It's Not a Date

by Heather Blackmore

  Ten minutes after her arrival, a nurse entered Gordon’s room. The fifty-something bottle brunette smiled as Kade asked if she’d visited Gordon before. When the nurse said she had, Kade asked about his missing train.

  “Sorry, ma’am. It was deemed unsafe and dismantled. Our residents’ safety is our priority.”

  “What was unsafe about it?”

  “I believe it was difficult for the cleaning staff to work around.”

  “So was it unsafe or merely inconvenient?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I know it was for safety reasons. Let me find my supervisor for you.”

  While Kade waited, she continued working with Gordon.

  Shortly after the first nurse left, another one returned in her stead. The late-twenty-something redhead with blue eyes and freckled cheeks asked Kade if she was Gordon’s daughter. Once Kade confirmed, the nurse asked if she could observe Kade and Gordon as they worked through his tablet exercises. Gordon seemed okay with the request, and Kade didn’t mind but informed the nurse she’d like to speak with her once they finished.

  Perched on one of the folding chairs, the nurse watched in silence. At first slightly disconcerted by having an audience, Kade quickly forgot about her as Gordon took his time working through the questions provided by the software, and she helped guide him when he seemed stymied. After about ten minutes, the nurse excused herself and told Kade she’d be right back.

  Carrying a food tray with her when she returned, the nurse set it on Gordon’s rolling table before retaking her seat. Once Kade wrapped up the exercises with her father, the nurse asked if she’d mind helping feed Gordon his snack, though she insisted she’d be happy to do it if Kade preferred.

  Even a week ago, the idea of the intimate act of feeding her father would have made Kade blanch. But his gaunt face and acceptance of her assistance with his mental exercises made her more receptive to the idea. It meant staying longer than the hour she usually allotted, but work was the only thing she’d be returning to at home this late in the day. And this seemed more important.

  Though the process was slow and at times messy, with Gordon chewing the fresh orange slices before pulling them fully into his mouth such that the juice dribbled down his chin, Kade took some comfort in the fact he so willingly accepted her help. She half expected him to demand that the nurse feed him. Dabbing the edge of a napkin into Gordon’s water glass, Kade cleaned off his mouth and chin. He didn’t fuss.

  Kade bid Gordon good night after informing him she’d return tomorrow. She followed the nurse out of his room and into an office. Kade said, “He looks much worse off than he was even four days ago. What’s happened? And why has his train set been disassembled?”

  “It’s been four days since you last visited?”

  “Yes. But I was here daily prior to that, and he was improving.”

  “In the short time you were here this evening, you’ve been able to do what our nurses and therapists haven’t in several days. He’s refused both food and therapy.”

  “But he’s been able to swallow since he was moved here.”

  “The only time you’ve not visited daily has been these last few days?”

  “Yes, but what’s that got to do with his health?”

  “Ms. Davenport, I wanted to observe you with your father because you seem to be the cornerstone to his rehabilitation. I’ve had a chance to watch him interact with a number of staff members since his arrival, and after seeing him interact with you, there’s simply no doubt he is very much motivated by you.”

  Kade stared at the redhead before laughing derisively. “Look, Ms…” Kade flicked her eyes to the woman’s name badge. “McCutcheon.”

  “Erica.”

  “Erica. My father and I have scarcely spoken in years. His stroke is the only reason I’m in his life these days, and he’s probably cursing every God there is that I’ve been thrust back upon him. In all likelihood, he’s probably so pliable with me because he’ll do anything to expedite my departure.”

  Erica smiled in a way that made Kade believe she hadn’t understood a word. “You said you noticed improvement from his arrival until today, which is several days since your last visit. Correct?”

  Kade nodded, irritated that the conversation had devolved into restatements of things already said.

  Erica continued. “We’ve found he’s very uptight about his schedule. Had you informed him you wouldn’t be returning until today?”

  Kade frowned, swallowing the excuse she was about to offer. No one knew the importance to Gordon of adhering to schedule more than Kade. Until recently, she’d visited each evening. When she’d last visited, although she hadn’t told him she’d return the next day, she could understand having implicitly set that expectation.

  “In the last three days, your father has obstructed all staff attempts to feed, clothe, bathe, or provide any therapy for him, which started the day after your last visit. Prior to that, he was the ideal resident. Aside from loss of appetite, his doctors have confirmed that his physical health hasn’t deteriorated. During this time, the only thing that’s changed in his routine is you.”

  Feeling defensive, Kade said, “The far more likely explanation is that his train set—”

  Erica held up her hands as if to suggest she wasn’t trying to make accusations. “Ms. Davenport, I’ve—”

  “Kade. Please.”

  “Kade. I’ve been at this for longer than it might look. All it took was sixty seconds to see the intensity of his expression as he works with you on his exercises, the way he focuses on you after he responds to a question, and the gleam in his eyes when you voice your approval, to know how important you being there is for him. As someone interested in his care, I don’t need to know what’s happened in his past as much as I need to understand what impacts his present, and you do, very positively.”

  This was more information than Kade could absorb. She stood and thanked Erica for her time. Before she’d opened the door wide enough to secure her escape, Erica said, “I’ll see about his train set, but please. Return tomorrow as you told him you would. I think you’ll see all the proof you need.”

  Kade wasn’t sure she should drive home. Would she be able to safely negotiate traffic when she couldn’t focus on anything except the voices arguing in her head? Estranged from her father for years, now she was suddenly the impetus behind his rehabilitation? Did that mean she could essentially kill him if she walked away?

  No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. The nurse was wrong.

  As Kade headed for the exit, she paused in front of the facility’s beauty shop, gray wigs on two plastic female heads catching her attention. She silently questioned why neither dummy sported blue hair, which seemed to be in fashion here. A sign indicated the shop was closed, and the lights were off except for the recessed lighting above the display window, but the door was slightly ajar, luring her in. She pushed it open and called out. No one answered. She took a seat in one of the hydraulic styling chairs and looked around the small salon, noting the implements, wondering if it should be this easy for certain of the residents to access sharp scissors. Wondering whether, in her present state of mind, it should be this easy for her.

  In the best of health, Gordon was scarcely capable of having a conversation that would bear emotionally satisfying fruit. In his current condition, it was impossible. He suffered from both aphasia and dysarthria, so it was difficult for him to understand words and meaning, and the damage to his nervous system made it tough for him to speak. His ability to follow or convey long, complex ideas was severely compromised. If she forced a conversation, she’d never know precisely how much he comprehended or the degree to which his responses accurately communicated his thoughts.

  For half her life, Kade had wanted to mean something to her father. Now that she might be a blip on his radar screen, she couldn’t do anything with the information.

  She stared at the mannequin head with the schoolmarm hair style that completely contrasted with th
e youthful face, as if dressed for a costume party. It made her think of Jen, someone wise beyond her years.

  I want you to be you, Jen had said. What did it mean? The statement contained a kernel of something that had touched Kade at the time and never really ceased. Something inherently hopeful lurked within it, something profoundly simple. But who was the you she was supposed to be?

  She had no idea. Unsure of how she could be more you, she considered how she could be less of the current, adult Kade, and more of the kid version she used to be, the Kade whom Cassie had loved.

  She could start by unraveling several lengths of coil that she’d wound tightly over time to adhere to Gordon’s disciplinary demands in the hope of salvaging what they used to have. He had required everyone to adhere to a strict timetable, born from his guilt over failing at his job. She’d taken on his guilt, worn it like a prosthetic all these years. No longer the youngster who longed for attention and approval, perhaps she could excise it.

  But how much of the girl remained inside? How much of what Cassie had been drawn to for all those years was fundamentally intact? Was that the person Jen saw in her?

  Had seen. She corrected herself. The only thing Jen saw in Kade these days was betrayal.

  Focus on what you can control, she reminded herself. It was a piece of advice she gave entrepreneurs in her book. For all her obsession with time, Kade couldn’t turn back the clock to a period before she’d hurt Jen.

  Jen.

  What would Jen do?

  She shifted her gaze to the mirror.

  Forgive him.

  Kade arrived at the conclusion in a millisecond. Unequivocally, it’s what Jen would do.

  But she wasn’t Jen.

  The man in room four-ten didn’t deserve forgiveness. Yet forgiving a saint doesn’t take much. The hard part lies in forgiving someone for the actual harm they’ve done. Things that don’t matter don’t need to be forgiven. She didn’t have to deny the seriousness of the pain he had inflicted or give him license to mistreat her in the future. She didn’t even have to feel forgiving in order to forgive. Nor did she have to self-righteously announce to him that she forgave him. It needn’t be an exercise in manipulating him into feeling guilty. In fact, it would have nothing to do with his action or response. She would be making the conscious, deliberate decision to release her resentment toward him.

  Maybe she could see it as a weight being lifted off her. Learning his motivations regarding her wasn’t necessary in order for her to act.

  Was she ready to take this step? Forgive Gordon for the emotional injury he’d inflicted?

  She wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t let Gordon shackle her any longer. In all these years, time—the keeper she’d so meticulously respected—had not healed the wounds. She needed to try something new.

  Kade left the salon and returned to Gordon’s room. His eyes were closed, the overhead lights off. The lamp on the corner table was on, as usual, and her eyes seemed to settle, as if appreciating that they were out of the brightness of the hallway.

  The room was quiet and Gordon rested peacefully, his mouth hanging open. It seemed simple enough to speak the words or think them, to accept the serenity of the moment and move forward.

  Yet something was missing. The way Jen described it, forgiveness was, at least in part, an act of self-love. If she could forgive Gordon but not herself, it would be a hollow gesture, like having a puppet absolve him. If she were truly to forgive him, wouldn’t she need to be able to forgive herself as well? She wasn’t sure she could. Stepping free and clear of her role in her family’s disintegration and Cassie’s demise seemed wrong and unjust. Cassie could never again be carefree, so why should Kade?

  She noticed Gordon’s tablet. The installed software contained comprehensive how-to guides. The man lying next to it didn’t come with a knowledge base. He was a human being, fallible, damaged. No different than Kade. She didn’t have a set of instructions to work with when it came to forgiveness.

  All she could do was ask herself an important question: could she continue to deny him the one thing her ten-year-old self had wanted him to give her?

  He had been cruel not to forgive her all those years. Not to forgive him, regardless of reason, would be no less callous.

  Gordon’s breath caught. He cleared his throat and closed his mouth without waking. With the recent weight loss and the condition of his overall health, he seemed smaller than the man who had disciplined her in her youth. Fragile, not unlike the psyche of a ten-year-old girl.

  Kade was a lot of things and failed on many fronts. But she wasn’t cruel.

  She walked to the bulky visitors’ chair to the right of the bed, curled into it, and closed her eyes. She would stay until breakfast and help feed him or get kicked out for breaking visiting hours’ rules. Either way, she would awaken to a new dawn, one in which Gordon Davenport received the absolution he never gave his daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Jen couldn’t believe the words on her laptop screen. She’d opened an attachment from kdavenport@thv.com, an email address she didn’t recognize, and simultaneously wondered whether her antivirus software was up to date. It seemed as likely to be from Kade as an actual Nigerian prince contacting her for assistance with transferring millions of dollars to her if she would kindly provide her bank account information and Social Security number.

  The subject said Term Sheet, and the message body was nondescript.

  Jen, I hope all is well. Please let me know if you have any questions regarding the attached. –Kade

  It was an investment offer—a generous one—from Time Honored Ventures, a firm she’d never heard of and didn’t recall meeting with. She looked at the signature, which she had seen on Creative Care documents and which confirmed the identity of the sender: Kadrienne Davenport. This didn’t make sense. Kade was a partner at Matlock Ventures. What was her signature doing on a non-Matlock offer?

  She reread the document. Charles Jameson would be THV’s choice for the board seat created by the financing round, representing the investors. Jen shook her head, confused. Why would Kade be looking to invest in Creative Care via a company Jen had never heard of? And if it was a bona fide offer, why wouldn’t Kade take the board seat?

  She backtracked through what she thought she knew. Charles had been back at work for a week, and Jen had already caught him up on the term sheets they’d received. True to her word, Kade had made a number of introductions between Creative Care and VC firms in its industry. Initially reluctant to take Kade’s advice with respect to sharing her story about Matlock’s term sheet and her difficulties covering gaps in Nana’s care, Jen had become a believer. Results from implementing the strategy had immediately borne fruit, as the half-dozen initial meetings had all yielded requests for second meetings. Creative Care was now in the enviable position of comparing three competitive offers—make that four—two of which were from top-tier VCs.

  Jen missed Kade. They hadn’t communicated on a personal level since the day of Matlock’s offer. She hadn’t meant to punish either of them by taking a break, but she’d needed time to heal. Having been in the unhealthy headspace of questioning Kade’s loyalties and values, Jen knew a little distance would give her perspective. It would also minimize the chances she’d say something else she’d regret. She’d dealt Kade low blows, packing words more harmful than punches, and she felt terrible. Kade deserved better.

  Unable to directly share recent successes with Kade, even work, which challenged and gratified her, lacked its usual luster. Jen felt the sense of loss more acutely once Charles retook his board seat, even though she liked and respected him. Prior to his health scare, Charles had been an active, engaged director, but Kade’s commitment to the company and the advice she gave Jen time and again had proved her indispensable. No offense to Charles, but to Jen’s mind, there was no comparison.

  As interim director, Kade had been apprised of two of the term sheets that had come in subsequent to Matlock’s, so
she knew Creative Care had solid options and wasn’t facing a shutdown. Was this some sort of over-the-top and unnecessary make-good for Kade’s conversation with Roger? No. Kade wouldn’t offer to invest simply because she felt guilty. Her professionalism dictated she would only invest if she was serious about the company’s prospects. While Jen surged with pleasure knowing that, with all the prospective investments Kade could make, Creative Care was at the top of her list, the gratification immediately ebbed at the thought that Kade was obviously wary of communicating about anything but the briefest work-related issues.

  Jen was responsible for Kade’s caution. She hadn’t treated her fairly, hadn’t taken time to consider things from her point of view. In fact, THV’s term sheet solidified what she already believed from what Kade had told her. Roger hadn’t informed Kade of his plans to pursue an investment in Creative Care. And as Kade had pointed out, Roger made his own decisions. Yes, he would have taken Kade’s feedback under advisement, but Jen’s abrupt departure during their only meeting must have also concerned him. By making this offer, Kade was backing up everything she’d said: Roger’s offer had blindsided her as much as it did Jen, she believed in what Jen was building, and she had confidence in Jen’s leadership.

  Kade hadn’t failed Jen by responding to Roger’s inquiry in the only way Kade would: honestly and fairly, based on the information she’d had at the time. Jen had let Kade down by not telling her why she was struggling to adhere to their scheduled meeting times.

  She owed Kade an apology. And unlike Kade, she wasn’t into self-denial. Being with Kade brought her joy, and she had no desire to prolong her misery by staying away from her.

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