by Kimber Davis
She took another bite of her stew, and he watched her carefully.
"What did your mother tell you about him?"
"Nothing much. She was eighteen, he was thirty-two. They had a date and I was the result of it. She tried to get him to accept the fact, and he wouldn't. So she moved back home to the States, had me, and fended for herself until she married my stepfather."
Stuart toyed with a piece of bread, tearing it into tiny pieces until he had a huge amount in front of him. He moved it around, then ate a few pieces.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. This has been so stressful, and I suppose I expected you to be grateful to your da for flying you over. I never thought you'd hate him."
"You can see now why it's probably better if I go into town without meeting him? I'll sign the papers and then be on my way. I was serious when I said you could have it all."
Stuart considered her idea for a few minutes, then shook his head. "No. As much as I don't want to upset him, I think that not meeting you would upset him more. You're all he's talked about for the past month and a half."
Her heavy sigh made him respond in kind.
"It's surprising to me, since he's ignored me all my life. Did he tell you why he was so hell-bent on meeting me? Is it the fact that he's dying? Is he afraid of bad karma when he gets to the other side?"
Stuart shook his head. "You didn't even ask me what's wrong with him. Did the lawyer tell you?"
"No, and I didn't ask. Frankly I don't care."
"You should."
"Why, is it hereditary?"
"No."
He stared at her for a few minutes, until she turned her gaze to him. "What is it, then?"
"Heart disease. Too much food, drink and smoke. About three months ago the doctor told him that the chances of heart disease could be passed to children and he started to worry that he'd passed it to you. He said that since he'd been a lousy da that maybe warning you would help set things a little better."
"Well, I don't smoke, and I don't drink to excess. Besides, this was something he could have told me over the phone."
"You're right, he could have. But I think it was the excuse he'd been looking for."
"He needed an excuse?"
"He's a stubborn man, something I think you have in common."
They both turned to a woman who appeared in the doorway. She wore a loose pair of pants and a T-shirt.
"Hello. I'm Beth, the nurse."
"Hi, I'm Ivy, the long-lost daughter."
The woman laughed, then crossed the room. "He's asking for you. He knows you're here. Shall we go up?"
* * *
Ivy stood outside the doorway, trying to get her breathing under control. She didn't want to do this, had never wanted to do this. She would be fine with never meeting her father. Wouldn't she?
She thought back to all the nights she'd thought about him growing up. At first, she'd asked her mother about him constantly, and the sweet-hearted woman had always said that he was a wonderful man who just didn't have time for a family.
It wasn't until Ivy was older that she realized he wasn't a wonderful man, but someone who never wanted to have anything to do with her. The realization had stung, and Ivy had started to hate him.
When she was twelve, she'd cried about it at least once a week, always careful to hide it from her mother. It hadn't helped matters when her mother had married, because her stepfather, Doug, had not really wanted to claim her as his own. He'd wanted her mother to have his babies, and she had. Her mother had still paid attention to her, but more attention had been paid to the babies, and Ivy had blamed everything on her father.
When she was fifteen, and other girls were talking about how their fathers were giving them driving lessons, she'd come home and written his name over and over on a sheet of paper. Then she'd tacked the paper on her dartboard and slung darts at it over and over before taking it down and setting it on fire in the bathroom sink.
As she'd watched it burn, she thought about him, and thanked the stars above that he lived across the ocean, and she'd never have to run into him., because she knew if she did, she'd slap him.
Now, as she stood outside his doorway, she could hear Beth's soft voice telling him his daughter was just outside. She had behaved herself while Beth was around, so the woman didn't know that Ivy detested her father, unless Stuart had told her. He was in the room with her, but she couldn't hear him talking.
There was some movement, and finally the door opened. Stuart stepped outside and gave her a stern look.
"Promise me you'll behave, and there won't be any of the words that you and I shared on the way here."
"I'll try."
"No, you won't try. You'll do it. Do you understand?"
Ivy wanted to tell him to go to hell, but she knew he was right. If her father's health was that fragile, then she didn't want to be the reason for pushing him over the edge. Maybe she could learn a thing or two by behaving herself and being nice to him. All she had to do was bury thirty-two years of hate, and realize that, like it or not, this was the man who had fathered her.
She nodded at Stuart and whispered, "I understand. Take me inside."
Chapter Two
Despite all her bravado about how much she hated her father, an overwhelming sense of sadness and doom descended on Ivy's shoulders as she walked into her father's room. She clasped her hands together to stop their shaking. She squinted her eyes to try and adjust them to the darkness of the room.
The whirl of what she supposed was an oxygen machine was the only sound in the room. She sniffed, surprised when the scent of lavender hit her nose. It didn't smell like a sick room, or a hospital, which was what she'd been expecting.
Stuart stepped in front of her and nodded toward the bed. "Over here."
"Give me a minute." She gazed at him and he nodded, despite the sour look on his face.
"Come over here, lass." Her father's voice was thin, and she could tell it took great effort for him to speak. She walked toward him, reminding herself that, despite her feelings, Stuart was right. Hamish MacNaught was a sick man. A dying man. She should let go of her feelings, and not by letting go on him.
"Hello." She stopped at the end of the bed. The man lying before her was a shadow of the man in pictures her mother had shown her. His once dark hair was gray, and his eyes were narrow and almost lifeless. His once large body was shrunken, his arms thin above the covers.
"Come closer. I don't bite." He tried to laugh and she smiled. She moved to the side, stepping in front of Stuart, who had moved back. "Hello, Ivy."
"Hello, um, hi."
"It's fine." He paused to take a breath. "You don't ..." another pause, "have to...call me da."
She nodded, and then looked away, tears filling her eyes.
"It's not ... been a goo ... good day. Maybe ... tomorrow will..." his words trailed off and his eyelids closed, then slowly came open again. He nodded very slowly, and she did the same thing.
"I'm sure tomorrow will be fine. I'll still be here." For the first time since she'd arrived, she was happy that Stuart had talked her into coming out here. Hating her father in the abstract was easy. But seeing him lying there made her want to get to know him, made him real in her eyes, something she'd never experienced before. Plus, if she was snippy with him, and then he died, she'd never be able to forgive herself.
"I... me, too..." His eyes closed again and Ivy turned a horrified look on Beth, who sat down opposite from him and took his hand, feeling his pulse.
"He's sleeping," she said. The nurse cocked her head toward the doorway, and Ivy and Stuart followed her out. "He has good days, and bad days. Today was bad, which, hopefully, means tomorrow will be good, and the two of you can talk."
"Can't they do something, like a heart transplant?"
"In most cases, yes, they could. But Hamish waited too long. By the time he went to the doctor, his heart muscle was already very deteriorated. When the doctor suggested a transplant, Hamish said no.
Said he'd brought it on himself with food and drink. And with smoking. Said his time had come, and he didn't want to fight Mother Nature."
Ivy nodded, and then gathered her arms around herself. "Is it too late, then?"
"Yes," Beth said. "I think he held on so long because he wanted to see you. I hope seeing you tonight makes him stronger, and he holds on a little longer."
Ivy wasn't sure what to say, so she just nodded. Her emotions were a jumble now; with every bad feeling she'd ever had toward her father on one side, and the image of him lying in the bed on the other. In her mind, the two sides were boxes, both of them with their fists up ready to duke it out.
"I'm going to go and have a lie down," Beth said. "I try to sleep when he does."
She left without waiting for a response, and when Stuart touched Ivy's shoulder, she jumped.
"Let's go downstairs and have a dram," he said. "It'll be good for you."
Stuart led her downstairs and into a cozy room full of overstuffed furniture. A fire burned brightly, providing warmth and just a little bit of light in the dark night. He crossed to a cupboard and took out a bottle of scotch. He poured two small glasses, then crossed and handed one to Ivy.
She knocked it back quickly, coughing as the liquor burned its way down her throat.
"You are your father's daughter," he said, taking the glass and refilling it. This time she sipped it, sitting down in one of the wingback chairs that faced the fire.
"Somehow that didn't go like I thought it would," she said, her voice soft. "I really thought I would rail at him, tell him how much I hated him, and that I hoped he rotted in hell. But he looks so ... sad."
Stuart sat down opposite her and sipped from his own glass. The way he studied her made her feel uncomfortable. She took a sip from her own glass, and then lifted her gaze to him.
"Has he talked to you, about me? About what happened?"
"Yes." Stuart looked into the fire and she waited for him to say something else. When he didn't, she cleared her throat.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What did he say?"
"I think he should tell you that." He swirled the liquid in his glass, but didn't drink from it.
"He can't say two words without pausing for air."
When Stuart shook his head, she wanted to reach over and bop him on the head. "I know what I just saw."
"He's not always that bad. He's been excited about you coming, and that might have taken a lot out of him."
"So, it's my fault?"
"That's not what I said." His sat back in the chair. "Tomorrow might be better. He has days where he can get up and walk around. Not for very long, but he can at least make it downstairs. Of course getting him back up can be tough."
"I take it that now, you'd like to talk to him?"
"I'd like to ask him why he left my mother."
"I'd rather you didn't."
"Why? I think I deserve to hear his side of the story. All my mother would ever say was, 'it didn't work out.' She defends him to this day."
"That should tell you something."
"Yeah, that she's willing to be used as a doormat."
Stuart's eyes narrowed and Ivy took another sip of her drink, thinking maybe it would ward off the evil look he was sending her way.
"She obviously loved him, and still does. If you love your mother at all, I would think that means something to you."
She slammed back the rest of her drink and held out her glass. He stared at it for a minute, then got up and refilled it. "There'll be no more for you after this."
"Please, I'm thirty-two. I can have a few drinks if I want."
"Do you think? Personally, I think you're tired, and upset, and you need to go upstairs and get some sleep. When Ham wakes up tomorrow, I'm sure he'll want to see you again."
The soft feelings she'd developed as she stared at the man who was her father were slowly dissipating. Part of her wanted to tell Stuart to go to the devil, that she had no desire to be nice to Hamish MacNaught. But she knew that wasn't right. She would probably fight her feelings about this man all her life, but this would be her one opportunity to talk with him, to see if he would actually give her his side of the story.
"You're probably right. By this time tomorrow, though, I may be so jetlagged that I have no desire to do anything but sleep."
"Then go and make the best of your time tonight, lass. Get a good sleep, and be ready to talk to your da tomorrow. I'm sure it will do him, and you, a world of good."
* * *
Ivy woke the next morning to find a large black cat staring at her. The cat reclined next to her, it's head cradled between its paws. The feline's green eyes were fixed on Ivy's face as if she thought the newcomer was breakfast.
"Who are you?" She stared at the cat as if she expected it to answer. When the cat stretched, she saw that its underbelly was totally white, as was the tail that had been under its body. Its back two paws were also white.
"Do I happen to be in your bed or something?" The animal's eyes narrowed as if to confirm Ivy's words. "Sorry. This is the room they gave me, though."
She stretched, and then picked up her watch from the nightstand. It was well after eleven o'clock and she gasped. She had no idea how she'd slept so long. Maybe it was stress, or maybe it was the three belts of scotch she'd had the night before. She didn't have a hangover, though. Her head felt fine. The only thing that seemed out of place to her was the cat, who still stared at her.
Ivy held out her hand, and the cat sniffed her fingers. "Don't scratch me." When it was done sniffing, it turned onto its back, offering its belly.
"I guess I'm okay, huh?" She ruffled the animal's fur, happy when the cat started to purr. After a few minutes of bonding time, Ivy stood, donned a robe and walked to the bathroom that was just down the hall. After using the facilities, she took a long shower, washing her hair with the shampoo that was already there and then padded back to her room and dressed.
By the time she got downstairs, it was after noon, and Constance was alone in the kitchen.
"Good morning," Ivy said.
"And an afternoon to you, too, lass. I trust you slept well."
"Yes, thank you. Have I missed meals?"
"Just breakfast, but I'll make you anything you like." Constance turned to her with a smile. "Himself is up, and eager to see you. He's feeling much better today, and I've a mind that it was seeing you last night that did it."
Ivy smiled, not wanting to let Constance in on her own conflicted feelings. She figured Stuart had already done that, but Constance didn't seem to be upset with her, and didn't offer warnings about behaving herself around "himself" as Stuart had done.
Ivy asked for a sandwich, and Constance made her a huge monstrosity of a thing, stuffed with roast beef, cheese and horseradish sauce. She opened a bag of crisps and put them in front of Ivy.
"What to drink?"
"Iced tea?"
Constance laughed. "I never did understand your American custom of icing team, but I figured you'd want it, so I've made it."
"Thank you." Ivy smiled at her. "That was very thoughtful."
The cat sauntered into the room as Ivy ate, and Constance greeted him with a sneer. "And just where have you been?"
"Upstairs, waking me."
"He can be a right pain. His name is Fink."
"Fink?"
"Yes, as in ratfink. He's good at stealing a person's heart, and then running to the next person that comes along, as he did with you this morning."
Ivy laughed softly, wondering if that was how things were with her father and mother. If he had stolen her heart, and then gone to the next best thing that came along. It always bothered her that her mother had refused to tell her exactly what had happened.
She finished her sandwich, and then sat with her hands folded in her lap. "You should go upstairs." Constance's voice was soft. "I realize this must be hard on you, losing your da and all."
"I don't even know him," Ivy
replied. "It's sad yes, but it doesn't really affect me."
Ivy stood, and then turned to Constance, who held out a tray. "Take this upstairs, please."
"I will." She left the kitchen before Constance could give her more of the same rhetoric that Stuart had given her. She followed the path she'd taken last night, knocking on the door of her father's room.
It was Beth who told her to come in. Today, her father sat up in bed, propped against a mountain of pillows. His face looked stronger, and there was actually a smile on his face.
"Hello."
"Ivy." He swallowed hard. "Come in, lass."
Beth took the tray, and Ivy moved to the chair that set near the bed. She sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles.
"I'll be next door," Beth said. She handed Hamish a bottle of water. "If you need me, just ring."
He nodded, and when she was gone, he turned his gaze to Ivy.
"You're so beautiful, but I always knew you would be."
"Thank you." She wanted to say something, but was afraid anything she said would come out snarky, so she kept her mouth shut. She was amazed that he seemed so much better today, that he could actually say more than two words at a time and not gasp for air.
"I've pictures, that your mother sent. I love the ones from your birthday parties the most."
Ivy's stomach dropped to the floor. "She sent you pictures?"
"Aye, I asked her to. Your graduation photos were good, too. I was proud."
"That's nice to know." She could hear the sarcasm in her voice, and she willed it to leave. "Of course, I know nothing about you, except your name. And all I've ever seen was an old photograph of you and my mother."
He nodded, leaning back against the pillows. "I thought it would be easier that way. That you wouldn't miss what you never had."
"You were wrong." When she saw tears leaking out of his eyes, she turned her head toward the windows.
Neither of them spoke for the longest time. When Ivy thought she could control her voice again, she turned back to him. "Why did you leave us?"
"I'm not a good man, Ivy. I cheated on your ma, a great deal. My father did it to my mother, and I saw what it did to her, and to me. When I realized that, I told your mother it was time to end it. I thought it better for her to go back home, to her family."