Rene reached her hand over to the knee on my uninjured leg and did an astounding job of squeezing my kneecap between her thumb and middle finger until I yelped from the pain.
“Red heads? Suits? Helen Mirren? You’re going to wind up with two bad legs if you don’t cut to the chase.”
“You’ve got very strong hands. Is that from all that chopping?” Her response was to apply even more pressure. “Okay, okay, stop the torture. The meeting actually went well.”
“Tell me!”
“I told Dad that I was tired of being nothing more than a well-paid caretaker for this bucket. At first he thought I wanted more money. But when I told him that much as I love the sea and I love this boat, it was time for me to grow up and take some responsibility he actually agreed to help me.”
“Dylan, that’s wonderful!”
“He’s going to look around and find me a position in one of his hotels. Don’t know where yet.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she said but I heard a note of sadness behind her words.
“Something wrong?”
Chapter 7—Rene
I shook off the uncertainty. It wasn’t the right time to cast shadows on Dylan’s happiness. Taking a serious tone and having a ‘what about us’ discussion could wait. I owed him a little celebration. Truthfully, I already knew the ‘what about us’ and I didn’t want to face it. I wanted just a little bit more of Dylan Cruz before we sailed off in different directions. No, I wanted a lot more.
“There is absolutely something wrong!” I smiled at him and rose from the footstool. “There’s only one person in this room with a glass of wine.”
Walking over to the side table gave me a chance not to look at him. I poured the bubbly into the other flute slowly. By the time I had filled my glass I had the balance of my composure back. I returned with a brave smile him and clinked my glass against his. This could be my shot at an Oscar. Act happy, I told myself.
“Here’s to your new job and your new life!” I walked around behind his chair and leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear. “So . . . what do you have in mind as a celebration?’
He brought me around to face him and pulled me toward him. His kiss was all I wanted. His eyes beckoned me to lean closer and I breathed in the soft warm air he exhaled with a sigh. He barely brushed my mouth with his at first, just tenderly swept his perfect mouth against my own. The moist tip of his tongue played at my lips as they parted to welcome him.
It seemed an eternity since we’d touched even though it had only been a short few days. But for both of us I think the separation had been painful beyond its length. I hadn’t known if he cared enough to forgive me my cowardly doubts. He hadn’t known that I was even sorry.
We locked our hungry mouths together. He tasted like champagne and went to my head much faster than bubbles.
Dylan put his arms around me and held me close to his chest. We sat there for a few moments and I listened to the sound of his heart against my ear. I couldn’t deny that the sound was precious to me. I tugged on his tie, further loosening the knot he’d already relaxed. It was a beautiful silk confection, but it was in the way. Maybe later we could put it to better use. I smiled at the thought.
“That smile is pure mischief,” he murmured.
“That’s because I’ve got mischief on my mind,” I purred back at him.
Chapter 8—Dylan
Rene was spooned into my abdomen, nestled perfectly against me. I nudged her fragrant hair away from her ear and whispered, “Good morning.”
“Mmmm morning,” she answered. I could hear the smile of contentment in her voice. Last night was incredible and I was ready to start the morning off. The more I had of Rene, the more I wanted. Her body was a question I wanted to spend countless days answering.
I decidedly did not want to hear the knock on my cabin door.
“Mr. Cruz, phone call.” I’d find out which crew member belonged to that voice later and explain the protocol for waking me up. Not that I’d have the protocol to worry about for too much longer. Soon I’d be waking up with an alarm clock just like everyone else in the world.
“Go away and tell whoever it is that I’ll call him back.”
“I tried that, sir. The man says it’s urgent. He insists on speaking to you.”
“Who is it?”
“A Mr. Spencer. He says he’s your father’s solicitor.”
Solicitor? Oh yeah, Brit speak for lawyer. I shook off my sleepy head. The phone was on the console on the other side of the room and I got up to take the call. Rene groaned for both of us. Getting out of bed was the last thing on either of our minds. The way she watched me walk across the room left no doubt about what was on her mind. But, a phone call from Dad’s lawyer at eight a.m. was probably not something I should ignore. Maybe I already had a job. That would be cool.
I pressed the blinking button. “Dylan Cruz here.”
“Good morning, Mr. Cruz. This is Austin Spencer, you father’s attorney. I do apologize for calling you so early.”
“That’s quite all right,” I lied.
“Mr. Cruz, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father has had a serious heart attack. He’s been taken to Cromwell Hospital.”
I leaned against the wall, suddenly weak and aware that I had hopped over to the phone without my crutches. My leg screamed along with my head. I’d just seen him the day before. He’d been fine. Perfect, in fact. Never looked better. And, damn, for maybe the first time in my life I had felt that something could possibly go right between us. “Is he going to be all right?” I looked over at Rene who was now sitting upright and clutching the sheet to her chest.
“It’s very serious, I’m afraid. He’s asking for you. I knew where to find you because I spoke with him yesterday about your meeting.”
“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
“Earl’s Court. Kensington.” The lawyer gave me the hospital’s location. “Do hurry, Mr. Cruz.”
“Right. Thanks.” I hung up the phone and said simply. “My Dad’s had a heart attack and from the sound of the lawyer’s voice, it’s bad. Come with me?”
She was already pulling her t-shirt over her bare chest. “Do you need me to help you dress or should I go get ready first?”
“Just go throw something on and come right back here. I’ll get as far as I can and you can help me with the rest.”
Rene buttoned her jeans and came over to me. “I’m so sorry, Dylan. I hope he’ll be okay.” She held my hand to the side of her face and kissed the palm. “I’ll be right back.”
The cab pulled up to the front of the stark white hospital and I could feel the sweat rolling down my back even though my rational self knew I wasn’t there as a patient. Just the sight of the building was enough to drain all the color from my face and have my hands go clammy. Rene could see it and this time, she knew why I reacted the way I did. She was kind enough not to mention my pallor or the sweaty hand she took in hers as she helped me balance myself.
I left Rene in a cold waiting area outside of intensive care. She sat off to the side, trying very hard not to intrude on a family’s public grief. They had obviously just lost someone. Rene focused her gaze on me and gave me a ‘be brave’ kind of smile as I pushed through the double doors.
My father seemed shrunken, dwarfed by the massive monitors, IV poles and equipment in his curtained cubicle. The nurse helped me into a chair beside his bed. The fact that she did not instruct me not to tire him or linger long spoke volumes. Jackson Cruz was dying.
“Dad.” At first I thought maybe I was too late. But a glance at the monitors showed a heart still beating. “Dad, I’m here.”
He slowly turned his head toward me. The oxygen tube under his nose made it hard for me to look at him. I wanted to rip it from his face. But I held steady and looked him in his exhausted eyes. A fog had settled onto his face. He had to fight to see me through the mist that had already descended to ease the transition from this life.
; “Thanks for coming, Dylan.” His words were barely audible. Energy had already departed from his voice. I leaned closer over the bed rail to hear him. “I’m not going to win this battle.”
“C’mon, Dad. Save your strength. You’ll pull through.”
“Bullshit. And I have things to tell you, even if it takes the last of my energy. Things you have to know.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m here. I’m listening.” It was hard to believe how much I had hated this man just days before. Now, all I wanted was another chance to know him. Another chance to have a father. But as I watched him gather his thoughts, I knew he was right. Death was standing over his head tapping its toes impatiently. I waited and after a few labored breaths he spoke.
“I was a coward. I knew your mother was mad and I knew her madness was working its evil on you and your sister. Instead of doing something about it, I hid away in my work.”
I nodded. What was there for me to say? Even if he was on his deathbed, he spoke the painful truth. I couldn’t lie but I could offer a little comfort perhaps. I reached for his hand. Yesterday it had been strong. Now it was the frail grip of an old man. “It’s over now. I’m here now. I’m okay.”
“Yes, you are okay. I can see that. It’s a gift for me. You were always the stronger one. Even as a little kid, you had the spunk to know I was not blameless. Dawn adored me unreasonably, you know. She was such a fragile little thing.”
I fought the anger back. I could forgive him for myself. But when he mentioned my little angel of a sister I had to swallow the bile of resentment that her memory stirred.
“I had faith you could survive the loss of your mother. I’ve hidden behind the illusion of your weakness when I was the weak one. I resented you for being stronger than I was, even as a little boy.” He breathed hard for a few moments. “I had her committed, you know.”
“I can’t remember exactly how I found that out, but yes I know.”
“I loved Francesca. More than anything in my life. Her madness changed everything.”
“Can you tell me how it happened, Dad? Can you tell me what happened? What happened to Dawn? That’s what I really need to know. Everything else is . . . just past. I want to know what happened to my sister.”
“Everything just got away from me,” he said as he closed his eyes. “Everything was just too complicated and horrible for me to cope with. I ran away. I ran away.” He became very still. I watched the monitors, waiting for the flat line and the beep that would herald his final departure.
Minutes later, he opened his eyes again.
“I loved you . . . both of you. Still do, always will. I just couldn’t bear . . . couldn’t allow it. I had to do it. She wouldn’t have survived.”
He was babbling and barely coherent. But he had something left to say to me and I wanted to know what it was. “What did you have to do, Dad? Dawn wouldn’t have survived? Or Mother? What are you saying?”
“It was for the best.” His eyes closed again.
You can’t shake a dying man awake and demand that he tell you what you want to know. No matter how I had felt about my father most of my life he was all I had and I was all he had. I prayed a fox hole prayer that I had a few moments left with him, not just to get the answers he had that I so desperately wanted but to form a bond. A bond that would only live a moment was better than the alternative—nothing.
I covered his hand with mine and held it. I couldn’t remember ever actually touching my father. I’d seen Dawn do it. I’d seen her in his lap, kissing his cheek and I’d seen him stroke her hair and hug her when he came and went. But me? I didn’t even remember a handshake except the one that took my surprise the day before.
He looked at me for the last time and I saw a tear slip from the corner of his eye. His mouth opened but he couldn’t make any words come out. Just one lonely tear to tell his sorrow.
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s all okay.” He held my gaze as he took his last breaths. I wondered if he was looking into his beloved Francesca’s eyes when their love was new. I hoped so. I tried to put all the kindness, all the forgiveness and understanding I could into the last look I’d ever give him. I hoped it was enough. “Go in peace, Dad.”
When the flat line traced across the screen the nurse came in. If I had thought there was going to be high drama with a crash cart and attempts to revive him, I thought wrong. The nurse quietly shut Jackson Cruz’s lightless eyes, turned off a few noisemakers and said, “I’ll give you a few moments.”
There were no tears. I wasn’t far along enough in knowing him to grieve my new loss. There’d be time later to mourn what might have been. Instead I went over and over and over the last conversation I’d ever have with my father.
What was for the best? What had he done?
Chapter 9—Rene
It was way too cold in the waiting room. The clothes I had thrown on were no match for the arctic temperatures of the sterile room. Watching the family in grief might have contributed to the chilly atmosphere. Their sorrow was infectious even though I tried to shut it out. Eventually they all left together, a ball of humanity huddled against the inevitable.
I hadn’t noticed the gray haired man sitting in the far corner. Like me, he seemed to have distanced himself from the raw intimacy of the bereaved relatives. Unlike me, he had a prop—a magazine of some sort—to use as a barrier between himself and the mourners. He was typically distinguished, buttoned up and comically British. I envied him his suit. He was dressed for the weather inside that refrigerator of a room.
Pacing was one way of getting my blood moving. I got up and toured the small area. There were at least two dozen chairs arranged around the perimeter. That seemed like overkill to me. How many people would need to wait in that ghastly place at one time? The pictures on the walls were hung too high and were all cheap prints of peaceful landscapes designed, I supposed, to evoke calm and harmony in a place that was anything but.
Time crawled by. I rubbed my arms and tapped my feet but it didn’t do me any good.
“Rather chilly in here, isn’t it?” British man observed.
“Freezing,” I agreed.
“There’s a vending machine in the hallway. Shall I fetch us some tea? It will be hot, but horrid, I’m sure.”
“That would be wonderful. I really don’t want to leave this room in case my friend comes out. He’s in there with his father. Heart attack.”
“That would be Mr. Cruz?”
“Yes. Are you a friend of his?”
“I’m his solicitor. Austin Spencer.” He rose and came over to shake my hand. He was an elegant man who looked just like what I imagined a British lawyer should look like. Charcoal gray, pinstriped suit, bow tie, starched white shirt (French cuffs, of course) and a gold signet ring on his right pinky.
“Rene Waters. I work on El Loco, Mr. Cruz’s boat.”
“Well, Ms. Waters, let me go see about the tea and we’ll try to warm you up.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Spencer.” I watched him leave the room. He carried himself precisely. Everything about him was precise.
Dylan came through the door moments later. He sat down beside me and sighed.
“He’s gone,” he said flatly and stared down at his shoes.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan.” I really didn’t know if I was sorry, but it seemed the only appropriate thing to say.
“I don’t know how to feel. Yesterday, I had a glimpse of what it might be like to have him as a father—a real one—for the first time. But I didn’t have time to process it. Now he’s gone. I’ll never know.”
I put my hand on his arm feeling like I should say something comforting, but the words wouldn’t come. Dylan put his hand over mine and gave me a sad smile.
“I can’t say I loved him. I didn’t even know him. I feel guilty feeling nothing. Maybe a little regret, but other than that I’m just flat.”
“It’ll take some time. There’s no right way to feel.”
“I know I have to find some answers, t
hough. Before he . . . passed, he said some things. Things about Dawn. That he did something he had to do. That she wouldn’t have survived otherwise. I have to find out what he was getting at.”
“Mr. Spencer might know.”
“Mr. Spencer?”
“Your father’s lawyer. He’s here. He just went to get me some tea.”
On cue, Austin Spencer came back into the waiting room. Dylan stood up to greet him and introduce himself.
“Your father?”
“Gone.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“We weren’t at all close, Mr. Spencer. All the same, it’s a bit of a shock.”
“Quite so. Jackson never intimated anything about a heart condition. He seemed the picture of health.”
“I didn’t know him well, but it fits with what little I did know of his character. He wouldn’t be one to share details like that with anyone.”
“He might have had some knowledge that he was at risk. He left extremely detailed instructions on how his affairs were to be handled. It may be a relief for you to know that there will be nothing you have to do until you take possession of his ashes.”
I saw Dylan wince a little at the mention of ashes. It sounded so final. “Was I specifically named as the person to take his . . . remains?”
“Indeed. His instructions were for immediate cremation. He asked that you scatter them at sea.”
“Wow. Okay. I can handle that, I guess. It seems strange, though. We hardly communicated. Like I said, not close at all.” Dylan shook his head. “The old man was full of surprises at the end.”
“There’s much more we’ll need to discuss. It can wait until you’ve had some time.”
“When will they . . . when will he be cremated?”
“Oh, immediately. We don’t have a waiting period in the U.K. and as executor, I will be able to authorize the necessary. You shouldn’t have to wait more than a couple of days.”
“Mr. Spencer? My father spoke to me about my sister. He said that he had ‘done something’. My sister Dawn has been out of my life for many years and I assumed, all this time, that she was dead. But my father’s last conversation with me has me wondering if something else happened to her. Would you have any knowledge of what he was talking about?”
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