“It will give me much-needed exercise—and be far more interesting than visiting a gym.” She stood . . . but stayed in place.
Odd vibes began wafting toward him, and his pulse picked up.
What was going on?
Propping a shoulder against the doorframe, he folded his arms. “Why do I get the feeling you have something you want to tell me?”
She offered him a smile that appeared forced. “Because you’re a smart, intuitive man?”
“A person would have to be totally oblivious to miss the sudden tension in the air. What’s up?”
Faint furrows creased her brow. “I don’t know if I should tell you this or not.”
He tightened his grip on the keys.
Whatever she had to say concerned his dad.
He knew that as surely as he knew his father would be furious to learn they were having this conversation. The Garrett patriarch did not like his personal business discussed behind his back.
“After that teaser, you can’t not tell me.” He managed to maintain a conversational manner. Even inject a teasing note. “Unless you want to be pestered for the rest of your visit.”
The corners of her lips rose a hair. “You know, in many ways you remind me of Richard.”
That wasn’t the most flattering comparison he’d ever received.
“So what’ll it be? Spill the news, or face the inquisition?”
“Put like that . . .” She lowered herself to the arm of the couch. “It’s about your dad.”
His instincts were batting a thousand.
“What about him?”
“He’s having health issues.”
Zach schooled his features, doing his best to maintain a dispassionate expression despite the knot forming in his stomach. “What kind?”
“Shortness of breath during the few days I was there—and other symptoms as well, I expect, though he didn’t share those. I insisted he visit his doctor. He got the verdict a few days ago. There’s blockage in his heart that has to be addressed. He’s having bypass surgery on Monday.”
Zach’s lungs stalled.
His father was having a major operation in five days?
And he hadn’t bothered to mention that during their unexpected phone conversation on Sunday?
A stab of hurt knifed through him.
“Are you going back?” Somehow he managed to rasp out the question.
“No. He finagled a promise from me not to let his news disrupt my vacation. He said he’s given everyone my number in case there’s an emergency, but he’s convinced he’ll sail through and be back to normal after rehab.”
“What do you think?”
She shrugged. “I’m not a doctor. That type of surgery has a high success rate—but there are always risks. It seems to me a family member ought to be standing by.”
And if she’d promised to remain in Hope Harbor, there was only one other candidate for that job.
“You think I should go to Atlanta?”
“It’s your decision, Zach.”
He forked his fingers through his hair. “Did he ask you not to tell me about this?”
“Yes . . . but I didn’t make any promises.”
“Given the state of our relationship, I can’t imagine he’d appreciate me showing up at his hospital bed. He’d probably tell me to mind my own business, that he didn’t need my help, and to go back to my little coffee shop hobby.” Despite his attempt to maintain an even tone, he couldn’t hide his bitterness.
Stephanie rose, crossed to him, and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “The stoic front he presents to the world is more show than reality, Zach.”
“No, it’s not.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I lived with him until I was eighteen. It’s reality. As is his conviction that his opinion is always right. It’s not easy to have a relationship with someone like that.”
“I hear you.” She retracted her hand but remained beside him. “However—despite his reputation as the hard-nosed, take-no-prisoners type, I remember Richard as a little boy who wore his heart on his sleeve . . . and often got hurt as a result.”
Dad, wearing his heart on his sleeve?
In what alternate universe had that taken place?
“I don’t think we’re talking about the same person.”
“I won’t argue with that—but you’re not the same person you were five years ago either. Neither am I. We’re all shaped by the events of our past. If they’re traumatic enough, we can change direction—as you did. Or we can develop defense mechanisms. Hide behind walls. Learn to present an image to the world that masks who we really are, deep inside. Like your dad did.”
He narrowed his eyes as a niggling suspicion began to take root. “Are you referring to a specific trauma in Dad’s past—other than the bankruptcy your father went through when you were kids?”
“Yes.”
They were going to be very late for their Hope House commitment—but this conversation was too important to defer. “Let’s sit for a minute.” He motioned toward the couch and followed her over. Angled toward her after he sat. “Tell me about the trauma.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Appraised him. “Did you know he was fired from his first job?”
A shock wave ricocheted through Zach. “No. I thought he . . . that he’d been with his current firm his whole career.”
“He’s been there for most of it. But after law school, he got a job clerking for a respected judge. The man took him under his wing, gave him plum assignments. Your dad was on top of the world. The two of them became friends, and Richard trusted the man implicitly. Until he was indicted for accepting bribes and tried to set your dad up to take the fall.”
He sucked in a breath.
How could he not have known about an incident of this magnitude in his father’s past?
“Dad never said a word about that. Neither did Mom.”
“The whole family was under a gag order from your dad after you and your brother were born. He wanted to put the incident behind him. But he never forgot it. He lived in the shadow of disgrace for two years while the investigation dragged on. He took menial jobs that didn’t pay squat. Our father offered to help him out financially, but he wouldn’t take a dime. In the end, the truth came out and the judge took the full rap, but after that incident Richard closed himself in, doled out trust like a miser, and made security his priority.”
In the silence that followed Stephanie’s story, Zach attempted to digest the implications of this startling chapter in his dad’s life.
A trauma like that could explain a lot.
Including his father’s anger when both sons walked away from careers—or potential careers—he viewed as their tickets to financial security.
He wiped a hand down his face.
“That’s a boatload of stuff to deal with in one fell swoop.”
“I know. I’ve been debating how much to say ever since I talked to Richard. Getting in the middle of a father-son debate is tricky, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with either of you.”
“That’s not a concern from my end. And I appreciate the insights.”
“So what are you going to do about Atlanta? Richard tried to downplay the situation on the phone with me, but I heard concern in his voice.”