Chapter 19
Of course there were no direct flights to Lincoln, Nebraska. With a short layover in Denver, it would take about five hours to get there. Sleeping was out of the question, as was sitting still. I would have liked to have burned my pent-up energy somehow, preferably by crying, because I knew I’d feel more peaceful and my thoughts would be clearer afterward. But my body had grown unfamiliar in the last couple of hours. It just didn’t work. I couldn’t even down the water that the flight attendant handed out. My throat was burning, I felt nauseated, and the only thing that helped even a little bit was the smell of Kaden, which surrounded me like a familiar cocoon. I buried my face up to my nose in the soft sweater and pulled the sleeves over my fingertips to hide my trembling.
Once out of the plane, I wanted to run. But there were too many people streaming toward the exit. On the street, I started looking for a taxi.
The driver understood the urgency. Traffic was heavy around the airport, but after a few minutes the jam eased up and he stepped on the gas, heading for the affluent area where my parents lived.
When the driver reached our wide street with its stately homes and stopped, I was on the verge of puking. After throwing money into his lap, I jumped out of the car, took my bag from the trunk, and ran up to our driveway.
I rang the bell and banged on the massive door before I opened it and stepped inside. My eyes scanned the foyer frantically.
Right away, I heard someone approaching and murmuring something unintelligible in an annoyed tone.
“Crystal?” Dad asked, surprised.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Panting, I stared at him.
His hair had gone almost completely gray; his hairline had receded even farther. He was wearing a tailored, gray suit complemented by the usual white shirt and dark tie.
I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. And finally the tears came.
“You’re okay,” I sobbed.
Dad patted my back awkwardly. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked.
It’d been so long since I’d heard his voice. He almost sounded like a stranger.
“What about your accident?” I asked, stepping back and looking for any injuries. I’d thought he’d be lying unconscious in a hospital bed, with a bruised face and bandaged arms. In fact, he looked intact.
“Oh, that,” answered Dad with a frown. “I tore a ligament on the squash court.”
Words failed me.
“You know that Edmund and I sometimes play too hard.”
“But Mom—” I broke off and swallowed hard. “Mom called me and said you were in an accident,” I choked. “She made it sound really bad.”
Dad barked out a laugh and then shook his head. He heaved a sigh, then took my bag from my shoulder. “You must’ve misunderstood her.”
I was stunned. No time to answer back: My father cut that short by stepping aside.
“Just come in,” he urged me.
As we walked through the foyer, I noticed he was limping a bit. He set my bag down on the marble floor and headed toward the parlor without looking back. It took great effort for me not to lose my cool.
On one hand, it was a relief to see that Dad was okay.
On the other hand, I wanted to kill my mother.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
Dad plopped down on the white leather sofa and looked at me expectantly. I collapsed in the armchair next to him, taking a moment to collect myself.
Nothing had changed here. The luxurious decor seemed much more decadent to me now, compared to Woodshill or even Rachel’s home in Portland.
Dad picked up a carafe of water from the table.
“Want some?” he asked. I nodded.
Calmer now, I felt how dry my throat was. I pulled my legs up under me on the chair, then took the full glass and put it to my lips, gulping down the cool water.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. If Dad found my haircut or lack of manners surprising, he didn’t let on.
“You know her. Probably getting ready for tomorrow night,” Dad answered.
Which meant she was at the beauty salon or meeting friends for coffee. Good for her. Because if she were to come through the double-winged door right now, there was no telling what I’d do.
“So you only came because you thought I was on my deathbed?” asked my father, taking a sip of water and putting the glass back down on the table.
“Mom cried on the phone,” I said, avoiding his question.
Dad raised both eyebrows. “She’d do anything to get you to the gala.”
I just snorted in response. To be honest, there was nothing to say. “But your leg is okay, right?” I finally asked.
“It’s good to know that my daughter cares about me and comes right away if she thinks something happened to me,” he said with a pinched smile.
“Don’t be that way, Dad. Of course I care, and you know it,” I shot back.
“Really?” he asked, leaning back.
I sighed. Now he was making a dig about my having left home. “Wanting to be on my own doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
Even if it might be better to care a bit less. Less pain that way.
Dad’s expression didn’t soften. “It would have been nice if you’d gotten in touch once in a while. Voluntarily,” he added, when he saw my mouth open.
“And what about you? Have you forgotten how to use a telephone?” I counted to five before speaking again in a more forgiving tone. “Anyway, what’s the use of calling if all I hear is accusations about making the wrong decision for my career? You and Mom were never okay with my moving. Hearing that over and over again doesn’t help.”
“Of course, I wanted you to do something sensible with your life, Crystal,” he said, and I winced.
By now I was used to being called Allie, and it was strange to hear this other name—one that didn’t fit me anymore. Like this house. His words stung me. That’s how it always was when he talked down to me. As if his way were the only right way, the only way to get ahead in life.
Trying to keep my cool, I hadn’t yet formed an answer when I heard the front door open. Mom’s high heels clacked across the marble floor. Then she appeared in the doorway.
As always, everything about her was perfect, from hairstyle to pedicure. Her perfection was broken only for a fraction of a second, when her fake smile wavered at the sight of me sitting next to Dad.
“Crystal!” She pretended to be surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”
Now I lost my composure and jumped up. “But you were sure I’d come.”
She sighed. “Of course I was hoping you would. But I’m not going to spoil my evening just because your childish pride keeps you away on Thanksgiving.”
I raised my eyebrows and looked at Dad, who was just picking up his cell phone from the table. Then he stood, nodded apologetically and disappeared into his study. I uttered a joyless laugh. Wasn’t it always like this? Mom and I would fight, Dad would disappear. He avoided any quarrel that did not directly involve him, and as a businessman he always had a ready excuse.
“I can’t believe you outright lied to me,” I hissed, addressing my mother. Actually, I didn’t want her to notice how furious she made me. That would only get her going. “Why’d you do it?”
Mom’s frozen smile grew even wider. “I want nothing more than to spend Thanksgiving with my daughter. Is that too much to ask?”
The nerve!
“You don’t think I’d go to your fucking gala now, do you?”
Mom gasped. “Don’t you dare speak to me like you grew up in the gutter, Crystal. This is beneath your dignity. It’s not how you were raised.”
I snorted. “Beneath my dignity … ” I murmured. “You’re out of your mind if you think that your plan worked, Mom.” I noticed with some satisfaction how she backed away from me. “I’m only here because you hooked me with a nasty trick. Not because I want to play happy family with you on Thanksgiving and dance around in front of your friends like a doll. The only thing I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving is that I don’t have to live here anymore.”
These were my last words. I ran into the foyer, grabbed my bag, and left, slamming the door behind me, hoping it made the walls shake.