Right now, though, my stomach felt funny. It had that hollow feeling you get when an elevator moves suddenly, or when you’re riding a roller coaster and descending abruptly. Because he was the only one who ever called me by that nickname, there would only be a limited number of times I would hear myself addressed that way again.
Sadness swamped me, and I actually had to close my eyes for a minute as I sat down in the chair by his bed. Opening them, I saw my father’s eyes were closed where he lay on the bed. He looked frail. His arms were thin, and his skin was papery. His color was faded. It was almost as if the light of life inside him was slowly dimming. Which, I supposed, it was.
“Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he replied with a chuckle as he opened his eyes.
That was one thing I could say I’d learned from my dad. He was always blunt and forthright. Even about his tendency to be a “falling down drunk.” His words, not mine.
I reached out to squeeze his hand, startled at how weak his grip was when he gave me a squeeze in return. Drawing my hand back, I laced my fingers together and rested them over one of my knees. I bounced my foot restlessly just as I did whenever I was anxious.
My father rolled his head away to look out the window beside the bed. It was raining today, rather fitting for my mood. I felt as melancholy and gray inside as the sky was outside, and the rain represented my unshed tears. I almost jumped in my chair when he spoke, his voice raspy.
“I know I wasn’t the best father. I hope you know I loved you, still do. I went to an AA meeting last week.”
I was relieved he was looking out the window because my mouth dropped open in shock. He caught me as he turned back and smiled softly. “It’s all right. You can be as shocked as you want. I’ve been ragging on AA my whole life. I went because I guess I wanted to figure out one thing before I died.”
“What’s that, Dad?”
I felt like a little girl again. As if I was peering around the corner and waiting to see my dad do what I always wished he would do—pull himself together.
“Well, I can’t get sober, and I don’t suppose I have time to do the steps about mending things. But I can tell you I’m sorry that I let alcohol steal my life and your childhood.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt the path of a tear roll down my cheek, cooling in the air. My dad reached over slowly to the nightstand and handed me a box of tissues. I started laughing. After blowing my nose and dabbing at my eyes, I balled the tissue in my hand.
“It’s not worth much now, but I’m sorry,” my father added.
His blue eyes held mine as I studied his face. He had the skin of an alcoholic. Under the surface of his pale skin was a visible map of broken blood vessels.
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m sorry you’re sick.”
“That’s okay too. Hell, for years, I tried to get pain pills. Never could, but I had to go to the doctor so that made it harder. Now, I’m all dosed up,” he offered with a chuckle.
“I want you to be comfortable. Are you sure you’re okay that I’m gonna be gone for a week?”
“Course I am. Your mama says you met a guy. Please tell me he doesn’t have a problem with drinking.”
“He doesn’t.” I shook my head, kind of hard, and my chest felt really tight.
“Tell me about him.”
In a conversation I absolutely never expected to have, I sat there in the chair beside my father’s bed and told him almost everything I knew about Alex—how we met at camp, the ski trip, Alex buying me a ticket. Well, except for the sex. I left that out.
I talked until my father’s eyes fell closed, and he was breathing in the soft, easy rhythm of sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Delilah
Late April
Once again, I found myself looking out the window of the plane, marveling at the sight of the jagged mountain range below, the snow-covered peaks a stark contrast against the blue sky. The surface of the ocean ruffled under the wind as the plane lowered when we approached Anchorage.
The minute we landed, my pulse started humming. As soon as we got the clear to turn on our personal devices, I turned mine on. It vibrated immediately with a text from Alex.
Alex: Waiting just outside the security area. I got the emoticon with a giant smile at the end of his one sentence text.
My heart was going insane, bouncing around in my chest with excitement. Minutes later, I was walking with a cluster of people. When we turned a corner in the hallway, I saw Alex standing just beyond the glass doors that separated this part of the airport with the non-secured section.
His eyes were searching through the group of people. I felt a low tug in my belly when his gaze landed on me. My heart thudded hard, and my breath hitched in my throat. He smiled, and I felt my own lips curling up in return.
I felt like such a foolish girl when it came to Alex. Beyond excited, I really wanted to squeal and run through the crowd. As it was, I had to wait because a little girl dropped her bag in front of me, and I almost tripped over it. She started crying, and then I found myself helping her mother who was also holding the hand of another toddler on the other side.
Once the little girl stopped crying and they were moving forward, I looked up to see Alex still waiting. I didn’t even know what to think about just how cynical I was. For a second, I had actually wondered if he’d left. I mean, that was crazy. He was here to pick me up. He’d bought my plane ticket. Why would he leave?
It’s just I wasn’t used to anyone going out of their way for me like that. I finally stepped through the doors that said I couldn’t turn around. If my point of no return meant getting wrapped in Alex’s arms, that was a pretty good deal.
He didn’t even speak. He simply stepped to me and pulled me into his strong embrace. I could feel him head to toe, and I took a deep breath, letting out a shaky sigh as I buried my face in his chest. He smelled so good.
After a minute, I lifted my head as he stroked his hand in easy passes up and down my back. I found his brown eyes waiting for me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I returned.
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I felt a laugh bubbling up. When it slipped out, he chuckled before asking, “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know.”
I actually didn’t know. I thought my laughter was simply because of my nerves. It was a good kind of anticipation, but I was still nervous.
When someone jostled me from behind, Alex reached for my bag, which I hadn’t even noticed I’d dropped. My small rolling suitcase had fallen to the floor, its handle stretching out across the tile. Leaning over, he picked it up, turning and keeping an arm firmly around my waist.
“You ready to go?” he asked.
“Of course. Unless you want to hang out in the airport.”
We began walking side by side, and I looked up to see his cheek curving with a smile. “I wouldn’t mind hanging out in the airport as long as you’re here. Did you have any checked bags?”
I shook my head. “Nope. I hate dealing with the baggage claim, plus it’s expensive now. You have to pay to check even one bag.”
“I get it. Whether or not I can afford to cover the bags, it’s kind of the principle of it. I hate paying for it. Glad you brought your down coat,” he observed as he glanced down at me.