“He works hard. That’s his job, to take care of us.”
Dad starts talking again, leaving a message. The sound of his voice triggers a memory I feel deep in my bones. I grab my aching arms. “Am I going to have to go back to the hospital?”
Mom sees me shrinking into myself, and gives me a hug that leaves dirt prints on my shirt. She smells so sweet, like roses. “No, sweetie. No more hospitals. At least, not for a while.”
“How are my two girls?” Dad’s shadow falls over me. My mother turns and the sun falls full on her face. Green eyes, black hair and brows, brown skin - she’s so beautiful, my mother. My skin is more olive, a compromise between the natural tan of my mother’s heritage and my dad’s pallor, but otherwise people say I look like her.
“We’re planting roses.”
“More roses?” Dad teases. And I smile, because that’s exactly what I said. But in the next moment he frowns. “Daphne, you’re watching out for your momma, right? Make sure she’s not growing too tired—”
“That’s not her job,” Mom’s voice is soft, but she rarely cuts people off. Dad stills like she snapped at him.
I pat his leg. “It’s okay, Dad. I am watching her. I don’t want to go back to the hospital.”
Mom and Dad share a long look over my head. It ends when Dad bows his. I don’t quite know what their fight is about, but I know Mom won.
“Good girl,” Dad says to me. His voice is thick with emotion I don’t understand. He drops a kiss on my head and lowers himself down to the lawn with us. “Now, how do I plant these sticks?”
Thirty-Three
Present day
Daphne
I don’t know how long I sit beside my sleeping father.
He looks bad. Shocking. When did his skin become so translucent? How did I miss this? It’s only been a few weeks. He was so much stronger the last time I was here. Now, he looks like he’s— Like he’s—
I want to reach out and grab his hand but he looks too weak to touch. Like he’s made of dust and if I touch him he’ll disintegrate.
The nurse comes in and out a few times. Checks my dad’s vitals and shows me how to swab his lips to keep them wet. Her stance has softened towards me. Who knows what lies Adam told her about me? Which makes me wonder: what other lies has he told? There is a common denominator in a lot of the bad things that have happened: Adam Archer. But I can’t think about that right now.
“Daphne?” my dad’s wan voice comes out as the barest whisper through cracked lips. His eyes are open only the barest of slits.
“Dad,” I lean in to touch his cheek. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It feels dry and delicate like filo pastry dough. “I’m here, Dad. It’s going to be okay.”
“You look...like your mother. I thought you were her.”
Crap, now I’m crying. “I was thinking of her just now.” I brush my sleeve over my eyes and grab the cup of water. “Hey, can you drink a little bit for me?”
Everything else feels so silly and unimportant now. All the drama. All the hurt and grudges. In this moment, all I want is to go back and spend time with my dad. I wasted so much time. We both did.
“Try…” he whispers. I set the straw between his lips and coax him to take some sips. He doesn’t take much. That’s when I know: we’re counting the hours, not the days, now. Shit.
Fat tears roll down my cheeks. “I didn’t know you were this bad. I would’ve been here. Dad.”
“Busy...girl.” His eyes are open a little wider now and they are shining, a small smile curving his lips up.
“Yeah.” My laugh is pathetic. “It certainly has been a couple of days.” I filter through all that’s happened, trying to figure out what I can tell him. Hey, dad, I ended up in the tabloids again—this time with my clothes off! And I’ve lost the love of my life and my job all in one scandal. Oh, and I think Adam Archer orchestrated it all so he can steal our company.
“Um, Dad? I have to tell you… I’m not engaged.” I stare at his liver-spotted finger entwined with mine. “I told Adam I didn’t want to marry him.” There, that’s nice and simple, and without any lurid details. And I managed not to call Adam a douche canoe.
Dad makes a little sound and I rush out, “I know it’s what you wanted for me—”
He seems agitated and finally manages to bark out, “No.”
“No?” I risk raising my eyes to his. Is this what it’s finally come to, then? And he doesn’t even know the worst of it. How do I tell him his life’s work, his company is about to slip through my fingers? “I’m such a failure.” It’s barely a whisper but he must hear.
“Shhh. Not a failure. Never.” His hand traces my wrist, the veins, as if remembering when they bore IVs.
“I couldn’t save mom. I was supposed to cure her. That’s why you had me, right?” I half laugh. But we’re both crying.
“Daphne,” he mouths my name. Twin tracks of water stream from his eyes.
“Shhh.” I wipe his face and give him more water. The nurse comes in and the moment is broken. I excuse myself to give dad privacy.
I find a bathroom and commandeer a whole box of tissues. Then the floodgates open. When I head back in, Dad’s sleeping, so I take up vigil by the window and look at the flowers perched in the window box, bright and colorful in the midday sun.
I wasted so much time working for my father’s love. Why? Because you didn’t know love could be effortless. Unconditional. Not like I do now.
The nurse finds me still staring out the window.
“He’s ready for you.”
I sniffle and wipe my eyes, to hide my sadness. “This is the end, isn’t it?” I can’t believe I’m really asking that question.
She hesitates, and nods. “He’s out of pain. I did my best to make him comfortable.”
“Thank you.” I swallow hard.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No.” I wave the pathetic crumple of tissues in my hand. “I’m fine.” The nurse doesn’t move, so I add, “I’ll go in in a moment.”
“I called him. Mr. Archer. I didn’t tell him you were here.”
“Oh….thank you.” I don’t quite understand her determined expression, but she looks like she wants to say more.
She draws herself up. “I told him Dr. Laurel wasn’t long for this world, and it was time to notify his next of kin. He told me he’d handle it, and hung up.”
Ah. Good ole Adam, showing his true douche canoe colors. “He’s probably not going to call me.”
“That’s what I suspected. I saw the tabloids today.”
Oh no. “You did?’ I hide my wince.
“I did. And if any man did that to me, I wouldn’t be his fiancée for long.”
I blink at her declaration. “Did...what exactly?” I ask carefully.
“Forced you to have a threesome.” She looks as confused as I feel. “At least that’s what the Herald said.”
“Oh…” A threesome? Dear gods. These reporters have quite the imagination. “Well, you’re right. I’m not his fiancée any more. Gave back the ring and everything.”