Mam … I wanted to crack open her brain so I could steal more memories. I was greedy for stories about my mother during the years we’d been apart.
And perhaps that was why I’d cut my last meeting of the day short. For some strange reason, I wanted to be at the house when Ada arrived to collect her father’s belongings. Shamefully, I admit I looked through the old photo albums. There were endless childhood photographs of Ada and her sister, the tall red head from the funeral. Some at the beach and others at their house for birthday parties and special occasions. It was difficult to imagine Conor Rose compiling all those pictures. It just didn’t mesh with the man I knew him to be. Perhaps he hadn’t put the albums together. Ada’s mother could’ve done it, and the albums had just so happened to end up in his possession.
Speaking of her mother, the older red head had also been at the funeral. She’d had the tan and style of dress of someone who lived in a sunnier climate, and she’d approached me at the bar a few hours after I’d spoken with Ada, who’d left at that point.
My half sister, Maggie, had come with me for moral support, but she’d also gone home by then. I’d sat by the bar like a lonely, miserable sod, nursing a glass of bourbon while listening to people talk about my late mother and her husband. I’d volunteered myself for the agony of hearing about times other people spent with Mam, times I hadn’t gotten to enjoy. Jealousy and regret had threatened to consume me.
I’d been staring at my drink, wading through internal misery, when she’d approached.
Ada looked nothing like her mother, who was tall and slim like the sister, attractive for her age. What I hadn’t found attractive was how her attention had flicked to my watch, her eyes flaring like she knew exactly how much it had cost. I expected that was the reason for the coy, interested smile she’d bestowed upon me.
“Hello again.”
“Whatever you’re offering, I’m not interested,” I’d told her gruffly. Her eyebrows had jumped. Unfortunately, my rudeness hadn’t deterred her.
“It’s never good to wallow in grief alone. Always better to have some company,” she’d replied and placed her hand atop mine. I’d almost snorted. She was confident, I’d give her that.
Moving my hand away from hers, I’d lifted my drink, downed the last of it and then stood. “Like I said, I’m not interested.”
“Are you interested in Ada?”
I’d stilled.
“My daughter,” she’d went on when I gave no response. “I saw the way you looked at her, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Ada likes boring, safe men.” She’d paused to eye me. “And I have a feeling you’re anything but.”
Something about the statement had bothered me. She’d thought she was buttering me up, but I’d only found her irksome. Who the hell spoke about their own daughter that way? Ada deserved better than for her mother to deride her choices in men as boring. And sure, I certainly didn’t consider myself boring, but I wasn’t unsafe . Did I look like the kind of man who went around breaking women’s hearts? Because that certainly wasn’t the case. One could argue the opposite was true.
“It’s a good thing I’m not interested in your daughter, then. Goodnight.”
With that, I’d left.
And now, I stood by my mother’s kitchen window, watching as Ada Rose parked her Yaris outside the house, the engine loud like it needed to be put on life support. It was late in the day, almost full dark. She’d said she’d come from work, and I wondered what she did for a living. She didn’t emerge right away. Instead, several minutes passed while I waited for her to appear. What was she doing? Making a phone call? Taking a bloody nap?
More to the point, why the hell was I so impatient to see her? Maybe it was because of Mam, the closeness they clearly shared judging by how she’d spoken of her at the funeral.
At last, the car door opened, and the first thing I saw was a cane. Then, Ada appeared, looking far worse for wear than the last time I’d seen her. Had something happened? I moved away from the window so she didn’t catch me observing her. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair tied back, but it looked unwashed, and she relied on the cane to walk. Was she sick? Had she been in an accident? Her slow, uneven gait as she approached the house with the cane in hand certainly seemed to indicate it.
Before she had a chance to lift the knocker, I opened the door.
Her eyes flared. “Oh.” A weighty pause. “You’re here.”
“Therese was busy.”
“I can come back a different day.”
“No need. What happened to you?”
My question took her off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Why are you walking with that?” I indicated the cane. “You look terrible.” The moment the statement left my mouth, I wanted to snatch it back. Ada’s face flashed with offence, like I’d hurt her feelings.
“Listen,” she began, ignoring my comment on her appearance. “I didn’t think you’d be here. You said on the phone you were too busy to come, but if you want to just grab Dad’s things, we can get this over with quickly.”
I stepped out onto the front stoop, standing closer to her and examining her appearance under the porch light. “Tell me what happened to you first.”
Unexplainable concern for her had me needing to know.
“Nothing happened to me. I have an old leg injury that kicks up sometimes, and I have to rely on my cane.”
An old injury? “How were you injured?”
Her features crinkled in annoyance. “That’s none of your business. Now, please, if you aren’t going to give me the items I came to collect, then I’ll just go.”
I studied her. There was something different about her. The other times I’d met her, she’d been proud, unapologetic. Now it almost seemed like she was embarrassed or ashamed. Did she not like people seeing her use the cane?
I took another step towards her and saw her flinch. “Look, I only ask out of concern—”
“Ha! Sure,” she replied with derision.
“Okay, I deserve that after the way I behaved the last time we were both in this house, but I don’t want to fight with you, Miss Rose. Please come inside. I’ll … I’ll make tea.”
Her features softened ever so slightly as she dipped her head tiredly and muttered, “Fine.” She really did look exhausted. I wanted to assist her up the step that led inside so badly, but I refrained. With how tense she seemed, I didn’t think my help would be well received.
I walked into the living room, and she followed, the clip of her cane on the wood floor making my chest constrict for some reason.
“Please sit.” I motioned to the couch. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Ada lowered onto the plush couch, and it was unexpectedly relieving to see her take the weight off her leg. She rested her cane against the arm of the couch then blew out a small, exhausted sigh. Frowning, I walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. As I waited for it to boil, I thought back on that first time she’d come to my office to tell me about what had happened to our parents. As she’d stood to leave, I’d noticed something odd in her expression. There had been strain around her eyes and mouth, like she’d been in pain. It wasn’t dissimilar from how she seemed now. And as she’d walked away, there had been a slight hitch in her step.
I’d refused to see her that day, and she’d had to sneak up and demand an audience. Not only that, but I’d also known Conor Rose’s daughter was waiting in reception, and because of my resentment towards her father, I’d spitefully had her wait around for over an hour before informing the receptionist I wasn’t available.
On top of that, our elevator had been broken that day, which meant Ada had had to climb five flights of stairs to my floor. The physical exertion had obviously exacerbated her leg injury.
Fucking hell, I was a piece of shit.
I should apologise for that day.
With the tea ready and having remembered that she preferred it with milk and no sugar, I carried two mugs back into the living room. I paused when I stepped past the threshold and found Ada fast asleep where she sat.