Early Friday morning, the day before Della and Paul’s wedding, I loaded my car with two weekend bags and two garment bags. The wedding is early evening on Saturday. Brielle and I are planning on staying through to Sunday, but our sleeping arrangements as of Saturday night are unresolved.
The newlyweds are not leaving for their honeymoon until Monday, and when Della insisted we stay with them for the weekend, I didn’t make further arrangements. Then she waited until yesterday to inform me her mom was keeping Ethan Saturday night.
I don’t blame them, they want to be alone after the wedding, but now I had to drive into Port Charlotte that night to get a room.
Closing the trunk, I walk back up to my apartment. Only thing left to load is my daughter.
She’s moving slow this morning. School’s been out for two weeks, and she’s getting an extra hour of sleep in the mornings. Trying to get her out of bed this morning was like pulling a crooked nail out of a piece of wood; she wouldn’t budge. I left her at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal while I took our luggage to the car. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be face first in milk and Foot Loops when I walked in.
A couple times a week I drop her off at Vicky’s house. When I picked her up after work yesterday, Connor’s mom cornered me about my relationship with her son. Where she thought everything had been running smooth, and on the way to gaining a daughter-in-law, I was ending whatever fraction of romance she thought we shared. Generally, if a person cuts ties with someone, the point is well made. Connor, however, thought differently. And his mother did not fully grasp it all until I spelled it out for her last night.
I didn’t intend on breaking up with two people when I was preparing what to say. It took me longer than it should have, but I wanted to make it clear we would not be continuing on with…whatever we had been doing.
We were never an actual couple, we dated and had sex a few times, but I never got the impression he and I were serious about one another. What we did have worked well for us at the time. He was the one who once said to me, if things ended we couldn’t let it effect our working relationship. As for what he has been feeding his mother all this time, you would think I would have been getting a proposal in the near future.
Breaking it off with him happened one night when he asked to take me and Brielle to dinner. I explained we should have a working relationship only, apart from remaining friends, I was no longer interested in dating him anymore. The farewell lasted all of ten minutes. Connor didn’t seem hurt, only reassuring the fact of the matter that we needed to continue being professional toward one another.
Professional is what I am good at. However, sugar-coating my words, I am not.
Vicky asked, point blank, why I had broken up with her son. When it became clear in her spiel about working things out with him because we were a great power team for the company, I realized she expected more out of our trite relationship than I ever did.
I couldn’t have been more brutally honest by explaining Connor and I were strictly colleagues from here on out. She got my meaning. I think. After all, I thought Connor understood what over meant, but apparently the Valdez family needed it spelled out.
After a full month passed after ending it with Connor, he walked in this week at work asking me for the address to the wedding this weekend. He planned on meeting me there. As my date. Which I never asked him to be in the first place.
Stupidity makes professionalism extremely difficult.
Brielle was on the couch with her cereal and watching cartoons when I walked in.
“About done, sweetie?” I slip my sandals off at the door, not wanting to track in water. Remnants of last night’s storm covered the ground outside in haphazard puddles. This early into summer the storms were sporadic, it could become a downpour for hours, or rain for five minutes and never again. Luckily for Della’s wedding, Calusa should have nothing but clear skies tomorrow.
That’s Florida weather for you. Two hour difference could also be an entirely different forecast.
Not that it would matter to the most laid back bride in the history of “I’ve dreamt of my wedding since I was a little girl.” She has done absolutely everything opposite of what she used to talk about in her extravagant imagination. The small town princess is sticking with the moniker: small.
“Yeah,” she answers with a sleepy sigh.
I wash her bowl, then empty and clean the coffee pot. At the door, Brielle puts on her purple and yellow rain boots. When we were packing her bag last night, the rain had already been pouring for an hour and didn’t sound like it was going to let up. She informed me she would be wearing her boots all weekend, and didn’t need any other shoes. I packed the ones picked out for the wedding, and her slip ons. If there are no puddles to jump in, she will be hasty to toss them aside and beg for her sandals.
Five minutes later we’re out the door and locking up. I steer clear of Brielle’s exhilarated puddle jumping as we walk across the parking lot to my car.
A two hour drive with a five year old—any kid, really—can be the most frustrating thing in their existence. Stillness is an impossibility.
“Mommy,” she calls from the backseat.
“Hm?”
“Can we visit Grandpa?”
“If I have spare time between helping Della set up for tomorrow’s wedding, we’ll go by.”
“He won’t be there tomorrow?”
“I don’t know, Bri. We can ask Della when we get there.”
Seems everyone became buddy-buddy after I left town, so I don’t see why my dad wouldn’t be there.
Two hours turn into three with a bathroom break at a rest area, and a pit stop for a second breakfast.
Ten minutes out, and driving down the desolate SR-17, I give Della a heads up call.
After she picks up in a hushed voice, I wait for her to find a place to hide so she can talk to me.
“I got stuck working half a day today since we’ll be gone for two weeks on our honeymoon,” Della says just above a whisper. The doctors office she works for has a no cell phone policy for the staff, and she’s hiding in an exam room. “Come by my work and I’ll give you the key to my house so you can get in.”
Her office is in the other direction from where I’m driving. My eyes flick up to the rear view mirror and land on Brielle. She’s humming to the song playing on the radio.
“It’s fine. Brielle wants to go see my dad. I’ll take her over there for a little.”
“That’ll be good for all of you.” The warmth in her tone is encouraging. “Especially him. I know it’s going to take some time for you to see he’s changed, but he really wants to be a part of your lives again.”
My friends and I shared the same contempt for my dad growing up. I found it strange how easily they forgave him while I’ve been out of the picture. Maybe because he wasn’t their father it was easier to forgive him on all he did and didn’t do while being an alcoholic.
“So you’ll get out at noon?” I ask when she remains quiet.
“Yeah. Then I want to go to lunch with you two and my mom. After that we’ll all go get our nails done.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, I gotta go before someone finds me in here,” she says hurriedly. I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh! Does Luke know you’re here yet?”
“No. I figured I’ll see him tomorrow at the wedding.”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I haven’t spoken to Luke since the night he hung up on me. My reservations with us were still present. Even after dumping Connor, and well…Luke hung up on me. I was not about to be the first to call after that.
Doesn’t mean I came by that choice easily. I almost broke every night while I lay in bed. My knee-jerk response was to keeping ignoring him for his highhanded belief that I would automatically want him right after ending it with another man.
But it was deep down, like down down, in the place that gets every person in illogical trouble that had me almost giving in. It was his demand, his stern voice that kept me company as I lay there awake, hot and bothered by his words.
Let me know when you’ve been enlightened.
Something was lit, that’s for sure, but I was too stubborn to show him all my cards. Unsurprisingly, I played dealer because I coveted control.
“Chicken shit,” she mutters, calling me out. “He won’t tell me what happened and neither will you, but it’s been months and both of you are avoiding every mention of each others names when I bring them up.”
“Better get off the phone before you get caught,” I remind her by switching the topic off of Luke and I.
“Better call Luke before I do,” she sing-songs, and then hangs up on me.
I laugh at her veiled threat. She’d be doing me a favor if she told Luke I’m in town. The thought did cross my mind to send a text. But the potential disappointment outweighed reason. What if I said, “We’re here,” simple and innocent, and then he responds with, “Cool. See you tomorrow.”
Brielle climbs out of the back seat with excitement. Her joy and innocence makes seeing my dad easier this time around.
A silver sedan is parked in front his semi. I’ve never known him to own a car. There’s a corner store at the end of the street he would walk to if he needed liquor, but other than that, the few groceries or hygienic supplies he bought while out on a run before coming home.
Brielle runs ahead of me, waiting on the porch. I open the screen door and knock.
To the left of the house, I look over the railing and examine his rig. Same as before, grass grows around it, but now there’s one flat tire in the back.
I turn back to the house when the door rattles open. An older woman, late fifties or early sixties, stands in front of us in nurse scrubs.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for my dad.” I speak as if it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. No one comes around our house but a select few. And those people should know me.
“Olivia?” The older woman straightens with a stunned smile.
“Livvie, is that you?” I hear my dad’s voice carry over the woman’s shoulder. She steps to the side and I see he is sitting where he always sits.
“Hey. Sorry for the surprise visit.” I glance at the woman again before stepping inside with Brielle in hand. “We’re in town for Della’s wedding, and Brielle wanted to come by.”
“Hi, Grandpa,” Brielle says in a tiny voice, waving at him.
“Come give me hug, darlin’.”
She skips over to his chair and wraps her arms around him. Dad groans with exaggeration as he hugs her back.
“Such a strong hug you got there, kiddo.”
“Can I get you anything to drink, Olivia?” The lady I left behind at the door asks as she makes her way to the back of the house where the kitchen is.
“No, I’m good, thank you.”
“Brielle, would you like anything? We have juice boxes.” She smiles knowingly, like this is the way to every kids heart.
“Yes, please.” Brielle jumps happily.
When the woman puts as much distance between us as this small house will allow, I step closer to where my dad sits, and whisper the question that has firmly placed itself at the forefront of my mind since the moment the woman opened the door.
“Is that your girlfriend?”
His eyes bulge as wide as saucers when I nod in the direction of the kitchen.
“No!” He whisper shouts back at me in the same manner. “That’s Janice. She’s my…nurse.”
“A nurse. Why do you need a nurse…?” My voice trails off.
Understanding smacks in to me like a tether ball. Unaware of the speed the ball gains as it swings around the poll; unprepared as you turn and it whacks you right in the face.
Someone with an in-home nurse can only mean one thing.
“You’re sick,” I whisper to myself.
“Brielle, darlin’, why don’t you go in there with Janice for a moment so I can talk to your momma.” He shifts in his recliner, nudging Brielle off the arm of the chair.
“Would you like a popsicle?” Janice offers her when she walks into the kitchen. Placing her weathered hand on her shoulder.
A deep, sinking feeling sets down heavy on my stomach.
“Pull that chair over here, Liv. Sit down beside me, please.”
Woodenly, I comply and scoot a fairly new, upholstered chair closer to his recliner.
As I watch him closely, at the overstated aging I took for his rough lifestyle choices, I detect small signs of abnormality I would have never noticed before now. I’ve never been around anyone sick enough to see the signs. And I don’t know what he’s sick with, but I do know it must be bad enough to need a nurse checking in on him.
His blue eyes, the same as mine and Brielle’s, are not near as bright as they once were. They seem clouded and faintly yellow. Walt’s always been a slim man, but his clothes hang in a large weight loss kind of way.
My stomach bottoms out when he dives head first into the details.
“I have cancer. Janice comes twice a week. I can still manage on my own for the most part, but I’m a single man and it’s precaution.”
My heart beats wildly, causing my breathing to heave louder than normal. I can’t blink. I stare at him, my dad, a man I’ve fought against caring for due to all his failures as a parent, but never could quite hate completely. I left him behind, letting myself become indifferent to my father as much as a child can. The willingness to return to any sort of relationship with him has only been because of Brielle. The thing I hated most about him was his dependency on alcohol. I was handed proof he’s done with the drinking, and resigned myself to forgive him and move on.
So much is raging inside me I can’t process it all. That long ago child I used to be is pushing her way to the front, wanting nothing but her daddy and the comfort that his arms hold. At the same time I stare at the man who kicked me out at nineteen, pregnant, and find the father-daughter comfort elusive and foreign.
I’m trying to be an adult about this, but nothing is coming to me on what to say or do next.
“I asked Luke and Della not to tell you, so don’t be mad at them.”
“They knew about this?” It’s not meant as a question, just me clarifying for myself out loud.
All the times they threw those “he’s not the same man he used to be” was a cover.
“Not for very long. I’ve known for a year,” he clears his throat. “The worst part of it is, it has nothing to do with all the drinking I’ve done. Serves me right that something else is what will kill me sooner than I expected.”
“Don’t say that,” I hiss, feeling the first sting of tears hit me. I blink rapidly to clear them away.
I’m having a hard time rationalizing the emotion storming inside me. It’s all heightened and I’m disgusted with myself for wondering if I should care this much. He’s my father and he’s dying. But he’s also the same man I swore off caring any further about when I left his home. There were so many times I wished he was dead when I was a teenager. I thought I would have been better off without him. A major part of coming home was to see if he was still alive. And now that he’s actually dying…
I stand abruptly.
“I’m going to step outside.”
“Oliva.”
“I need a minute. I need air.” I walk away, then turn back when a thought crosses my mind. “Don’t tell her.”
We both look toward the kitchen. She sits at the table with the sweetest smile.
Brielle just got a grandpa, a family, and I don’t want to ruin her joy. I want to protect her and carry all the pain for her, but this is going to be one of those situations that makes it impossible.
My sandaled feet pick up sand as I rush out of sight. I need air, but I don’t know if I’m going to scream or throw something or burst in to tears. Whatever comes, I prefer no witnesses.
At the side of the house I pace back and forth every five steps. My hands are shaking, and despite the craving for fresh air, I’m not actually taking in any of it.
I don’t want to be alone. When I pull my phone from my pocket, it’s effortless as I dial up the one person I can trust.
It rings twice before he answers.
“Hey. I heard you were in town from Della. Didn’t think you’d call me, though,” Luke says with smugness.
Almost two months of silence and yet he’s the person, the only person, I need right now. The first person to pop in my head who would know what to say, and how to calm me. I’ve been so alone since I left Calusa. I’m the glue at home. The glue at work. The fixer who has to be on every second of the day. I could never fall apart because no one was there to put me back together.
The one person who’s been trying to get me to see I’m not alone anymore, I pushed away.
Now I only wish I called him sooner.
“I’m sorry,” I hiccup. Tears clog my throat, but I refuse to be weak before I’ve said my peace.
“Liv, what’s wrong? Where are you?”
“He has cancer.”
There is a long, pregnant pause as I somehow hold it together. Physically I can feel the taut strings I’ve sown over my heart stretching and ready to break loose.
“Are you over there?”
Luke knows without needing an answer, but I reply anyway. “Yes.”
“I’m on my way.” The sound of keys jingle in the background.
“You don’t have to come here, Luke. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
Silently I’m begging him to ignore what I’ve said. My instinct is to keep pushing him away. The truth is, I want him by my side.
“Then keep talking, but I’m still coming to you.”
“Okay,” I reply softly.
Biting my lip with worry, and because I really have nothing to actually say, I’m grateful when he carries on the conversation. I thought I wanted to talk, but I don’t. I just want him. Without the need of words being spoken, he can make all of this better somehow.
It feels like everything around me but my own mind is trapped is slow motion. My heart beats normal, my breathing is regular, but my head is scrambling in fast forward with a million thoughts to try and process. I’m worried I’m about to be ripped apart.
“Is Bri there too?”
“I left her inside with him and his nurse. She doesn’t know yet.”
“Probably for the best, darlin’.”
Hearing Luke say “darlin’” the same way my dad always has, snaps one of those strings holding me together. A sob tries to break free, but instead I stop it and wind up choking on air.
Clutching my phone tighter to my ear as I gasp for breath, I use my other hand to rip at my throat like that will somehow help me take in more air.
“Liv, talk to me.” His worry breaches my fear.
“I can’t breath. I think I’m having a panic attack.”
“Shh, baby. You’re fine. Listen to my voice okay? Listen to my breaths and copy me.”
His soothing words barely register, but when I hear the exaggerated inhale and exhale of his breaths directly in my ear, I do exactly as Luke instructed.
When I’m calmer I quit focusing on my own breathing and listen to his instead. I’m not able to gauge how long I’ve been standing here, but the sun is more powerful than my fear. I relinquish myself to its energy and ameliorate in the sweat coating under my shirt at my back.
The sound of diesel engine rumbles up the street, growing louder with each passing second. The thing about small towns, you can get from one side to the other within minutes.
His big truck comes in to view and I take a step forward.
The tires kick up dirt in the driveway. Before the dust settles to the ground, Luke’s jumping out and walking toward me. I meet him halfway, wrapping my arms around him then burying my face into his solid chest.
Luke whispers sweet words in my ear, pulling forth my misery enough that one lone tear escapes. The salty droplet falls down with all of my barriers.
I spent so many years hating how I could still love and care for the kind of man my father had been. He was physically there most of the time, yet never there for me. We didn’t have a relationship. He didn’t deserve the devotion I gave to him then.
As a single parent I’ve dealt with hardships too. And not one of those instances could I ever neglect Brielle the way he had done me. I tried to compare and digest his pain from Mom leaving us and find whether it was understandable or not. Simply put, no.
Those thoughts are what kept me from reconciling with him. Then in one visit back I saw what my grudge took away from me.
Time. And who knew how much time I had left now.
He was sober, and he was my dad. The dad I desperately wanted him to be. Seeing this new him, a version so vastly different I felt as if we were meeting for the first time, I let hope plant a seed. Of course, it was buried way, way down there and would take a lot of nurturing before it grew, but it was still there.
“I’m so sorry, Liv.”
Oh, God. Brielle. How can I tell her this and not break her heart? If she hurts, I hurt, too.
“I don’t even know all of the details. He told me and then I immediately had to get out of there.”
“He keeps me updated, but I usually have to push. When he’s being stubborn and won’t talk to anyone, Janice updates me or Della.”
“So everyone can know but his own daughter?” I shake my head, agitated by their logic. My hands grip his shirt, but I lift my head to glare at him. “You knew and didn’t tell me, Luke.”
His fingers stroke up and down my back. It’s calming and sensual and just having him touch me in an affable way stirs a flutter in my belly.
“He asked us not to before you came back. I think he always held out hope he would see you again.”
When his hand strokes downward it sparks a match. Not a flame of desire, but anger.
I break our hold, crossing my arms over my front and stare hard.
“It’s been months since I came back.” I look directly in to his dark, beautiful eyes. “I get if he wanted to tell me this himself, but you and Della left me feeling completely ignorant. All those comments about how he’s a changed man and I should give him another chance. Where was the courtesy in telling me my father is dying and I may not have much longer to give him that chance?”
I choked up on the latter end of the question.
My voice got louder as I carried on. By the end I was nearly yelling at Luke.
Numerous times I’ve given Brielle a pep talk when her feelings are hurt by someone, and it makes her cry. Tears are an action that connects every human being. Whether in sadness, anger, or joy, we all shed tears at some point. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.
My words of wisdom were feeling like a load of bullshit.
“Okay, you’re right.” Luke tries to cup my face, but I pull away. “We should have said something by now. But Walt wanted time with you girls, with his sobriety, and without his cancer.”
“Did he think I would only stay out of pity?”
“He was afraid you wouldn’t come back at all.”
I never left him in the dark times. He pushed me out. Why would he believe I would run from this?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to say something sooner.”
I flicked my eyes back and forth between his. So intense and gorgeous. I have never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I did right then.
If I ever doubted fate, I believe Luke would have been placed in front of me at any point in time to defy my reasoning.
My gaze drops to his lips, full and perfectly rounded with a sharp angled cupids bow. The dip on his top lip looked like a great place to explore with my tongue. A starting point. I wanted them pressed to mine, feeling their softness and then begging until it was rough. But I didn’t just want them on my mouth. I wanted them on me, all of me. Doing unfathomable things that my unpracticed self hasn’t had in a very, very long time.
Passion.
“Stop looking at me like that, Liv,” Luke warns, even though there is an eagerness underlying his voice.
“I can’t help it,” I breath.
He groans, swiping his thumb along my bottom lip.
“You were just yelling at me. And now you look like you want to…Christ.” Luke cuts himself off with a swear.
Saying the words aloud gives meaning and hope to what has been stirring heavily between.
The connection we had as teenagers can’t begin to compare to what we have now as grown-ups. All the fighting I have been doing to ward off these feelings for Luke has been pointless. It was going to happen no matter how many obstacles I put between us.
“Liv, your dad isn’t the only one afraid of something happening that will keep you from returning again.” His fingers brush underneath my chin to lift my gaze. “Just remember I’m here for you. Talk to me or stay silent and lost in your own thoughts, but I am here. And if you think of bailing again, I won’t let you. At least not without me right on your heels.”
The truth bleeds from his heart, and gives me proof I didn’t believe I needed. Luke really cares. And I crave it.
My heavy eyes fall back to his lips. The moment didn’t pass just because he decided to change the topic.
“Quit that.”
“You’re going to have to kiss me at some point, Luke,” I tease.
His mouth lowers. My eyes flutter closed.
Then I feel his breath close to my ear. Luke’s lips kiss the delicate spot between my jaw and the bottom of my ear.
“Let’s go inside.”
I exhaust a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to come in with me. I know you must have been at work or something.”
“Olivia. You need me, I come. No matter what.”
Reluctantly breaking our connection, I look back at the house and make my way up the drive.
Prepare for worst. Hope for the best.
I stop outside the front door, and turn to face Luke.
“I know there’s a lot going on this weekend, but we should talk before I head back home on Sunday.“
“We’re practically going to be stuck together all weekend. Plenty of time to talk.”
“About us,” I clarify. “About things we said the other night. The night you hung up on me.”
He squints his eyes. “I was waiting for that to get brought up.”
“Fair warning. Hang up on me again, and you’ll never get that kiss.”
He smiles and it brightens everything around me. The sun can go ahead and set, I don’t need it if he’s around.