Chapter 50
Lucas
I sit alone in the back of the restaurant drumming my fingers on the table. I pick up a spoon, and examine the empty piece of cutlery. What the hell am I thinking? I look at my watch and then at the door. No sign of Olivia, or my father.
I check my phone. No message. No text.
Where the hell is she? The longer I sit by myself, the less likely I am to stay. After checking the time once more I decide to give them five more minutes before I get up and leave.
I tent my fingers together and close my eyes, willing Olivia to walk through the door. And walk through it alone. When I told her to make arrangements the thought hadn’t crossed my mind that she might actually catch a ride with my father. I don't know why she would, but paranoia doesn't run on logic.
If I call she'll think I’m checking up on her. So what? She’s late. There’s nothing wrong with me worrying about her safety.
I pick up my phone, debating if I should text or call. Before doing either, I look up one last time and see her speaking to the hostess. My heart unclenches in my chest and I can breathe again.
Olivia’s alone. She looks in my direction. I want to get lost in those chocolaty brown eyes, but I can't. My father’s coming and I have to have my game face on. As she walks toward me, I see it. She’s frazzled. Something’s wrong.
I catch a glimpse of my father in the background. He spots Olivia and follows a few feet behind her. Olivia's eyes are weary, frightened almost. They meet mine and grow wider. I keep focused on her instead of peeking at my father behind her.
Once she’s close to the table, I stand to greet my beautiful fiancé. I feel nauseous and jittery. My nerves are getting the best of me. I hope I can settle myself enough that I can keep my voice down and my hands from shaking with my father at the table.
I lean in to kiss Olivia. She takes my hands in hers. I can't help myself, I look down for a quick moment, and smile seeing the engagement ring on her finger. When my eyes move back up to her face, I don't see the normal sparkle in her eyes.
Something’s bothering Olivia. But there isn't time to ask before my father approaches the table. My eyes and my attention dart over to him.
"Hello, Lucas," he says, beaming.
"Hi." I answer, not wanting to seem hostile. I don’t want to sound happy either. Straight up indifferent works for me.
I pull a chair out for Olivia. Once she’s settled, my father and I take our seats, but my eyes never leave his.
"Son, I am delighted to offer my congratulations on your engagement."
I glance at Olivia. She looks nervous. Too nervous. Probably afraid of how I'll react. I don't want to make her anxious. Dinner was my idea, and I’m doing it for her. The point is to ease the anxiety not add to it.
"Thank you."
After an awkward moment of silence, my father breaks the growing tension. "I must admit I was quite surprised when Olivia came into my office and invited me to dinner."
The waitress comes to take our order. We all start off with a drink to take the edge off. Olivia orders a glass of wine. Me, I go right for the good stuff, vodka straight. Then it’s my father's turn.
I listen as he orders the same drink he had every night with dinner when I grew up. A dirty martini. Just hearing the words leave his mouth envelope me in memories of us as a family.
As soon as he'd come home from work, before even looking at my mother, he'd look for his drink. She made sure to always have it ready for him. More important than dinner on the table was the drink in his hand. He needed something to settle his nerves after a long day of dealing with patients.
I understood early on my father lost his love for what he did. Before I decided not to be a doctor, before Stacy and the divorce. He lost it when he decided money is more important than people. And he wanted the same unfulfilling life for me. Prick.
"Now then," he smiles. "Where were we?"
I look away. I haven't asked this man for anything in years. Even before he broke the father/ son bond. I wanted to prove my independence and did my best to break free from needing anything from my mother or him. Yet here I am about to lay down my pride at his feet.
I take a deep breath and ready myself.
"The thing is, Olivia's parents aren't happy."
He doesn't say anything. He sits and listens. He wants to watch me squirm.
"And when they asked questions about you," I take another deep breath. "Let's just say, they didn't like what they heard."
"You told them about Stacy?"
"Yes."
He nods. "I understand."
"They were upset about the engagement, and it seemed the longer the conversation went on, the worse it got."
"And your mother? How did she take it?"
I rub the back of my neck. It feels like a massive betrayal saying anything about her. And now I have to admit in front of Olivia that my mother doesn't want me to marry her any more than her parents want her to marry me.
"Not well."
"Have you set a date?"
I shake my head and reach for Olivia's hand. "Everything happened so fast, we haven't had much time to discuss it."
The waitress places the drinks and appetizers down on the table in front of us. I take a long sip from my glass, feeling the alcohol burn as it travels down the back of my throat. It feels good, but I know I can't go on a binge like I did the night of the Christmas party. I need to stay sober and in control.
"What is it you'd like from me?"
"I'd like for you to meet Olivia's parents and smooth things over with them. Convince them we're decent people, and not the families you see on those talk shows breaking out in fights and throwing chairs at each other."
He nods. "I see."
I feel Olivia's hand tighten around mine. A supportive squeeze.
"Maybe I could have everyone over to the house. We could have a nice lunch and discuss everything openly. I could explain . . ."
My throat tightens at the thought. I’m not sure I can get the words out. "Neutral ground." I swallow hard and work to formulate a complete sentence. "I think a public setting is better." I know it will tame my attitude toward my father. Hopefully it will have the same effect on all parties.
My father nods. "Will your mother be there?"
I shake my head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. If Mom partners up with Olivia's parents . . . I hate to even think about it."
Again he nods. "I'm guessing they don't know that Olivia works for me."
She clears her throat. "No. I didn't have a chance to tell them. Besides, I don't think that would make them any more comfortable with the situation. If anything," she hesitates. "If anything I think it would make them more concerned."
"Because of Stacy." He finishes so she doesn't have to.
“Yes.”
"Lucas, I'm not going to try and make excuses for what happened. There is no excuse. And I'm sorry just doesn't suffice."
"No, it doesn't."
Olivia looks uncomfortable. She pulls her napkin off her lap and places it on the empty dish in front of her. She’s going to excuse herself. I have to stop her. I shake my head, willing her not to leave. I don't want to be alone with him.
"You know, I'll do anything to help you. Anything you want. I love you very much, and I'm fond of Olivia. I think she brings out the best in you."
"How would you know?" I snap. "You've been out of my life for the last five years." I can't help myself. The words slip from my mouth, my attitude along with them. There he is acting like some sort of patriarch, when he’s nothing more than an old man in the thrust of a mid-life crisis.
Olivia squeezes my hand. I can't look at her. I understand my father is her boss, but he’s my father. He was supposed to love and protect me from the evil of the world, including slime like him. Instead he stabbed me in the back, and now he wants the accolades of a hero.
Not in this lifetime.
"Lucas, I've tried to talk to you for years. But you wouldn't return any of my phone calls. I tried to visit; you slammed the door in my face countless times."
"I had nothing to say."
"I did. But you wouldn't listen."
Every muscle in my body is rigid and tight with tension.
"Do you have any idea how happy I was to see you again? I thought you finally came home to make amends, or at the very least to allow me back in your life."
I look away. He’s such a pompous ass.
"When I learned you were there because of the Christmas party Olivia no doubt dragged you to, I felt grave disappointment. But as I realized what it meant, I was almost giddy. You moved on. You wouldn't have come otherwise and I hoped it was a sign that we could open the lines of communication."
He pauses, waiting for me to say something. I won't give him the satisfaction.
"You can deny it if you'd like, but I may be in a unique position to understand what Olivia means to you. You wouldn't be here right now if that weren't the case."
My muscles shake. I use every ounce of self-restraint not to leap over the table and attack him. I lean forward in my seat and meet his eyes with a cold, hard stare.
"You stay the hell away from her, or this time I'll kill you."
My father looks down a moment, looking resigned. When his eyes find mine again, they’re sad and watery. "Of course. I never meant for any of this to happen, son. I hope you know that."
"It doesn't matter what you meant. It happened. And to rub salt in the wound you had the audacity to leave my mother and marry her."
He looks surprised. I bet he didn't expect when we started speaking it would be to air our dirty laundry in the middle of an eclectic restaurant.
"Is that what you think happened? That's not it at all. I messed up, I ruined our family. True. I understand and take full responsibility for that. But much like you, your mother wouldn't speak to me. I wanted to try and work things out, but that was impossible since she'd have no part of me."
"You humiliated her."
"I understand. And she made her point loud and clear when I came home from work and found all of her things gone. I didn't want that. She shouldn't have left. I would've let her keep the house. In fact I'd hoped once her anger died down I could offer it to her."
"You could've done that in the beginning."
"I did. My attorney offered it to her several times during the divorce proceedings, but she wouldn't accept it. I was told she didn't want any reminders of me or our marriage."
"And in the meantime Stacy gets to play Lady of the Manor."
My father shuts his eyes, and I notice how the lines around them, around all his features, are etched much deeper than I remember. He looks like he aged decades in the last five years.
"I don't live in that house with Stacy as some sort of prize, something she and I won, or a gift I bestowed upon her. In losing you and your mother I lost the best of what I'd done in my life. I'd give it all up for another chance. Stacy. My practice. Everything."
"I'm sure coming home to her at night helps with the guilt."
His brows furrow together. Everything about him looks worn and tired. I know he isn't appreciating me throwing his actions in his face. He’s hoping for another chance. That’s impossible when all I want to do is hurt him.
"Yes, I married Stacy. But it wasn't out of love. I didn't throw the grand wedding she wanted. It was a simple civil ceremony with only her parents there. They liked you a lot, son. They already considered you family. Needless to say, they weren't happy with how the pieces fell into place either, and were rather embarrassed by the whole situation."
I don't respond. I move my eyes over in Olivia's direction. I feel bad about drudging up all this mud covered baggage with her there, but I can't help myself. It’s long overdue. I give her hand a little squeeze.
"Son, marrying Stacy, living in that house, it's my penance. The price I pay for what I did. I use them as constant reminders of what I had and was foolish enough to lose. When I said she wasn't good enough for you, well, let's just say my opinion hasn't changed."
"And that's supposed to make it better? I should just sweep it all under the rug?"
"Of course not. But I would appreciate if I could try and earn back a fragment of your love and respect."
"You can never earn my love and as far as respect, I'm not five anymore. That doesn't come just because you're my father. In fact you lost it because you are my father, and parents don't destroy their children the way you did."
My father gets to his feet. I think for sure he'll just up and leave. While I feel bad Olivia has to witness and be part of this disaster, at least she could see that I’m trying.
"If you'll excuse me, I’ll be right back."
Once he’s out of ear shot, I lift Olivia's hand onto the table.
"I'm so sorry." I stare into her chocolate eyes.
"Don't be."
"I know this is uncomfortable for you, and it doesn't help that I'm handling it all wrong."
"I'm fine. Besides, I've never seen a situation like this discussed in anyone's book of etiquette."
"You sure? You're very quiet." I cup her cheek with my hand hoping a long look into her eyes will keep me grounded for the rest of the time with my father. "If you want to leave . . ."
She cuts me off. "If I want to leave, I have my car. But you wouldn't bother to stay; you'd up and follow me. You've made it through drinks and appetizers. You're half way through."
"I'm doing this for you. You know that right?"
"Don't. Do it for you. I don't care about him meeting my parents, or if I have their blessing. I just don't want this eating at you anymore."
As the main course is presented to us, my father returns. He thanks the waitress, and then silence. No one speaks. I don't know where to pick up the conversation. I really don't want to rehash the Stacy situation any more than we already have.
"Lucas, how are you earning a living these days?"
"I’m a behaviorist."
"In a school district?"
"No. I work in early intervention. I'm contracted with a local agency."
"And that pays well?"
"Well enough."
"You could've helped these kids more if you went into neurology. Maybe went into research. I don't understand what prompted you to throw away all of your dreams."
"First of all, they weren't my dreams. They were your dreams. Second, it does something to you when you see a grown man crying. It touched me in ways I can't explain."
My father scoffs.
"This wasn't just any man. It was my college advisor. He was also the coach of the boys’ lacrosse team. He told us as long as the door to his office wasn't locked, we could just walk in. One day I opened the door and found him sitting at his desk, head in his hands and tears in his eyes. His voice cracked when he tried to speak. He was crushed, annihilated because his son was just diagnosed. He kept asking 'How do I get him to understand that I love him?' It stayed with me. It changed me."
"But still if you would've gone to medical school . . ."
I take a deep breath and shake my head. "You still don't get it. After all this time. I'm not in it for the money. I'm in it because I can directly impact these kids."
"You could've impacted them as a doctor."
"Not like this. Not on a daily basis. I improve their quality of life. I help them learn to deal with the things expected of them in life, like interacting with their family, or tolerating someone touching them. I teach them to communicate in ways that work for them so their frustration is reduced. I could never have the same effect on them as an MD."
He nods. "How are you going to support your family? I'm sure the money you make is fine for a single man, but you're talking about marriage now, and I'm guessing you might want children in the future. College isn't cheap."
"I know that. I'm planning for the future."
"How?"
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"No, son, you don't. But an opportunity presented itself, and I'm just wondering if I could be of any help."
"What opportunity?" The roiling of my stomach tells me it has to do with Olivia. I let my eyes trail over to her, and find her looking down at her dish.
"I already declined your very generous offer, sir."
I’m not liking this one bit. "Maybe one of you might let me in on the big secret."
"Of course," my father pipes up. "And I assure you it's no secret. Seems I was the one in the dark. I heard Sandy berating Olivia. It was completely uncalled for, so I let her go."
"You fired Sandy? For Olivia?" This isn’t sitting well with me. He'll think she owes him something. I need to get her the hell away from him.
"Not quite. But some of the things Sandy said to her were downright cruel. And I think somewhere along the way, the lines between Sandy and I became blurred. I think she expected a different kind of relationship between us."
My pulse races. I’m a hair away from losing it. "So Sandy was jealous? Of Olivia?"
Olivia clears her throat. "I think she misunderstood the meetings your father requested. And then she was looking for me today while I was inviting your father to dinner. It was just a bunch of misunderstandings. But yes, it seems like she’s in love with your father."
I nod, not sure I can speak. So I’m not the only one concerned about my father and Olivia.
"So now I'm left without an office manager, and I offered the position to your lovely fiancé. By the way, she already turned me down. But it comes with a nice boost in salary. I think she should consider it."
"No, she shouldn't." Silence. I have to recover quickly. "When I secure funding for the center I want to open I'll need her help."
Again I squeeze Olivia's hand. It’s true, only I haven't discussed it with her. Thank goodness she doesn't let on that it’s the first she’s hearing about it.
"Center? What center?"
I take a deep breath, not sure I want to get into the details of what I want to do only to hear how I’m wasting my time. But I remind myself I don't care what he thinks.
"I've been looking for investors to get us up and running. I found a good spot, not industrial, but not in a strip mall either, so there's room for growth and expansion."
"But what is it?"
"Common Sense. Common ground for sensory people. In essence, I'd like to open a training center. A place that people have access to whether their insurance covers services or not. The problem with early intervention is that once we leave, the parents don't always know what to do. While part of our job is training them, they don't sit in on the sessions, and many of them don't get it. And if they don't follow through with what we've set in place, the foundation we lay isn't so strong."
My father sits back listening.
"And then when the kids age out into the school system, it gets worse. Parents are rarely there, communication is more about what the child did that day, or week, and not how the challenges were handled. They feel abandoned and just want someone to turn to."
"I'm not understanding how this would help."
"I want to have different areas set up. A small gym where the kids could seek sensory input in a safe and healthy way rather than engaging in crashing at home. I'd charge a small fee and make sure we have qualified people supervising."
"So you want to open a children's play gym?"
"That's only one area. I want to offer occupational therapy, physical and speech therapy with professionals. I want to have rooms with see through mirrors and speakers, so we could work with the children on challenges such as eating and touching different textures. I want to offer music and art therapy. Things the schools find unnecessary."
And when school's out for things like Christmas and spring break, when the parents are at their wits end because they don't know how to keep their own children in a routine that works for them, we come in. We'll hold camps that are part fun, part work for the kids."
"Wow, son, it sounds like you've really thought this through."
"I have. But the problem is in the finances. It sounds great, and it truly is, but therapists make a lot of money, and behaviorists aren't cheap either. I want to keep it affordable because these poor parents often burn through tons of money trying to buy supplies or figure out which therapies work for their child. And they need to make sure they plan for their children's financial future if something should happen to them. Then there's rent and supplies. It's not a cheap undertaking."
"Lucas, I had no idea you were so passionate about this. When you came and told me you wanted to become a behaviorist instead of a doctor, I had no idea you had any plans beyond being a special education teacher."
"Not that there's anything wrong with that. But yes, this was always in the back of my head. Maybe not this exactly, but opening my own agency or practice."
"It sounds like a worthy investment. And to be honest, I rather contribute to your cause then a charity I don't have any real allegiance to."
Jackass. As a doctor there should be many charities he has allegiances to.
"I don't want your money."
"Lucas, I'm in a position to help, please take it."
"Not your money. I was never interested in it. I'll make my own."
"Well then, can I arrange for you to meet some people whose money you might find more acceptable?"
"I don't know."
"They're doctors, Lucas. If this is successful, and by the passion I hear in your voice I'm sure it will be, they'll be thrilled to have their names tied to it. It wouldn't be a favor to me, it would be an investment in their own practice."
It makes sense. Does it matter where the money comes from as long as it’s not his pocket? Not when I think about the families it can help.
"Okay. Reach out to your colleagues and I'll be happy to meet with them."
"I'm assuming you have your business and marketing plan laid out so you can provide them with details in black and white."
"Of course."
My father smiles, as he claps my shoulder. "That's my boy."
Maybe I don't want to kill him at the moment, but I don't want him to touch me either.
As we finish up dinner and wait for the bill, the tension doesn't feel as heavy and thick as it did earlier.
The conversation turns to Olivia. My father asks about her parents, where they live, what they do. If I didn't harbor so much anger and resentment for him, I might consider it a good night. Even I have to admit, it ended on a much better note than I ever anticipated.