Chapter 7 #2
"I know the type." Stretching his legs out, Jason sniffed the air and closed his eyes.
"Your mother loved fall." A smile touched his lips.
"She always claimed it was her favorite time of year.
Said it had to do with the earth shedding its skin.
Leaves falling, the scent of pine cones in the air and the weather turning. It was a big deal for her."
"Dad--"
He shook his head.
"I'm fine, son. I know everyone is concerned about me and yes, I have hit some rough patches. But I have her here." He touched the spot where his heart beat steady. "Always."
"It's been years."
"Ten years, three months and two days." He looked at his son. "Hopefully, you'll find something like that. With your bride."
"I don't think so," he muttered, but his words lacked conviction. "We talked," he added, reluctantly. "About her childhood."
His father nodded.
"She had it pretty rough. Iona was a piece of work. I have a feeling she was the one who sent her husband to drink and do drugs."
"Do you really believe that?"
Jason shrugged.
"Maybe not. The man is a flake and has always been. But who the hell am I to judge? I'm a mess most of the time."
"There's a reason for it."
He shrugged again.
"Jessica is going through hell."
Kyle felt guilt punch through him.
"Have you reached out to her?"
"I tried. She does not want to hear from me." Jason puffed out smoke, squinting his eyes against the smoke curling around him. "Who can blame her? I allowed things to slip. After losing your mother, I was not much of a father, not much of anything. I figured it's too late to try now."
"It's never too late." Kyle picked up his glass and set it back down. The afternoon had turned cloudy, with the wind whipping through the palm trees. It was too cold for outdoor activities but there was a group playing tennis. The whacking sound of the ball disturbed the serenity.
"Why don't we go down to supper and play some cards?" his father suggested.
"I'm going to take you up on that. Give me a minute, will you?" Sliding off the chaise, he went into the room and pulled out his phone and just stared at it for a minute. Taking a deep breath, he punched the number. It rang three times, and he was about to hang up when he heard her sultry voice.
"Hey, I was about to leave you a message."
"No need for that now. What's up?"
He cleared his throat.
"I, er, I'm with my dad."
"At the club. How's he?"
"Fine. We're bonding." He smiled. "Look, I just called to let you know we might be spending the night."
"Deserting your bride so soon McCreary? Not cool."
"I--"
"It's fine. I'm here in hell, trying to calm my dad down."
"What's wrong?"
"Every once in a while, he gets in this mood and bemoans the fact that Iona is no longer in love with him. This is one of those moments. So, I promised him that I would stay for dinner, and I might just spend the night. When will you be back?"
He felt his heart tripping.
"Tomorrow."
"I'll be there. We could take in those old black and white movies and have some popcorn. I checked out the movie room and it's kickass."
He laughed softly.
"We could do that."
"Okay. I'll let you get back to your business. Tell Jason hi."
"Ingrid?"
"Yeah?"
"I--nothing. See you tomorrow."
Hanging up the phone, he looked up and caught his father's knowing look.
"Don't say anything," he muttered.
Holding up his hands, Jason grinned.
"Not a word."
*****
"Was that her? Was that my wife?" Her father asked as soon as she went back into the living room. She did not bother to remind him that he and her mother were divorced. It would not have made a difference.
"It was Kyle."
"He's checking up on you." A dull light gleamed in his bloodshot eyes.
"He just wanted me to know that he and his dad are spending the night at the club. How about some tea?"
"I'd much prefer a shot of whiskey."
"You've had enough. Tea it is."
"She's seeing that young actor again." He was slumped in the comfortable Barcalounger, his shoulders hunched. The housekeeper had made dinner before she left and put it in the warmer.
"Dad--"
"I'm in love with her." Tears sprang to his eyes, making her uncomfortable.
"I want her back, baby." He gave her a watery look.
"It might sound pathetic, considering how many times she has cheated on me, but that's love.
" He pressed a hand to his chest. "You'll understand how it is one day.
Hopefully you'll not get your heart broken into pieces like I have. "
Abandoning the idea of making tea, Ingrid pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.
"Dad, look at me." When he did, she decided it was time for some really hard truths. "You and Iona are divorced."
"And your point would be?" He gave her a frosty look that had her biting back a laugh. "Would it kill you to call her mom?"
"It probably would," she muttered. "My point is, you've both moved on to several different people over the years.
You sitting here feeling sorry for yourself is just sad and yes, pathetic.
Find a hobby, collect stamps or here's a thought, get involved in the company.
We need people, skilled brains. You're an architect and we have a major project coming up.
The Victorian Era housing complex. We need your valuable input.
" She reached for his hands. "You're wasting your life, one that could be fulfilling.
Grandfather would start to respect you more.
You don't have to live like this, content with settling for an allowance at the end of the month.
What happened to the guy who was going to take the company to the next level? "
"He died under the pressure." His eyes brightened again, and she had to force herself not to shake him until his teeth rattled.
"You don't know what it's like to be the only offspring for a man like William Ryder.
" There was a tinge of bitterness to his tone.
"It's always, 'do this, do that' make me proud, be a bloody man, you're a Ryder and we're supposed to be super heroes.
He puts the pressure on and expects you to live up to his incredibly high standards.
" His eyes met hers. "You did it. Somehow, you've managed to please that difficult man.
He's been disappointed in me since I was a child, and it crippled me.
It's his fault, I'm like this." He sniffed in a self-righteous manner.
"It's his fault I'm like this. I have failed at being a son and a husband and a goddamned father to you and Matthew. He's gay because of me."
"That's ridiculous!"
"The old man blames me for that too. He told me that I'm so useless, I could not even manage to produce a man, he said that to my damn face. As if my seed is bad. Matthew is gay because he came from me." Tears spilled over. "And now I have nothing."
"You have more than most." Dragging her hands from his, Ingrid wondered why she even bothered.
"You have your health; you come from wealth and have a fabulous roof over your head.
You never have to worry about where your next meal is coming from.
People work damn hard to keep that roof over your head and food in your belly.
Sumptuous food. You never have to worry about medical bills, because your insurance is top of the line.
Sitting here feeling sorry for yourself is just crazy and selfish. "
For a moment, the silence between them thickened, filled with all the unsaid words and regrets lingering in the air. Ingrid studied her father's face, the creases deeper, his usually sharp eyes dulled by sorrow and drink.
"I'm sorry I'm not the daddy you wished for." His mouth was petulant, his face sulky. Ingrid just knew that nothing she said had gotten through to him.
"I'm going to go and make the tea. After we have the meal, I'm going home."
"Oh baby, I'm sorry! Please don't leave. I promise to keep my feelings to myself."
"Dad--"
"I know I'm a wreck, but you're the only one I can talk to. The only one who's always been there for me. Stay. Please."
Ingrid hesitated, the plea in his voice tugging at something deep inside her. She wanted to be angry, to walk away and leave him to his self-pity, but beneath it all was a wounded man she still cared for. Sighing softly, she squeezed his hand once more.
"I'll stay for a while, Dad. But you have to promise me you'll try, just a little, to do better. For yourself, if not for anyone else."
"I will," he promised earnestly. As if to prove he meant it, he struggled up from the chair and embraced her.
"Why don't we go out on the balcony? It's a pretty night and the stars are out.
We could open that bottle of Costa Regal.
It would go well with the roast beef. What do you say?
" Taking her hand, he tucked it through his arm, a charming smile on his lips.
Silently wondering if the man was bipolar, Ingrid nodded.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Good," he murmured briskly. "And as a reward for putting up with your old man, I have a gift for you."
"That's not necessary--"
"I refuse to take no for an answer. I never gave you a wedding present.
" He steered her into the morning room and went to pluck a painting off the wall.
"Georgia O'Keefe." He studied the delicate lines of the iris for a moment before handing it to her.
"I want you to have this. I thought about a diamond bracelet, but this is perfect. Do you like it?" he asked anxiously.
"Of course. It's lovely and will fit right in the living room."
Taking it from her, he set it aside.
"Now, let's go and have that meal."