It earned me a harder pinch. “My pleasure, young man. Who is my replacement?”
I grinned at her. “I am.”
Mrs Brown dropped her hold on me and frowned. “Does your father know?”
“No; that’s why I’m here.”
“He’s in his office,” she said quietly. “I wish you luck.”
“Thanks,” I replied, winking. “I might need it.”
Mrs Brown had been working for my family since Ryan was little. Better than anyone, she knew the dynamics. Dad was going to be pissed at the news and there was no point pretending otherwise. My heart thumped as I climbed the stairs, which was a pathetic reaction that annoyed me. No matter how many times I reminded myself that I was grown, confronting my father always reduced me to feeling like a ten-year-old kid in trouble – especially if it went down in his home office.
The big arched windows facing Fifth Avenue boasted a gorgeous view of the park, but it was lost on Dad. His desk was positioned so his back was to the window. He couldn’t see the park, but he had a stellar view of anyone walking into the room.
When I rounded the doorway he closed his laptop, giving me his full attention. “Adam. How is my granddaughter this morning?”
We were not off to a good start.
“Bridget, you mean?”
He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Of course I mean Bridget. How many granddaughters do I have?”
I sat down. “Just one, unless the rumours about Ryan are true.”
He laughed, and for a moment the tension slipped.
“Bridget’s fine,” I confirmed. “We brought her home this morning.”
“I think you should take a few days off to spend with her.”
For a split second, the coward in me contemplated agreeing to it, but I knew all it would achieve was a few more days of stewing.
“Dad, I have something more permanent in mind,” I hinted.
His shoulders fell, but he was far from relaxed. I didn’t need to elaborate. He knew what was coming.
“If you walk away now, everything you’ve worked for has been for nothing,” he said bitterly.
“It will always count for something,” I insisted. “It’s just not what I want to do.”
He shook his head, looking bewildered. “I don’t understand you. Life is not a free ride, no matter the circumstances.”
“I’m not planning to do nothing,” I snapped. “I’m going to oversee the renovation work at the club we’ve just bought.”
Dad groaned as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion on earth. “A waste of a good mind,” he barked in French.
I wished I’d been strong enough to speak up for myself when I was younger. If I had, studying for a law degree might never have come into play. I’d spent years believing that it was my calling, but looking back I realised that it was my father’s dream, and had been all along.
“I’m not a lawyer,” I said strongly.
“If you abandon your career, you’ll be nothing.” The harsh expression on his face told me that he truly believed it. “A construction worker at best.”
My dad had no clue of the work I liked to do, and perhaps that wasn’t his fault. Enlightening him was probably pointless, but I wanted to try.
“Construction doesn’t interest me,” I told him. “I like breathing new life into old things – buildings, boats, furniture.”
The home I grew up in was a veritable storage locker of antique furniture. The desk he was sitting at was well over a hundred years old. That alone meant that he should’ve had an appreciation for the craft I was so passionate about, but I was struggling to make him understand.
“It’s a hobby,” he replied. “And it should remain that way.”
“My daughter isn’t a hobby,” I retorted. “I want to free up more time to spend with her too. It’s not right that Ryan sees her more than I do.”
“Her mother should be spending time with her.” He raised his voice for the first time. “Have Charli quit her job and tend to your daughter. That’s how it should be done.”
“Yes, Dad,” I replied dryly, “if we were living in 1950.”
“Meeting that girl was your undoing, Adam,” he claimed, drumming his forefinger on his desk. “Your whole life went to hell after that.”
Letting a comment like that go was never going to happen. I leaned forward, looking him dead in the eye. “I don’t even know who I was before Charli, but I do know I wasn’t particularly good. Would you rather I be a one-track asshole attorney or a good father and husband?” I asked. “Because past history shows that I can’t be both.”
“Find balance,” he demanded.
The leather chair squeaked as I straightened up. “A righteous pose,” I returned sarcastically. “You’re asking me to do something you never could.”
I hadn’t intended to attack him, but I could tell that I had. Apologising wouldn’t help. He wasn’t in a forgiving mood.
“Get something to me in writing,” he ordered in his best business-like voice. “I want a formal letter of resignation.”
I stood to leave. “I’ll do that,” I assured him.
Dad opened his laptop and stared at the screen, despite that fact that it hadn’t fired up yet. “Deliver your keys to the front desk,” he instructed. “I’ll have Tennille box up your belongings and clean out your desk.”
I’d left the realm of errant son. I’d now become nothing more than an ex-employee, and it hurt far more than I expected it would.
“You’re not going to let me back in?”
He stared straight at me. “You’ve made your decision. At least have the fortitude to stick by it.”
“And what about you, Dad?” I asked bitterly. “What are you going to do?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m going to stick by mine too.”
Utterly destroyed but trying not to let it show, I shoved the chair back into position. “I guess that’s it then.” I pointed to the new picture hanging on the side wall. “Nice photo, by the way. I didn’t think artistic nautical shots were to your taste. Perhaps a scene depicting an epic battle or a public hanging would’ve been more fitting for this room.”
He turned to the photo on the wall. “Your wife introduced me to it,” he replied. “Perhaps that’s why you like it.”
“I’m sure it is,” I muttered. “What’s your excuse?”
Dad slid his chair back and wandered over to the picture. “It reminds me of when I used to take my boys sailing on the river.” He glanced at me. “Do you remember?”
“Every Saturday,” I confirmed.
“Ryan never showed a lot of interest,” he continued. “But you were a different story.”
My brother’s fascination only held as long as Dad let him steer. The rest of the time was spent complaining about having to wear a lifejacket or worrying that Jaws was going to rise up and eat him. But I loved it. There was nothing not to love about a little wooden boat being powered through the water by nothing more than the wind.
“It’s a shame you lost interest,” he added.
His recollection of that time was wildly different from mine. I could feel the ire bubbling in my gut. “We didn’t lose interest,” I snapped. “When I turned ten you hired a tutor. Saturday mornings on the Hudson gave way to extra homework sessions.”
He didn’t turn around. “I only ever wanted the best for you both,” he replied. “I still do.”
My mother’s timing that morning was impeccable. She waltzed into the room rattling off a round of breakfast options to my father, then caught sight of me. “Adam, darling,” she said, surprised. “You’re here early. How is Bridget?”
“She’s fine,” I replied, leaning to kiss her. “We brought her home this morning.”
“Wonderful,” she beamed. “So what are you doing here then?”
I didn’t answer. I was more interested in hearing my father’s reply. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick to volunteer an explanation either.
“We
ll?” she demanded. “What’s going on?”
“Everything is fine, Fi,” Dad insisted.
Nothing was fine. I groaned, annoyed that he couldn’t be truthful. My mother considered that a hostile act. She grabbed a fistful of my T-shirt. “You listen to me,” she demanded. “We have a wedding in two weeks. There will be no discord between now and then. Do you understand?”
Ignoring the fact that she was doing her best to shake me like a ragdoll, I kept my focus firmly on my father. “I understand perfectly.”
She let me go and set her sights on her husband. “And you!” She whacked his arm. “Why must you antagonise?”
Dad dared to smile at her. “I am doing no such thing.”
She whacked him again.
Dad stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “You truly are beautiful, Fiona Rose,” he murmured.
There had never been a better cue to leave. Some things can never be unseen. I quickly said goodbye and made a dash for the door.
***
Whatever went on after I left obviously didn’t last long. I’d only been home an hour when Mom showed up armed with enough supplies to bake us into the next millennium.
“I thought Bridget might like to help bake some cookies.” She held a bag of groceries out to me. “It might cheer her up.”
I put my finger to my lips. “They’re sleeping, Mom.”
I took the bag and motioned toward my sleeping girls in the living room. After Bridget woke, Charli lay with her on the couch for some mermaid therapy. Both of them were asleep in minutes, and until my mother showed up I’d been hopeful of following suit.
“Say no more,” she whispered, pushing past me. “I’ll make a start on them by myself.”
Mom wasn’t the only visitor that morning. When Ryan turned up and suggested we go out for coffee, I jumped at the chance. The smell of burning cookies was starting to filter through the apartment and Mom was driving me crazy.
One of the things I liked best about living in New York was the convenience of having everything on our doorstep. We walked no further than the café at the end of the block. “This is handy,” noted Ryan.
“It is,” I agreed. “As soon as Charli lets me, I’m going to train Bridget to run down here and buy me coffee.”
He laughed, but barely sounded like himself. We hadn’t been seated long before he confessed why.
The fall from the top of the climbing frame hadn’t been the biggest crash to happen the day before. The first wreck happened when he took it upon himself to inform my daughter that there was no such thing as magic.
I was furious with him, but needed to handle it properly. Getting angry wasn’t going to help anyone. “Why would you do that?” I asked. “She’s four years old, Ryan.”
“And I want her to live to see five,” he replied. “You can’t have her jumping –”
“It’s not even about the jumping.” Cutting him off was the best I could do. What I really wanted to do was lean across the table and punch him, but I was too exhausted to make a fist. “Why didn’t you go the whole hog and enlighten her about Santa and the Easter Bunny while you were at it?”
“I know I shouldn’t have said anything. It was a mistake.”
As remorseful as he was, Ryan couldn’t grasp the damage he’d done. This was going to destroy Charlotte, and in turn, Charlotte was probably going to destroy him. It seemed fair to warn him.
A worried frown set in. “Do you think I should tell Charli?” he asked. “I will if you want me to.”
It was a gallant offer, all things considered. “No. She has enough to deal with at the moment. Just wait and see what happens.”
“Is there something going on that I should know about?”
For a moment I considered telling him everything, but the story of Olivia wasn’t mine to tell. “No,” I replied. “Everything is fine.”
65. DAMAGE
Charli
We had a tendency to close ranks when times got tough, and we’d never faced anything more brutal than the wringer the three of us had been put through over the past month.
The tough front Adam put up was purely for Bridget and I. He was hurting. As expected, his father hadn’t taken the news of his resignation well. He’d resorted to his usual repertoire of cutting remarks and insults. It wasn’t the first time, but unless they could work it out it was going to be the last. Adam’s usual routine of giving Jean-Luc a few days to calm down didn’t apply any more. He was done, and devastated because of it.
Bridget’s bump on the head was cured by a few lazy days at home and chicken nuggets for dinner two nights on the run. In a sure-fire sign that she was feeling better, the tale of her death-defying leap from the playground equipment had grown to epic proportions. When I heard her telling Alex about it on the phone, the timeline of events now included bullying squirrels and Treasure’s inability to catch her at the bottom. “Her arms don’t bend wide enough,” she explained.
I let her have her moment, mainly because that was the only moment she had going on. Since Ryan’s thoughtless no-magic lecture, we hadn’t even been able to get her to sit down and read a book with us. Fairy-tales were off limits. Not even the picture book version of Ariel held her interest. “It’s not real, Mum,” she insisted, over and over. “And I don’t love it.”
I wasn’t going to push the issue, but the issue was pushing me. I felt like something precious had been stolen from me, and I vowed that when I finally got around to confronting the thief, he’d be sure to know it.
We hadn’t seen Ryan all week, and Bridget clearly missed him. When I mentioned heading to his apartment for a dress fitting, she jumped at the chance to see him. She took off to her room, returning in a little summer dress offset with the heavy tweed coat her grandmother had gifted her back in July.
“I thought you hated that coat,” I said, looking her up and down.
“Not this coat,” she replied sweetly. “I just love this coat.”
Bridget’s enthusiasm for visiting her uncle seemed to wane once we got to his place. When the door opened, she became incredibly quiet and withdrawn, and I quickly realised it was because she was nervous. Ryan seemed anxious too, but it would’ve taken a cold soul not to notice how genuinely happy he was to have her back.
Thanks to Ivy’s eagerness to get out of the apartment, the dress fitting was over and done with fairly quickly. Perhaps she knew a showdown was imminent. Bente picked up on the tension too, but found a way around it by removing Bridget from the room. “We’ll go for a walk,” she suggested, taking her by the hand.
I wanted to go with them. Being left alone with the object of my wrath was borderline awkward. I sat at the counter while Ryan made coffee I didn’t want.
I wasn’t sure what to say to him at first, but he made it easy for me by ridiculously asking if I was mad at him.
“You know I am.”
“I wasn’t trying to cause trouble, Charli,” he explained. “Honestly.”
I believed him a hundred percent, but it didn’t lessen the damage he’d caused. I was tired of being undermined by Décaries. Jean-Luc and Fiona did it by way of outrageously expensive presents and money, and now Ryan had thrown his hat into the ring by vetoing magic.
“You stole something from me,” I told him. “And for the life of me, I don’t know how to get it back.”
As expected, Ryan had no clue what I was talking about. Explaining it to him wasn’t difficult. It was a conversation I’d rehearsed in my head for days, and getting rid of it was bliss.
I broke it down for him as simply as I could. The confidence I possessed when it came to parenting my daughter wasn’t always high.
“You’re a good mom, Charli,” he assured me.
“Some days I am,” I agreed. “And some days I have no clue what I’m doing. You want to know why I think that is?”
He looked at me but didn’t answer, which was probably one of his wiser decisions of late.
“I had no mother, Ryan. How am I s
upposed to know what the hell I’m doing?”
I’d done a lot of soul searching over the last few days, and that was finally the conclusion I’d come to. After weeks of trying to find something to align myself to Olivia, I realised that looks and mannerisms were unimportant. I looked like my father, and that was that. No part of me wanted to resemble a vicious half-starved ballerina anyway.
The bigger worry was what she hadn’t given me. Adam was right. There was nothing Olivia could teach me about being a good mother to my child. For me, doing right by my kid was always going to be trial and error.
“My connection to Bridget isn’t going to the park or speaking French or reading books,” I explained. “It’s the stories that my dad gave me. That’s how I connect with her, and that’s how he connected with me.” Winging it with tales of La La Land wasn’t a new concept. By all accounts, Alex’s mother had been no prize either.
Although he’d graciously heard me out, Ryan wasn’t quite ready to forfeit. “She knocked herself out trying to fly, Charli,” he pointed out. “You can’t possibly think that’s okay.”
My palms were starting to sweat. I pressed them flat on the counter, appreciating the cool granite. “Perhaps if you hadn’t stolen her wings she might’ve done it.”
“Wings?” he asked incredulously. “You think I stole her wings?”
“We all lose them eventually, Ryan,” I said quietly. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.”
My hothead brother-in-law’s calm façade finally cracked. He demanded that I stop preaching nonsense – something he’d done a million times before.
“It’s from Peter Pan, idiot.”
“That doesn’t make it any more credible.”
Pure frustration escaped me in the form of an angry groan. “You just don’t get it. I’m not crazy. I know the difference between a fairy-tale and real life, but what if there’s the tiniest ring of truth to it?”
He deliberated for a long time, making me hopeful that he trying to understand the stand I was taking. “Impossible,” he finally concluded, shutting me down the same way his father always did.
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