It's Not a Date

by Heather Blackmore

  “My father…” Kade struggled to take in air as she spoke while she cried. “Stroke.”

  “Oh, Kade. I’m so sorry.”

  “No.” Kade picked up the boxcar and smacked it against her knee. Over and over, she cried, “No.” With each repeated word, she hit it, which must have hurt tremendously given its solid wood structure. But it began to give way, and soon it smashed into pieces. The few remaining in her hand were thrown to the ground. Kade jumped to her feet and grabbed a pillow from the couch. She strode to the other side of the room and sat against the wall, strangling the pillow, shaking her head.

  “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I. Hate. Him. Jen, I hate that man, and I’m not like you. I’m not good like you. I’m not…I don’t…No. Why should I see him? Why should I go? I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care if he dies. I don’t care what happens to him. I. Don’t. Care…I can’t go. I can’t. I can’t.” And then she kept shaking her head, still clinging to the pillow like a lifejacket.

  Jen rose and sat cross-legged before Kade, their knees touching. She rested her hands on Kade’s legs above the knee. “Hey.”

  Kade wouldn’t look at her.

  Jen tugged on the pillow until it rested between them. She laid her forearms on it and opened her palms faceup in invitation.

  Kade slid her hands into Jen’s, and Jen clasped them.

  “No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do. You need time to work out what’s right for you. Take it.”

  “Jen?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you stay a little while?”

  * * *

  Kade wasn’t hungry, but Jen accepted her offer of leftover ravioli and spinach salad. While Jen reheated the pasta and added tomato and feta to the salad, Kade washed her face and changed into faded jeans and a fleece pullover. She downgraded to wine, which Jen partook of, and set them up on the small deck off the kitchen. Although it was warm for late fall, she turned on the outdoor overhead heater to keep them both comfortable.

  “Glad you stopped by?” Kade asked with a crooked smile, cupping her wineglass.

  “I am, actually. You needed a friend.”

  Kade sighed. “I don’t have a great relationship with my father.”

  Jen arched a brow as if to sarcastically say, “Really?”

  “I know. Hard to tell, right?”

  “Want to talk about it?” Jen asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Are you going to visit him?”

  Kade shifted her gaze to her wineglass. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. He’s only ninety minutes from here.” She lost herself for several moments as she gently swirled the liquid around, watching it slosh. “My mother thinks I should.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “She probably feels leftover guilt from kicking him out and divorcing him. Now that Gordon’s alone in a hospital room, she probably feels bad for him.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  “Is this your psych degree talking?”

  “I think you have some unresolved feelings about him. I think he hurt you.”

  Kade nodded. “Enough that Mom left him because of his emotional abuse. Of both of us.”

  “Were you ever close?”

  “Until I was ten, very. Then the first incident happened.”

  “Did he harm you?”

  Kade shook her head. “Not physically, no. I think I mentioned that Gordon performed crucial railroad maintenance work, things like measuring deviations of critical distances and lighting the heaters and dousing the frozen switches to keep them running after a winter storm. He took me with him in the afternoons after school. He was always a disciplinarian, but not Draconian until later.”

  “I imagine he’s the source behind your strict adherence to punctuality?”

  Kade nodded. “After one storm, when he was working through his maintenance checklist, I spied Hecker’s Hill in the distance. Best sledding runs for miles. I begged him to take us on a few runs, since he always carried a sled in his truck during winter. And he did. We had so much fun. But we lost track of time and it got dark, so he planned to get an early start to finish checking the switches from that day.

  “The next morning, along one of the routes he didn’t get to because of me, a train derailed. Only two minor injuries, thankfully, but extensive property damage. The investigation concluded that improper maintenance caused it, and he was fired. He never forgave me.”

  Kade took a long pull from her wine and leveled her gaze on Jen. “And after the second incident, I never forgave him. And here we are.”

  Jen dragged her chair behind Kade’s. She gathered Kade’s hair and laid it over the front of one shoulder. She began to massage Kade’s neck, sliding her fingers beneath the fleece to contact skin. “What’s your current thinking?”

  “Mmm. More of that.”

  Jen chuckled. “About your dad.” She kneaded an especially tight spot above Kade’s right shoulder blade.

  “Why should his stroke change anything? He and I barely speak. What would be the point?”

  Jen continued massaging Kade in silence. Was Jen judging her, or was she only considering the possibility because she was judging herself through Jen’s eyes? Kade knew she was being immature but didn’t want to discount her feelings. Her father had hurt her deeply and never apologized. Wasn’t it the natural order of things that the child should look to the parent for direction? For understanding and forgiveness?

  “I know you’d visit. In my shoes.” Kade twisted in her chair to look at Jen. “But you’re a better person than I am.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Kade resumed her position. “You see the good in people, even where there isn’t any.”

  “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have some decency in them.”

  “You haven’t met enough venture capitalists.”

  Jen laughed. “If you were ill, would you want your only human interaction to come from nurses and doctors and others paid to see you? Or would you want someone who cares about you and genuinely wants to see you to visit?”

  “That’s the thing. I wouldn’t be going because I care or because I want to. I’d be doing it out of a sense of obligation.”

  “But doesn’t that obligation stem from a sense of human decency? From treating others as you’d wish to be treated?”

  “No. It stems from a mother’s guilt trip.”

  “You say potato.” Jen continued her massage, and several minutes passed in silence except for an occasional appreciative moan from Kade. “Let me ask you this. If he died today, would you feel bad you never visited?”

  Kade gave this question some thought. “Emotionally abandoned children hold onto hope, however illogical in light of all facts to the contrary, that their parents might stop disappointing them by simply accepting and loving them for who they are. So, yes, I think part of me would regret it, because I’m too stupid and naive to accept the truth even when it’s been staring me in the face all my adult life. I’d beat myself up over it because my heart would wonder if we ever could have reconciled, when my head knows very well it could never happen.”

  “Isn’t that one answer? To visit because you don’t want to always wonder if things could have been different between you?”

  “He hasn’t exactly been busting down my door.”

  “So he needed to make the first move? And now that he can’t, he’s SOL?”

  Kade sat forward in her chair, out of Jen’s reach, and turned around to face her. “You have no idea how he treated me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But you have a chance to show him how it’s done. Be the bigger person.”

  Kade was rapidly losing her temper. What right did Jen have to tell her what to do? “Reward him?”

  “Reward yourself. Let go of the pain and disappointment.”

  Kade stood, her anger flaring. “I find nothing rewarding about seeing that man. Been there, thank you. And
now I’m the bad guy because I’m not rushing to his bedside with open arms? His health setback does not suddenly earn him a get-out-of-jail-free card from having to actually act like a parent or never having to answer for what he did.”

  By this time, Jen was standing as well. She raised her hands in supplication. “I’m sorry, Kade. I didn’t mean to upset you. You need to do whatever’s right for you.”

  “Yes, and I don’t need your permission to do it.”

  Jen returned her chair to its original position and picked up her dishes. “Why don’t I rinse these and head out? You’ve had an unsettling day, and I didn’t intend to add to it. Thank you for dinner.”

  Before Jen could take a step, Kade said, “I want to talk about you cancelling on me. Twice.”

  “I don’t want to talk about work right now.”

  “I do. Jen, what gives? You don’t blow off meetings like these. I put my name on the line for you, and you—”

  “I didn’t blow them off, Kade. I told you. Things came up. I wouldn’t have cancelled if they weren’t important.”

  “What things?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Another time. When you’re not already upset.”

  “I was upset with you way before I found out about my father. I’d appreciate an explanation. A real one.”

  “And I’ll give you one.” Jen took a deep breath. She hadn’t been sure whether to tell Kade the truth about her absences. In the best of circumstances, Kade still might not have understood. In her present state of mind, the chances seemed remote. “I’ll make it right with these people. I will. I’ll reschedule. You don’t have to come. I can handle it on my own.”

  “Not with my contacts, you don’t. I’ve had Holly cancel our meetings.”

  “I saw them get removed from my calendar. I hoped it was a mistake.”

  “It was a mistake. Mine. For offering in the first place.”

  “You said you believe in what we’re building.”

  “I do.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “Tell me about Disneyland.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s why you cancelled our second meeting?”

  “You think I’d blow you off for Disneyland?”

  “You didn’t?”

  “That doesn’t deserve an answer.”

  “You seem to be good at not answering lately. Do you have any desire for Creative Care to succeed?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I question your leadership.”

  “Because I rewarded my team with a day trip? My team that’s been working around the clock and every weekend to deliver version 1.0 on an accelerated schedule? My team that’s taken a pay cut to get us through funding? That team?”

  “Reward results. Not attempts.”

  “Wow.”

  “Have you forgotten they’re nearly three months behind, by your own estimation?”

  “That’s on the management team. Not staff.”

  “Again with the leadership question then.”

  Jen stared at Kade, incredulous. How dare she question Jen’s reward system of her team or presume to know anything about the results they had achieved? Whether a project was completed on time was only one measure of performance and said nothing about quality.

  She’d heard enough. Without another word, she opened the sliding screen door and set her dishes in the sink. Belongings in hand, she was about to shut the front door behind her when she stopped.

  Itching for a fight, Kade had baited her, and Jen had bitten. She smirked at the irony of having suggested, moments ago, being the bigger person. While Kade had every right to an explanation for Jen cancelling on her and every right, given her board seat, to critique Jen’s management skills, Kade was hurting. Constructive criticism and open dialogue weren’t possible this evening, but acting with compassion was never off the table.

  With a sigh, Jen went back inside and returned to the deck. She squatted next to Kade and rested a hand on her thigh. “If you decide to visit your father and want someone with you, I’ll go.” She stood and kissed the top of Kade’s head before heading out for real.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Before Kade could grasp the antique knocker on Jen’s front door, it swung open. By way of greeting, Jen handed Kade a travel mug full of hot coffee, a gift bag, and a card. “The card’s for you, and the bag’s for your father,” she said as she grabbed her own mug and locked her door.

  Kade was confused. Jen was the one doing her a favor, yet she was the person receiving presents? “What are these?”

  Jen shrugged. “They’re from the team. I don’t know what’s in the card, but your father’s present is an MP3 player for audiobooks and includes a gift card for six books. The device is small, which may be tough for him, but the setup is easy, so anyone can help.”

  Kade stowed the present inside the trunk. “Wow. How incredibly thoughtful.”

  Jen took the coffee out of Kade’s hand and indicated the card. “Open it.”

  Kade did. The greeting card showed a group of cartoon bunnies holding a heart balloon out toward a separate bunny, captioned We’re Here for You. Enclosed was a certificate for a massage by a professional in-home service. “Holy cow,” Kade said, looking to Jen for an explanation. “Aside from Jeremy, they’ve never even met me.”

  “True, but they know you’re part of Creative Care and that you’ve been instrumental in helping us. When they learned about your father’s stroke, they decided they wanted to do something for both of you. I had nothing to do with it. I’m merely the messenger.” Jen slid into the passenger seat and closed the car door.

  Kade followed her lead and started the engine, though her thoughts were on the gifts. Contrary to Jen’s assertion, Jen had a lot to do with how the Creative Care team comported themselves. Jen set a tone at the top that forged a cohesive, principled team. Aside from the layoff, staff turnover was nil, and the employees’ collective decision to forgo a portion of their salaries was a testament to their belief in and loyalty to Jen.

  Kade had recognized early in her career that a company’s greatest asset was its people, though nurturing them wasn’t her forte. As such, she strove to hire managers who put their staff’s concerns above their own and weren’t afraid to tell her when she was wrong. Managers like Jen, she realized.

  Kade had had this sense of Jen’s skills early on, yet it had gotten lost beneath her indignation. Now that most of her anger had dissipated, she could see more clearly. When she measured Jen’s strengths and weaknesses against other startup CEOs, Jen earned high marks. All startups endured growing pains; Kade had every confidence that Jen could course-correct whenever the business warranted swift, decisive action, and these gifts reminded her that Jen’s team would likely remain by her side through it all.

  As Jen set her coffee in the cup holder, she said, “Apologies in advance if I have to hop on some calls this morning.”

  “Not a problem. Thank you again for doing this,” Kade said. “Especially on a weekday.”

  Jen pushed the seat back into a more comfortable sleeping position and curled up, shifting onto her right side. She closed her eyes, settling in for the long drive.

  “We won’t stay long,” Kade said.

  “However long you need.”

  And wasn’t that the main difference between them? Jen was a nurturer, a caretaker. Even in the face of Kade’s badgering about her leadership style, Jen had offered to join Kade for this visit. Kade hadn’t been too proud to accept, confident Jen’s presence would give her courage.

  “I don’t want to take any more advantage of you than I already am.”

  “I offered. How is that taking advantage of me?”

  “I was selfish to accept.”

  Jen shifted until she rested on her left side. Kade sensed that blue eyes were studying her.

  “Because you don’t think you deserve it?” Jen asked.<
br />
  Tension began to build between Kade’s shoulder blades, and she tried to relax her grip on the steering wheel. She didn’t want to talk about herself. That wasn’t the point of starting this conversation. She took a deep breath and kept her voice low and even. “I just wanted to thank you. You being here. It means something to me. That’s all.”

  When she flicked her eyes to the rear and right-side mirrors, Kade could see Jen’s eyes on her in her peripheral vision. She somehow felt more exposed now and wished Jen would shift back toward the window, even though she knew the protection offered by remaining beyond Jen’s direct gaze was imaginary.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Jen asked.

  Kade bit back the sarcastic “safe to say” reply on her lips.

  “People care about you. And when people care about you, it means they want to help you. It makes them feel good, knowing they’re helping, or at least trying to.” Jen peeled the fingers of Kade’s right hand from the steering wheel. She held it for a minute before speaking again. “That’s one of the hardest things for you to hear, isn’t it? That I care about you.”

  Kade didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Jen seemed content to let the discussion peter out. Kade expected Jen to ask about the minefield that lay between her and her father, but she never did. She simply closed her eyes and held Kade’s hand.

  The nursing home where Kade’s father had been transferred accepted Medi-Cal, a combined federal and California program designed to help low-income individuals pay for medical care. As Kade pulled into the lot, it took only one glance to see that the building was decades old and poorly maintained. An elderly man in a wheelchair was parked on the curb outside, his head tilted unnaturally far to one side, his mouth hanging open, his eyes closed. No one else was around.

  Inside, the reception desk was empty. A wheelchair-bound woman sat against the wall, working her mouth in such a way as to indicate she had few to no teeth remaining. Another elderly man slowly pushed himself along in his wheelchair backward, his slippered feet taking tiny steps and making little progress. In the distance, Kade could hear someone mournfully wail over and over, a cross between the sound of a cat in heat and a perverse version of a Buddhist monk’s “om.” Also in the background, someone’s call button sounded repeatedly, as if this facility used such devices for something other than garnering immediate attention.