Chapter 40 #2
After talking for a few minutes, Felicity says she has to go and I walk her to the door.
My shoulder is screaming at me, so I go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the pantry.
I haven’t taken my meds today, but the pain wasn’t bad enough to need them.
As much as I love my mother, she had an addiction and I don’t want to follow that path.
As I’m heading up the stairs, my father walks in the front door. “Ah, son. Just the person I wanted to see.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn to him and say, “Who else did you plan to see? It’s just me and you now.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t snap like I expect him to. “I wanted to ask you about your future. Yes, your shoulder is injured, but I’ll get you the best physical therapist money can buy. Then you can get back to training.”
Exhaustion settles over me, and I slump against the railing of the stairs. “I’m not training anymore, Dad. I’m done. I’m not swimming professionally.”
“Just think about it, son.”
“Nothing to think about,” I say, walking up the stairs. “I’m done.”
“Your mom would have wanted you to compete at the Olympics.” I stop in my tracks, my back going ramrod straight. “Do it for her.”
Whirling around, I snarl, “How fucking dare you use Mom? She wouldn’t have wanted me to do anything I didn’t want. Because she was a supportive fucking parent. And I already told her I didn’t want to go and she supported my decision. Unlike you!”
“Now hold on there, you ungrateful shit,” Dad shouts, making my mouth clamp shut. “I’ve given you a life most people would kill for. The least you could do is one thing I ask you.”
“One thing?” I scoff. “Yeah, like you asked me to swim for the youth league. Like you asked me to go to Meadowbrook. Like you asked me to rush your frat. Like you asked me to swim for them. Like you asked me to fucking date Felicity. Yeah, you asked for one thing. Well this time, I’m saying no.
I don’t want to swim anymore. For fucks sake, Dad, I’m still in a fucking sling! ” I point to my arm for emphasis.
“You just need time,” he says in that tone that tells me he’ll get what he wants, one way or another.
“I’m going to take a nap. I just lost my mother.”
“And I just lost my wife,” he sneers.
“You have a funny way to show you care.” He looks taken aback, like he’s shocked I’m still standing up for myself. “Tell me, Dad. Who arranged Mom’s funeral?”
His silence speaks volumes, though he doesn’t look guilty.
My strength fails me and my shoulders slump under the weight of this conversation. “I’m going to bed, Dad. I just…I’m going to bed.”
“Go, sleep. I’ll be at the office late this evening. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I don’t wanna talk anymore.”
He doesn’t try to stop me again as I trudge up the stairs.
Grabbing my meds, I take them to my mom’s room, wanting to feel closer to her. My parents haven’t slept in the same room in years. She said it’s because he snores, but I think it has more to do with her drinking away her troubles, and he didn’t want her stumbling into bed too late.
After I take my meds, I lie down on her bed, breathe in her warm scent, and cry.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I wake up, the sun is streaming through the room.
Even though I know I should, I don’t feel like moving. I want to lie here for a few more minutes, hours, days, weeks. I want to just stay here to sleep with my mother’s scent around me.
I reach for a pillow to hold it close when I hear the crumpling of paper.
Curious, I grab the open journal my mother had hidden under there.
I feel a little guilty for possibly looking at her private words, but that doesn’t stop me from flipping the booklet open.
Tears cloud my vision as I stare down at her flowing handwriting, the fancy script looking as familiar to me as my own.
When I was in elementary school, she would write me little notes every day and hide them in my lunchbox. It’s a memory I’ll always cherish.
My eyes finally focus and I read the words, confusion creasing my brow.
November 12th
He had a briefcase full of paperwork and cash. Why? Is he buying something? When I asked, he struck me. He hasn’t done that in years.
That was two weeks ago, around the time my mother said she’d stopped drinking because she noticed some things around her.
My blood fucking boils. The last time she threatened to leave after he hit her and take me with her, he said he’d never do it again. Should have known he wasn’t a man of his word. Who could believe an abusive piece of shit?
I flip the page, hoping to get more information.
November 14th
He almost caught me in his office. I made the excuse that I couldn’t find my vodka and wanted his top shelf booze. He hasn’t seemed to notice that I’ve stopped drinking.
I flip to the next page.
November 15th
It’s in his closet.
Huh? What did my mom find?
My mind spins with possibilities, but I can’t land on anything. What is in his closet? Did mom see something?
The next page tells me nothing.
November 16th
I can’t find the key. He probably has it on him. I can’t call a locksmith, he’ll find the charge on my credit card statement. I need to get into that room.
A room in his closet? This is bizarre but my mother was digging into it, so I need to figure it out. If for no other reason than to solve the mystery for her.
I hope this isn’t her drunken ramblings. I hate myself for thinking that, but I don’t want to go snooping for nothing.
Going to my room, I take my meds, then shower and brush my teeth.
Before I head to my father’s office on a journey that could lead to nothing, I check my messages, smiling when I see a text from both Thorne and Warren, asking how I am and telling me they love me.
I want to call and hear their voices, but Warren should be teaching now, and Thorne might be in class.
Instead, I shoot them a quick message.
Me: I miss you two so much. Wish you could have come with me. My mom had this crazy journal, basically saying my dad was up to something. I’m going to check it out. Love you.
With that, I shove my phone in my pocket and leave the room.
I check the house to make sure Dad isn’t home. He won’t take too kindly to me rifling around in his shit.