Chapter 23 Lucy
LUCY
In the parking lot of the hospital, I do my best to pull myself together. I run a wide-tooth comb through my hair that makes little difference to the frizz that has settled on my curls after being thoroughly fucked by Zach.
Before I broke our hearts all over again.
I waited for two hours for Zach to return. He didn’t tell me where he was going, what he was doing, or when he would be back.
I’d like to think I left in a composed way, but the truth is, I ran.
Running, in hindsight, is utterly foolish and, apparently, something I’ve become good at over the years. I ran from the courthouse. I ran from telling Zach the truth. I ran from my father. I ran from Henry. And I just ran from Zach.
Again.
At some point in my life story, running has to stop being my default.
And perhaps, now is the moment.
I rummage around in my purse and manage to find some basics. A rogue tube of mascara and a blush stick that I can also use on my lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough of a face that I feel braver in it.
My reflection in the rearview mirror is better than I could have anticipated.
I take a deep breath. Then, another.
I should be in boots, given the snow starting to stick to the ground. My sneakers aren’t much of a match for the conditions. But I hadn’t time to properly consider my feet when I got Zach’s call for help.
I’d actually prefer to be in heels. I wear them to court all the time to feel powerful.
They give the illusion of a woman in control.
Which is the complete opposite of how I feel.
But as of right this minute, I no longer run away. I confront the things that make life hard.
And that starts with my father.
When I make it to his private room, my mother is sitting by the side of the bed.
“Lucy,” she says, meeting me at the door with a squeeze of my hands and an air kiss to both cheeks. “I’m so glad you came.” She looks over to Dad. “I was just talking about your high school prom. How lovely you looked in that red dress.”
The truth telling starts now, and I can’t decide if it’s ironic or not that a lawyer is having an existential crisis about honesty.
“The dress was lovely. But the condition you laid down, that you wouldn’t pay for college if I went with Zach, was not.
And I was so gullible that I believed you.
So, Zach, being the good man he is, told me there would be many nights we could dance together, and not to sweat prom if it left me with a six-figure debt. ”
My mom’s mouth opens slightly in shock. It’s the first time I’ve spoken to her like this. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned Zach’s name to Mom since I left for Harvard.
She closes it quickly and releases my hand. “Well, I thought it was a lovely night.”
“It was boring, and I missed having my then boyfriend, soon-to-be-husband, by my side.” I look to my father. “After all, he was the only man who ever protected me.”
“What has gotten into you?” Mom asks. “Why are you being so…aggressive?”
“No…no.” It’s all my father manages to say.
“I need to speak to Dad about some of his clients, for a moment. Could you give us some privacy?”
Mom sighs. “Of course. And I’ll go get some coffee and a snack. Perhaps your attitude will be a little different if you have some food in your stomach.”
I wait until I hear the sharp clip of her heels disappear into the distance, and then I take my seat in her chair.
My father’s eyes are narrowed as he looks down his nose at me. Then, he scribbles something on paper that makes no sense, and groans in frustration.
“I happen to be a good lawyer, Dad. Something utterly lost on you because you don’t appreciate any lawyer who doesn’t bleed every single dollar out of their clients.
You believe in guilty until proven innocent and have abused your status within the Colorado legal system for decades. I’m not here for it anymore.”
Unable to find words, my father just lets out an exasperated grunt of exertion.
“I can only imagine how hard this is for you. And while, as a human being, I have tremendous sympathy for what you are going through, I have zero interest in sugar-coating what I am about to say. The majority of your clients are leaving, and you should let them go. I’m not going to waste a moment of my time trying to help tax dodgers and immoral human beings in their quest for more money. ”
He grabs the notepad and writes so furiously, he rips through the sheet of paper.
Mine.
The word is underlined five times.
I shake my head. “You can scribble words all you want. Nothing changes. You kicked me when I was down. You used the fact I was sexually assaulted by a senator’s son to force my hand, so I would divorce my husband to protect your own reputation.
You never asked what he did to me, how he violated me with his fingers. ”
My father winces, like I just told a distasteful joke at a dinner party rather than sharing one of my most painful memories.
“You didn’t want to know. You just used the situation to further your own gains.
But I know what you did. I found the documents in your office.
I’m going to apply to have Zach’s sentence expunged.
And yes, that will implicate you. So, it’s probably best you let me offload all your clients and close down your office now, so you won’t have a mass exodus when all this is revealed. ”
My father’s eyes go wide, and I know he understands me. He reaches for the pen and paper, but the nib hovers over the sheet.
Tears fill his eyes, and for a moment, I almost buy into the emotions he’s feeling.
But then, I remember that when I was still carrying the bruises of Justin Loeb’s assault, my father was engineering the deconstruction of my relationship with Zach.
The only man who actually showed up and made a sacrifice to protect me and stand up for me.
When he doesn’t write anything, I stand to go. “On second thought, I don’t even want to be tied up in your mess. Close it down yourself. I’ll be filing paperwork this week.”
“No!” The word is shouted. I know it doesn’t mean no. It’s one of the few words he can still get from his brain to his vocal cords. But he scribbles something on the paper, then holds it up.
WAIT!
Then, he scribbles again.
It’s a mess of letters, then two words that don’t belong to one another.
Black mint.
“Black mint?” I ask.
Dad grunts and vocalizes frustration, but no words come out as he scores a line through the word mint. Then, he sighs. He reaches for his phone and scrolls through until he finds what he’s looking for.
It’s a photograph.
Of my father and a woman who isn’t my mother. She’s younger. Prettier. And he’s kissing her in a way I’ve never seen him kiss my mother, either.
From his hairline, he looks younger too, although, how much younger, I’m unsure.
He points back to the word black. Then, rubs his thumb over two of his fingers in the gesture that suggests money or payment.
It’s a leap, but when I see an explanation, my heart lurches. “You were being blackmailed because you were or still are having an affair?”
My father drops his phone and the pen and nods.
I drop back into the chair. “How long?”
My father picks the pen back up, then drops it and holds up six fingers.
“Six months?”
He shakes his head.
“Years?”
He nods.
Thoughts fly through my head. What this means for my mother. How it affects me. What it will mean for my father.
Then, I remember something Zach’s mom always used to say. Not my circus, not my monkeys.
But I can’t resist a final question. It’s a leap, but it’s the only link that makes sense. “Was it the Rebels who were blackmailing you?”
My father’s shoulders sag and he nods, pathetically.
“So that’s how the Midtown Rebels Motorcycle Club know who I am.
You’re not a good man,” I say, disgust dripping from every word.
“This is karma. And Mom stayed loyal to you. Even now, she wants to protect you and your reputation. Fix this yourself. I want no part of it. I don’t owe you.
Close your law firm. Use your illness as the reason.
Then, when I get Zach’s record expunged, and you lose your license and a judge gets tossed, the media flurry won’t be as interested because your firm no longer exists.
As for the affair, be honest with Mom. Tell her what happened.
Give her the choice to stay or not. Or go find whoever that is in the photograph and see if she’ll take care of you, now.
And when you’re all alone after this, with no friends or business or prestige or status or family, you can ask yourself if it was worth it. ”
Dad shakes his head. “No. No. No.”
He scribbles furiously and shoves the paper in my direction.
Help.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve asking me for it after everything you did to me. You took my happiness away from me, Dad. And, worse, I let you.”
“No!” The single word is yelled, filled with anger and frustration.
I take one last look at my father and see the ever-changing faces of him. From the proud and arrogant prosecutor to the pathetic man before me. Not pathetic because of his stroke and aphasia. Those two things alone have nothing to do with it.
Instead, I see a man with no moral compass, with the inability to do the right thing and stand up for what is right.
“I hate you,” I say, before I spin on my heel and leave the room.
And now, I have to figure out how to make everything right.
Which means returning to the only man I was ever able to trust.