Taking a deep breath, I move forward. “You know your dad doesn’t drink alcohol, right?”
“Yeah. He says it’s not healthy. He’s a health freak.”
“Well, a lot of health freaks are recovering addicts. Maybe they almost died of a heart attack. Maybe they got diabetes after gaining lots of weight. And they had to choose between living or letting their addiction kill them. And your dad many years ago was addicted to alcohol.”
“What?”
“That illness he had, the one that kept him away from you when you lived with your grandma? It’s called alcoholism. He couldn’t just have one drink. He lost control with alcohol.”
“It’s not a real illness.”
“It is, Harry. And there are a lot of people with this illness. There are a lot of people who die from this.”
“But my dad didn’t die. He quit.”
“Correct. But most people don’t quit their addiction until they die or something life-changing happens to them. Usually a near-death experience, like someone who changes their diet after they survive a heart attack that could have killed them. Some people call this a coming to Jesus moment.”
“I don’t believe in God. There’s no real proof.”
I grin. “It’s a saying. It’s something bad that happens and then everything in your life changes forever. Your dad had one of these moments, and that’s what made him stop drinking.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your dad didn’t believe he was an alcoholic until something bad happened because he drank too much.”
“What happened?”
I’m here. I’ve walked him this far. Maybe Flint’s walked him this far before too. Right to the edge. The moment of truth. But it’s stuck in my throat, strangling me because I know if I say the words everything will change. I don’t want Harry to hate his father. I don’t want Flint to hate me. But this family of ours is cracked and vulnerable because of this secret.
Maybe everything has to break before it can truly be fixed.
“The night your mom died in the car accident, your dad was driving.”
“It was raining. The roads were slick. They’ve told me this story before.”
I don’t know. I never asked if it really was raining. Maybe it was. It doesn’t matter.
“But no one told you that your dad had been drinking that night. No one told you that he was intoxicated, and that’s what caused the accident. Because it’s hard for an adult to understand and accept something so tragic, but it’s unimaginable to expect a child to understand.”
“I hate when they serve watermelon that’s basically rind. Look, it’s clear. No color. No flavor.”
Oh, Harry …
“Your dad hasn’t been around because he knows you think the guy who caused my accident deserved to die—because he’d been drinking. I’m telling you this so you know. He needs for you to know. But I don’t think he expects you to forgive him. It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of you.”
“Grandpa found this donut place that has gluten-free donuts without dairy, but I’m not supposed to tell my dad.”
I slide my soup aside and fold my hands on the table. “Remember that photo I had of the guy, Alex, jumping out of a plane? The one I told you climbed Mt. Everest?”
Harry glances up. “Yeah.”
“He got stuck in an avalanche, and by the time they rescued him, his hands had severe frostbite. They had to remove his hands. Alex was my husband. But after he lost his hands, he treated me badly. The things he did and said to me were, in many ways, unforgivable. We divorced. But I kept telling myself I forgave him. I thought if you truly love someone, nothing should be unforgivable.”
I blink several times to keep the tears in check. “But if I’m honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever completely forgive him. I will love him forever. Emotions are ours. They are intimate and personal. And they shouldn’t be right or wrong. No one should tell you what to feel, who to love, or how to live.” I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine.
He curls it into a fist, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Your dad just needs you to know. That’s all. And now you do.” I ease out of the chair and grab my tray.
“If Aria died, would you forgive the driver that hit your car?” Harrison’s gaze meets mine.
I hurt for him so damn bad right now. Of course Flint hasn’t told him. Who turns their child’s world upside down on purpose?
“No,” I whisper. “But that man wasn’t my father.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Flint
“You’re a hard man to find.”
I look up from the table as the sax player narrates my grief in song. “Who helped you?”
My dad inspects the tumbler of whisky next to my half-empty glass of water. Concern etches his already wrinkled forehead. “Cage.”
I nod.
He takes a seat across from me, eyeing the glass. “Jameson?”
“Monkey Shoulder.”
“How appropriate.” He chuckles. “It’s been a week. Aria gets to go home in two days. She’s gaining weight and maintaining body temperature.”
I nod.
“Have you held your daughter yet?”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head.
“I have. She’s a little miracle.”
My jaw clenches. I know she’s a miracle. I know what time she usually wakes during the night. I know how long she nurses from Elle and that she prefers the right breast over the left.
“This is your life, Flint. Get in the game or quit, but don’t sit on the bench watching everyone around you live your dream.”
When I don’t look at him or acknowledge him in any way, he stands and rests his finger on the rim of the whisky tumbler. “I don’t have to ask if you’ve taken a drink. I know the man you are today.”
He tips the tumbler on its side, sending the gold liquid spilling off the opposite end of the table. “And Harrison knows about Heidi. Ellen told him.” He hands me a folded piece of paper. “She asked me to give this to you.”
I stare at it for a few seconds before taking it. Dad turns and walks out the door.
I always loved music. My piano teacher was my mentor. She lived two blocks away from us, a retired professor from Juilliard. I was her only student. She taught me because my dad made suits for her husband. Her name was Ethyl—the name you said we would NOT name our daughter. (I forgive you.) My junior year of high school she was hit by a drunk driver. She spent three months in the ICU. They said she’d never walk again.
My mom took me to visit her at the hospital every week. One of her therapists was a music therapist. I’d never heard of such a profession. Over the following eighteen months, I witnessed a miracle. Ethyl surpassed every goal the doctors said she would never achieve.
She walked again. Talked again. And played the piano again. Every therapist played a role in her recovery, but Ethyl said music healed her. That’s when I knew what I wanted to do with my life.
BUT … are you ready for the good part? Because there’s always a good part. Of everything Ethyl accomplished in her life, by far the greatest, most admirable thing she ever did was forgive the man who drove the car that almost ended her life.