A man who found peace in the chaos of parenthood.
A man who decorated and nested because his little daughter demanded vibrancy and colour.
His lies fell apart while standing in that barren room, the truth blazing hotly in the emptiness, the forlornness. The plastic cups in the cupboards weren’t for his painting but his daughter. The room he kept locked a shrine to the little girl he’d lost.
He’d been dying day by day, pushing me away for my safety and jerking me back for his next breath. My soul wanted to chase that path, to vindicate him and give me permission to give in, but my mind focused on something trivial but vitally important.
He takes her to Kohls.
My heart squeezed, condemning myself for my spat of jealousy in the Kohls changing room. The huge store where we’d fought and my jealousy had reached critical, and Gil had turned me green (in more ways than one) to match their logo.
He’d seemed uncomfortable talking about visiting the place when I’d called him out on his familiarity. I’d assumed it was because he didn’t want to admit he’d taken prior girlfriends.
Now, a whole new meaning arose.
“You took her to Kohls. It was her you were talking about when you said you went there often. Not with other women.”
He massaged the back of his neck, embarrassment etching his cheeks. “I wanted to tell you then about her. I wanted to tell you so many times. But...it wasn’t as if I could say... ‘oh, by the way. I have a daughter. Want to meet her?’ She was a product of a night that should never have happened, and I’d failed to protect her from being taken. The guilt just wouldn’t allow me to tell you.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His forehead furrowed. “Do you understand, or are you just being nice again?”
My back straightened; my temper bristled. “I’m done being nice when it’s not deserved.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“And I do understand. I know why you kept her secret. I follow your reasoning. I just don’t agree with it.”
“So you would’ve enlisted the police and told everyone what a fuck-up you were?”
“No. I would’ve enlisted the help of those I trusted and asked for their advice.”
“What if you’d never had anyone to trust and those you did trust turned out to be the worst?”
I frowned. “You’re saying I’m the worst?”
“Fuck no.” His face darkened with horror. “I’m saying my uncle was.”
My temper refused to be pacified. “Well, regardless, I’m not just anyone, Gil.”
“No, you’re everything.”
“And you destroyed any trust between us by—”
“Dad. Hey, Dad!” Olive came bowling out, grabbing Gil’s hands and yanking. “Key. Is there a key? Why can’t I get into my room?”
Gil wrenched his gaze from mine, the heat from our almost-argument hissing with hope of a bigger blow-up.
I hadn’t noticed it before.
I hadn’t allowed myself to feel it.
But now I did.
Now I felt the burn to shout, the urge to yell, the undeniable need to tell him exactly what I thought about everything.
That was what was missing.
A fight.
A cleansing, healing good-old-fashioned fight.
But the luxury of frank conversation—of raised voices and angry shouts couldn’t happen in front of a girl who’d already been through so much.
I knew it.
Gil knew it.
We allowed the moment to ease and the tension to fade between us.
Gil sighed, his skin a little whiter than usual thanks to his healing side. He stroked Olive’s hair as he pushed her back the way she came. “I’ve got the key. Come on.” Following her into the apartment, he fished out a key ring and selected the right one. Inserting it into the door, he stepped back as it cracked open.
The door that’d always been barricaded next to his in the graffiti rainforest wall. The room he’d consumed a lonely bottle of vodka in, the room I’d glimpsed inside and began to wonder if Gil wasn’t as safe as I thought.
Olive ran in.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I drifted forward until her room came into view. Olive bounced from her pillow-stocked bed to the rattan rocking chair to the wardrobe to the pink tallboy. Touching everything, examining anything, getting reacquainted with her old belongings.
Her face glowed with relief. “You didn’t sell anything in here.”
Gil slouched against the doorframe, his hand touching his wounded side as if pain snuck up on him. “This room was off-limits. It’s yours.”
Olive threw herself at him, squishing him in a hug. “I love you, Popeye.”
He tripped backward, deep pain and endless gratitude radiating in his eyes. He crushed her close, bowing over to press a kiss to the top of her silken hair. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
“Oh, I know.” She grinned up at him. “I know you love me loads and loads.”
He nodded, releasing her with a grimace. “I do.”
“And I know you love Olin loads and loads, too.” She gave me a sneaky look. “You told me so in the stories.”
Gil groaned, trying to laugh but tangling up a tortured noise instead. “Sometimes stories don’t have happy endings.”
“Ours does,” she said with utmost conviction.
His skin turned ashen. “Ours will, eventually. However, just like other stories, there will be new trials ahead.”
My heart skipped a beat.
He’s trying to prepare her for the possibility of him going to jail.
“Nothing bad will happen now we’re together, silly.” Olive patted his waist, still smiling at me. “And nothing bad could ever happen if O moves in with us. We can be safe together.”
I coughed, shaking my head. “You guys have each other. You don’t need me.”
“Yes, we do. I don’t want you to go.” Her voice slipped into a plea. “Please...can you stay?”
“O has her own life, little spinach. Don’t make her sad by asking for things that can’t come true.”
Her shoulders fell. “I didn’t mean to make anyone sad.”
I held out my hand. She immediately flew to my side and took it, blinking huge grey eyes, wrapping her little spell around my soul all over again. She made it sound so easy—nullifying a lifetime of complication into one stupidly simple conclusion.
Love had the power to heal, start afresh, move on.
Pity I didn’t have the strength to do such things.
“I’ll always be your friend, just like I’m your dad’s friend. We’ve been friends for ages.”
“Can you be our friend while living with us?”
I chuckled. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Dad said I’m worse than a donkey.”
“A donkey?”
“A stubborn arse.” Gil chuckled. “I shouldn’t call her an arse, but...if the description fits.” He smiled, slightly embarrassed, mostly proud.
“I’m an arse.” Olive snickered, alive and happy as if she’d been asleep for the past year and just woken up to her father’s protective kiss.