by Messer Stone
I let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dr. Novak.”
Parker stands, going to shake her hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
After she leaves, he resumes his place at my side, resolutely ignoring my exasperated glare. “What are you thinking for lunch?”
“Shouldn’t you be at the office?” I ask. I don’t want him to go, but he hasn’t left the hospital since we arrived late last night. I don’t want his work to suffer because of me.
“No. Boyd’s got a handle on things.” He looks down at his phone. “How about Italian?”
“Mmm. Sounds too heavy for lunch. And you don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine if you need to work for a while.”
“What about that deli across the street?” He doesn’t look up from his phone. “And considering the last time I left you alone, you ran off to settle your father’s debt with a dangerous mob boss, I think I’ll stay put for now.”
“Parker—”
“I know. I know.” He sighs, looking up and leaning forward to peck me on the lips. “I’m being an ass.”
“What else is new?” I tease, reaching up to scrape my nails over the scruff at his jaw.
His eyes grow darker, more serious. “Promise me again. Just one more time.”
My hand falls away and I let out a deep breath. We had a long talk when I first woke up this morning. Parker said he would try to fight his hero-impulse to steamroll into every problem I encounter, and I agreed to stop trying to deal with every problem on my own. “I promise.”
“No more handling things alone. No more keeping secrets.”
“No more,” I agree.
“Good.” He smiles brightly at me, kisses me on the nose, before turning back to his phone. “So, sandwiches for lunch? You want your usual?”
“Shouldn’t we wait to eat until the kids get here?”
“No. Elena said they were stopping for food along the way.” He looks up, snaps his fingers. “Which reminds me.”
He reaches into the duffle bag of clothes that was dropped off earlier and pulls out a thick scarf. He stands, urges me to lean up so that he can wrap it around my neck. When he told me he was sending someone to get clothes for me, I specifically requested a scarf. I don’t want Jason and Sophie to see the angry bruises on my throat.
I’d almost refused to let them visit and all. The last time the three of us were in a hospital together was after the accident. The absolute worst time in all of our lives. I don’t want this ordeal to stir up painful memories for them. But in the end, I couldn’t bear to keep them away.
I don’t have much of an appetite so when our lunch arrives, I only manage to force down have of my turkey wrap, while Parker wolfs down a roast beef sandwich in less than ten seconds.
“When are they supposed to be here again?” I ask as he cleans up the mess from our meal.
He checks his watch. “Should be any minute now.”
Ten seconds later, the door to my room flies open, and a tiny, dark-headed blur is headed straight for me.
“Mercy!” Sophie squeals, delighted, running at me at full force and leaping for my hospital bed. My poor, abused ribs cry out in preemptive horror.
“Woah!” Parker warns, catching her before she has the chance to land on me. He holds her in his arms, hitching her up on his hip. “We have to be gentle with Mercy for a little while.”
“I was being gentle!” Sophie protests, wiggling out of his arms.
Jason comes in next, followed by Elena. My brother’s soft, young face is solemn, his dark eyes running over me with wary apprehension. “What happened?”
“I told you on the phone, remember?” I say as Parker carefully tucks Sophie into my side. “I tripped and fell down some stairs. But I’m fine.”
Of course, that’s not at all what happened. But I’d saw off my own arm before telling them the real story behind my injuries. Jason doesn’t look convinced, his gaze honing in on the scarf at my neck. Not waiting for him to question me further, I grab his arm and pull him close, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to his chubby cheek.
I expect him to scowl at me, and wipe furiously at the skin I’ve infected with my affection— like he normally does. Instead he surprises me, leaning in closer and tucking his face into the crook of my neck, letting out a long, relieved sigh. Tears spring into my eyes as I rub his back, soothingly. Too quickly, the moment passes, and my baby brother steps back, mask of machismo firmly in place as he swipes at his eyes.
Clearing her throat, Elena steps towards Parker. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve officially met. I’m Elena.”
Parker smiles warmly, shaking her hand. “Nice to finally put a face with the name.”
She laughs. “Likewise.”
“Got room in here for one more?”
I look up to find my father lingering just past the door. He’s in his wheelchair, but his hair is combed, his face is clean shaven. He’s wearing actual clothes— jeans and a plaid shirt— instead of his usual stained sweatpants and t-shirts.
Parker and Elena share a look. “Why don’t we take the kids down to the gift shop?”
“Great idea!”
It takes a few minutes to coax my siblings out of the room, but eventually they manage it, leaving me alone with my father. He rolls towards me slowly, cautiously, and I can see his hands trembling as he works the wheels of his chair. This moment is so different than the last one we shared in a hospital. He was the one lying prone in a bed while I stood at his side, screaming and crying myself hoarse, begging him to snap out of it and come back to me, as he continued to stare blankly out the window.
“Hi,” he says, softly. .
For a minute, I have a vindictive urge to give him a taste of his own medicine. To ignore him, tune him out, pretend he doesn’t exist. I push it away, though. Pettiness won’t do any of us any good.
“Hi,” I say back.
His eyes fall to my neck, still wrapped in a scarf. Moving closer, he reaches up and pulls at one end of the garment until it slips off, revealing the scourge of bruises beneath. The pain and anguish that sears his face nearly robs me of breath. For so long now, he’s been empty. Expressionless. Blank. Now, his rugged features are contorted in pain. I keep expecting him to look away but he doesn’t. He stares directly at the bruises on my neck, the stark evidence of how close I came to losing my life.
Not wanting him to look anymore, I try to put the scarf back on again. He stops me.
“No,” he whispers harshly. “Let me see.”
He goes on like that, forcing himself to look.
“Dad,” I reach up to touch his face. “Please stop.”
Finally, he tears his eyes away, looking down at my hands instead. Gingerly, he takes one of them in his, running his thumbs over the knuckles.
“You have your mother’s hands,” he says. “You’ve always looked just like me. Same hair. Same eyes. Same nose and mouth.”
My heart nearly breaks in two. He hasn’t so much as uttered my mother’s name since she died.
His mouth curves up in a wry grin. “Maggie used to joke that I must’ve bought you from some gypsies when she wasn’t looking. You never looked anything like her. But you’ve always had her hands.”
He continues to look down at my hand where it’s held in his, before lifting it and pressing his lips to my knuckles.
“Daddy,” I choke through sobs.
He holds my hand against his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Mercy Me.”
Broken ribs be damned, I lean forward, wrapping my arms around his neck as I cry into his shoulder. After a few minutes, he gently eases back to lie down, rubbing my head as he holds my hand.
“No one thought we should get married. Your mom and me,” he begins, tears streaming down his face. “Everyone said that we were too young. That it would never work. And sometimes, I was worried they were right. What did I know about being married? About raising a family? But then…”
His face breaks out in a smile. “You were born on a Friday th
at June. 9:06 PM. Eighteen and a half inches, six pounds, nine ounces. A bit small for a full term baby, but you wailed like a banshee. We sat there just listening to you while the doctors checked you out in the delivery room. To this day I don’t think I’ve heard a more beautiful sound.”
I let out a small, watery laugh as he continues. “We had a perfect life together. Well, maybe not perfect. Everyone has problems and we were no different. But it was perfect to me. And once the business took off, it got even better. I loved being able to give your mom the house of her dreams. Loved being able to send my kids to a good school. But then I got greedy. I wanted more. And I made bad decisions.”
His eyes go dark and I brace myself or what I know is coming next. “I never told your mother about the loan from DeMarco. She found out about it while we were at the party that night. It’s why we left early. And it’s what we were arguing about when I…”
He trails off, eyes shutting tight with the pain. I squeeze his hand tight, giving him time to compose himself.
“I used to think it would have been better if I had died instead,” he says thoughtfully. “We shelled out a ton for my life insurance policy after Sophie was born. If I had died, you would have been set financially for a while. And Maggie was always so much stronger than me.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I personally would have preferred for neither of my parents to die, but I don’t get the chance.
“By the time I woke up in the hospital, my debt to DeMarco was already past due. I figured it was only a matter of time before he came after me. And the way I saw it, it was better to let you all get used to living without me.” He wipes his eyes. “Of course, that’s not totally true.”
He looks up at me. “How much do you know about the accident?”
“Not much,” I say. I’ve never wanted to know anything. Even hearing the vaguest details was enough to turn my stomach.
“I was thrown from the car. Broke my back, couldn’t move.” He starts to shake. “I had to l-lie there and w-watch. And when the car caught on fire—”
“Stop,” I beg, looking away, suppressing a wave of nausea. “Please.”
We sit in silence for a time before he speaks again. “I know you think that I stopped loving you. And your brother and sister. That I stopped caring. But that’s not true. I love you with everything I have. I always will. You kids are my world.” His mouth clamps shut as more tears stream down his cheeks.
“But your mother was my life. And I couldn’t figure out how to live without her,” he tells me, sobbing. “I still don’t know if I can. But I promise I’m going to try.”
He folds me gently into his arms and we sit there, holding each other and crying. Off-handedly, I wonder if his vague reference to Emily Brontë was intentional. Probably not, he’s never been much of a reader. But then, he wouldn’t have much need for the classics when describing the love, he shared with my mother. It was epic in a way that only the strongest bonds can be. Burning and growing in the small moments of daily life. Standing side by side at the sink, laughing together as they washed dishes. Holding hands in the car. Squabbling over shoes left by the door, making up over a slice of chocolate cake, shared in secret after dinner. It was a lifetime kind’ve love, the kind that makes living without it seem cruel.
Eventually, we start to talk again. I learn that while I was napping earlier, he spoke with Parker at length. They both agreed that my father needed to get serious help before becoming fully a part of our lives again. There’s a rehabilitation center upstate, one of the best in the world when it comes to both mental and physical recovery in the wake of trauma. Parker has arranged for my father’s eight-week stay. In the meantime, dad has agreed wholeheartedly to work with Parker’s lawyers to arrange my temporary custody of Jason and Sophie.
“I know it’s probably a little too soon for me to start parenting you again…” He grimaces. “But don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”
He’s referring to Parker, of course. And I can see the thinly veiled disapproval mixed with concern in his eyes. A reassuring sign that he’s getting back to his old self. The old Bobby Chase would have stormed into Parker’s office with a shotgun. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know Parker’s actual age, and probably puts him somewhere in his mid-twenties. In this case, I think it’s best that we keep it that way.
I laugh. “Oh no, he’s definitely too old for me. But lately, everything about my life has been too old for me.”
I didn’t say it to hurt him, but I still chide myself when the easy smile falls from his face.
“I’ll never forgive myself for this past year.” He sighs, his smile returning just a bit. “But I want you to know, I’m so proud of you. Thank you, Mercy.”
He kisses my hands again. “Thank you for keeping our family together. Thank you for being strong when I couldn’t.”
I’m too choked up to speak and luckily I don’t have to. The kids return with an armful of stuffed bears and balloons, Parker and Elena following close behind them. It’s bittersweet, watching Dad’s hesitant interactions with his younger children. He ruffles Jason’s hair, kisses Sophie gently on the nose. They both watch him with shy smiles, like they’re afraid to hope he could really be back.
We explain to them together, that Dad is going away for a little while so that he can get better once and for all. He promises to call them at least once a day and they nod, eagerly. Already, I can see pieces of him coming back. Being a father was always so natural for him, and it’s nice to see him slip back into the role so easily. By the time he has to leave, Sophie is climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I love you, Daddy,” she says in a soft, sweet voice.
My dad makes a low, guttural sound in his chest as he holds her tight. “I love you more, princess.”
Jason is a bit more reserved, though he does allow for a brief hug. Elena excuses herself just a few minutes after Dad leaves, leaving Parker and I to chat with the kids while we wait for my discharge papers. Around three o’clock, I’m finally allowed to leave. A car is waiting to pick us up and the four of us head to Parker’s penthouse. When we arrive, things from our house in Long Island have already been moved in for our indefinite stay here.
Despite Parker’s best efforts, my scuffle with DeMarco was impossible to keep out of the news entirely. Right now, it’s being reported that I was lured to DeMarco’s house under duress (which is true) where I was held against my will (again, true), and later assaulted (also true). A few vital details have obviously been left out, but I’m perfectly fine with it.
Turns out, the power of the Callahan influence is even more massive than I originally thought. Even someone like DeMarco with his notoriously strong foothold on the criminal underworld of New York is no match against them. Suddenly, evidence and paper trails that have been suppressed for years through bribery and blackmail are suddenly popping up left and right, pushing the whole operation into an inescapable corner.
It makes me feel a little foolish for not telling Parker to begin with, but I try not to beat myself up over it. At the time, I had no real grasp over just how brutally untouchable Parker is, even to someone as dangerous as DeMarco.
Anyway, with all the fanfare and media coverage, it’s all anyone can talk about back in Holtsville. We don’t want the kids to be mauled by the spectacle at school so we’re keeping them away for the time being. At least until the custody situation is settled. In the meantime, Parker is planning to hire private tutors so they don’t fall behind.
When we first arrive, Parker’s household staff members are hilariously amused. Miles, the gruff and stony valet watches in horror as Jason rolls across the hardwood floors in his Heelys. Sophie practically has a coronary when she realizes there’s a private pool on the roof.
It takes me a second to realize that the housekeeper is new. Gretchen, a mousy blonde woman who used to hold that position, was fired after it was revealed that she was the one who told Silas about the nat
ure of my first encounter with Parker. Apparently, he went to her after he first became suspicious about our relationship.
For the first few days in the penthouse, we struggle to find a rhythm. The kids are wild and messy as always, and I keep waiting for Parker to snap and throw us out on the street. But he never does. In fact, he appears to be having the time of his life.
“Hmm….” he says, looking down at his cards contemplatively. “Let’s see…”
It’s late afternoon, the sun is going down and the air outside is sharp with cold. In here, though, it’s cozy as can be. We’re in Parker’s media room, with me laid up on the couch while Parker sits on the floor in front of me. Sophie sits opposite him on the other side of the coffee table, while Jason sits in a chair closer to the TV playing a video game. My attention wonders, from the magazine in my lap, to the card game going on between Parker and Sophie, as well as to Jason whenever he gets mad and yells at his game.
“Watch your mouth,” I warn him after he grumbles a particularly crude comment. He rolls his eyes at me, but agrees to keep it clean before turning back to the TV.
“Do you have any fours?” Parker asks Sophie.
Sophie beams, giggling in triumph. “Go fish!”
We continue to bask in our comfortable cocoon until almost dinner time. I’m about to ask if we should head to the dining room when an unexpected visitor arrives.
“Hello?” Lorelai’s voice calls from down the hall. “Anybody home?”
Parker bolts up, getting to his feet. “Oh shit.”
“Swear jar!” Jason calls, without looking away from the TV.
Seconds later Lorelai appears, looking as casual as I’ve ever seen her in jeans and a loose white sweater. Her blonde hair is tied back in a low ponytail and her face is bare of makeup. And as always, she’s positively stunning. Parker stops her at the door, blocking her from moving further into the room.