Chapter Twenty #2
The woman in pale blue nurse’s scrubs, cargo pants, tennis shoes stepped over. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, curled around a narrow face.
“It’s Dustin. His son.”
“He’ll be pleased.” She spoke in low tones, then gave Dustin an appraising look. “He’s been looking forward to seeing you. It’s important not to upset or agitate him.”
“I won’t do that.”
“If he needs something, you can press the button on the side of the bed to call for me. He may drift off. You can sit with him when he does, or call for me. An hour’s all he’ll handle, and that’s optimistic.”
“I understand.”
“We’ll give you some privacy.” Again Mitzi squeezed his hand. “Please don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“I won’t.”
They went out, eased the doors shut behind them.
He stepped up until he could see the bed, the monitors, the tubes. A table held a pitcher of water, a plastic cup with a straw.
There were flowers on the tables, on the dresser, but they couldn’t cover the scent of sickness.
The smell of dying.
When he approached the bed, he thought it had to be some sort of ugly joke. This old man, this bald, sunken remnant of a man, the skeletal face pale, slightly yellow, wasn’t his father.
Even the hands that lay against the white sheets looked old, useless, worn out.
He imagined they’d brought some sick homeless man off the street, put him here to play that ugly joke.
His hands balled into fists, then his fingers opened as he saw himself closing them around the imposter’s throat.
Then that husk of a man opened his eyes.
Paul Dubecki lived in those eyes. Hard, fierce, cold as winter.
Shock bubbled up in Dustin’s throat. “Dad.”
A bony hand reached for his. Though it sickened him, years of respect and fear had Dustin taking it.
“Dustin.” The voice, weak and hollow, still had the memory of a bite. “Put down the rail. Sit close.”
Tears threatened as he obeyed.
“Men don’t cry when faced with hardship. They meet it with strength.”
“No, sir.”
“I won’t spend my last days with regrets. I want to make peace.”
“I know I’ve been a disappointment to you. I—”
“You have been, I won’t bother with lies in the time I have left. But I wasn’t as good a father as I should have been. I’ve done better with the girl. I expected more from you. Too much. I was too hard in some ways, too lenient in others.”
“You provided for me. You gave me everything I have.”
Paul shook his head, gestured to the cup. Dustin held it while he sipped, then waved it away.
“I should’ve made you earn more, and been less harsh when you failed. My only son.”
He paused, eyes closed again.
“I blamed your mother, and rightfully, but I had a responsibility. I blamed you, but you were ill. It took becoming physically ill for me to understand you were mentally ill. I should have come to you when you were institutionalized.”
That grated, oh, that grated. There’s nothing wrong with me, Dustin thought. Not a goddamn thing.
Since he had to say something, he settled for a truth. “I wanted you to come.”
“Too proud, too angry. I regret that.”
“It’s in the past now.”
Paul sighed. “So much is. You’re well now.”
“I’m going to make you proud. I’m going to make a life you’d respect.”
“Not important now. Make one you respect. I’m offering you forgiveness, Dustin, and asking for it from you. I made mistakes, and now have little time to correct them.”
There was a boy inside him, a young boy who wanted, who needed.
“You could get better, get well. You could get well and strong again. I’ll help you.”
In the wasted face, those eyes glittered hard.
“Don’t waste time on fantasies. Leave that for the women, for the weak and foolish. You’re my son. I withheld affection, attention, and replaced it with money far too often. There are provisions for you in my will—”
“Don’t talk about that. Dad, I—”
“It needs to be said. There are provisions. For you, for my daughter, for others. The bulk of my estate will pass to my wife.”
Dustin felt his blood run cold, then hot. So hot.
“I want you to make the life you can respect. I wish you to be happy in that life, and to know you’re a man.
You’re my only son. I want to give you something in love.
If there’s one thing I have that matters to you, that means something to you.
One thing I could give you in remembrance and affection, what would it be? ”
Paul managed a smile. “You can take some time to think what that may be, but I don’t believe you can take long.”
Dustin rose, had to turn away, walk away. He stood by the French doors leading to the terrace that overlooked the grounds. The acre of woods, the little stable, the gardens that would be lush in season.
All this should be his. All of it.
He’d suffered under this man’s dominance and disapproval all his life, and for that he’d get a provision, and one thing?
Maybe he should end the old man’s suffering. A hand over the mouth, fingers pinching the nose. It wouldn’t take long, not long at all. And the last thing his father would see?
His only son.
He turned back, ready to end it, and saw the photo.
The Retreat, they called it. The house in the mountains of Washington State. All wood and glass. Rustic but stately. Remote.
He had a flash of his father splitting wood, another of him sitting by the fire where that wood burned, sipping a drink while his mother cooked dinner.
They’d had staff, yes, he remembered, but only day staff. So his mother had cooked; his father had split and stacked wood for the fire.
They’d been happy there, a family there.
Of course, he thought now, how could he have forgotten? Then again, some part of him never had. That’s where he wanted to make his life. A cabin in the mountains.
This house, these mountains. As he dreamed of them, and Arden.
He took the photo—ignored the fact it showed his father with Mitzi and the brat, and took it with him to the bed.
“I still dream of this place sometimes, Dad. I loved it whenever we went there. I have such good memories of us being there. If I could have anything, it’s this, because of those memories.
You could take whatever else is in the will away.
This is all I want. We went fishing in the river, and hiking on the trails.
I could do that again, and remember you. ”
“The Retreat. I feel unburdened there.” Those fierce and sunken eyes met Dustin’s. “You were only a baby when it was built. I have memories, too. If this is what you want, it’s yours. I’ll arrange it.”
“I’ll take care of it. Make a good life there. I promise you.”
“I’m so tired. I need to rest.”
“I can sit with you while you sleep.”
“There’s pain coming back. Send the aide in. She knows what to do. I feel unburdened now. I need to rest.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He meant it. Now he had the perfect place, the right place, to make his life with Arden.
When alone, Arden didn’t lock the inside doors, and considered it a win. In fact, she felt lighter, more in control again. She’d taken a hit with Dustin’s early release, but she’d handled it. And telling Gideon had tipped the scales.
Time, she decided, to get serious about Christmas.
She shopped, once for a few insane hours with Zoey and Jamie, then more sanely on her own.
She unpacked the decorations she’d brought with her, bought more. On a rare bright Saturday, she dragged out her ladder and prepared to string her new outdoor lights while Zoey and the girls watched.
“The way you’re doing that, you might have it finished by Twelfth Night.”
“Know-it-all.”
“Yes, I do. Jeez, get down, you’re making me twitchy. You watch the girls, and I’ll string the lights.”
“Ha. How easily she falls into my trap.” Happily, Arden came down, then scooped up Maddy before the toddler could sample the taste of a rock.
She frowned up at her cousin. “I was doing it that way.”
“No, you weren’t. You’re good at a lot of things, pal, but for things like this when I’m not around, you should wait for Gideon.”
“He’s taken the weekend shift, and the sun’s out. I couldn’t waste a sunny day.”
“Makes you lucky I’m here. You could also have tapped Jamie and Nick. I saw their house after our shopping trip. I’m surprised I can’t see those lights from my house.”
“It is pretty awesome.” Jiggling Maddy, she watched Lexy throw the ball for Zorro. The fact it rarely sailed more than two feet didn’t dim the dog’s enthusiasm.
In half the time it would have taken her—might as well admit it—Zoey worked her way to the finish.
“Here comes Jamie and Isis, as promised,” Arden told her.
Zorro deserted Lexy to greet them, and offered the ball to his girlfriend. She accepted.
Jamie slapped his hands on either side of his face. “Pregnant ladies don’t belong on ladders.”
“I was practically born on a ladder.”
“Bring that precious cargo down. I’ll finish that.”
“And done.” She stepped down, patted her belly. “Boy or girl, this one will know how to string Christmas lights.”
“You must have more. Festive!” Jamie insisted.
“I do, but I thought—”
He cut Arden off with a wave of a finger. “We outline your portico and front windows. That’s bare minimum. If you don’t have enough, we have more you can borrow.”
“Okay then.” Zoey put her hands on her hips. “Let’s get to it.”
As they worked, with Arden primarily designated to chase after the girls and dogs, Jamie and Zoey fell into a rhythm.
“You’re good at this,” she told him.
“Years of practice. I adore Christmas. Arden’s smoking hot is busy protecting Riverbend, mine is finishing an absolutely spectacular six-tiered wedding cake—lemon velvet with pastry cream filling.
But as delicious—I had samples—as the cake itself, the design!
Cascading sugar flowers in the bride’s colors of rose and silver, tiny, edible pearls scattered over each tier.
A work of art. But I digress. Where is your baby daddy on this bright Saturday? ”
“Stuck at work. The cake? The Anson-Carmandy wedding tonight?”
“That’s the one.”