by S. E. Hall
It takes a minute of swiping tears, sniffling, pushing hair behind her ears and straightening her posture, but finally, she looks at me…and through it all, she emerges, the light fighting through in her gorgeous brown eyes, my girl is back with me here in the room. “I need a nibble,” she whispers.
And I need to hear her whisper those sweet words to me every day for the rest of my life. I lean in and let her take a whole damn meal. Riza clears her throat and blushes when she comes to get us, our hour lapsed.
Lizzie jolts and the sound, rushing to stand and walk toward the woman. “I’m Lizzie Carmichael, Anna’s daughter,” she extends her right hand, “and she raised me better than the way I treated you before. I apologize.”
“Of course.” Riza smiles kindly and shows us out.
We walk hand in hand out into the fresh air, not stopping to ask about the other account—it’ll be there when we need it.
Once we’re in the car, engine purring, I turn to her at the same time she looks at me. “Seriously, what now?” she asks.
I’m going for the long ball at the buzzer. It’ll either swoosh in or bounce off the rim and beam a spectator in the crowd. Such is risk, though. “I believe Conner’s waiting, and didn’t your dad say something about dinner?”
In for her, out for me. Please don’t let her aim for my balls.
“He is, and he did. Guess there then.” She shrugs, leaning forward to turn on the radio.
***
“Should I,” she nervously stammers, “ring the doorbell, or…”
She’s precious; with everything shifted, she’s not sure how to act. Fangs bared, guns blazing is the only way she knows how to walk in this house. So I press the bell, then take her tiny, sweaty hand in mine.
“Sweet girl, just walk in.” Alma greets us with a smile and disbelieving shake of her head. “Mr. Cannon, how are you?” She goes up on tiptoe to kiss my cheeks.
“Call me Cannon, please.” I take her hand and give a kiss of my own to the back of it.
“Alma, he’s taken. Cannon, quit encouraging her.” She shakes a joking finger at us while jovially narrowing her eyes.
I love her like this, light and happy, cracking jokes. I’m not ungrateful, but a bit shocked how it’s so closely on the heels of everything she just learned. Gift horse though, ehh—I don’t want to look in its mouth.
“Come in like you’ve been here before, for heaven’s sake.” Alma ushers us in and I squeeze tighter on Lizzie’s hand.
“Where’s my dad and Conner?” Lizzie asks, and Alma’s step falters, astonishment plastered on her face.
“Conner’s playing with Bryson and Vaughn somewhere. And your f—dad—well, let me check.”
“I’m here,” his voice sneaks around the corner. “Daughter, why don’t you and your caller join us in the kitchen?”
I glance at Siren, who bites down a smirk. “Am I a caller?” I whisper.
“Gentleman caller,” she nods and whispers back. “Very Gone With the Wind, right? He always talks like that. Ivy League raised and graduated. Come on,” she drags me toward the kitchen, “don’t be scared. Everyone knows those preppy guys can’t bite worth a damn.” She snickers.
“I heard that.” Her father grins, chomping his teeth together demonstratively.
“You must be Laura.” My girl, very friendly-like, not a hint of snark or sarcasm, turns to the attractive blonde woman sitting at the kitchen bar, white as a ghost. Seems rumor’s out that my Lizzie can bite.
“I am.” She stands, offering a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Elizabeth.”
“You too, and please, call me Liz, if you’d like.” Her poise fumbles. “I like Elizabeth too…whichever.”
Saving her, I step flush to her back and lay my left hand on her shoulder, waiting until I feel her relax under my touch, then extend my right over her other shoulder. “Hi, Laura, I’m Cannon Blackwell. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Very nice to meet you as well, Cannon.” She smiles sincerely, seeming to relax a bit herself. “Will the two of you, and Conner, be joining us for dinner? We’re having manicotti, garlic bread, and salad, if that’s all right?”
I’m not about to answer for us, and Lizzie is just staring at her father, either ignoring Laura or in a trance. I see where she gets it—more than just her piercing eyes and color, jawline and chin—he’s not budging either, intimidatingly stubborn just like my Siren.
“Where’s Conner?” Lizzie caves first, quizzical brow lifted.
“In his room with the other boys; Minecraft marathon if I’m not mistaken.”
She stews, chewing the corner of her lip, inspecting the ceiling, Laura’s…outfit maybe, then back to him. “Still got a deck?”
He chuckles. “Last time I checked, yes.”
“Got beer?”
He steals a peek at Laura, who nods. “Yes.”
“Figure we’ll need,” she ponders, “‘bout six; three apiece. Meet you,” she says to him, clearly uninviting me with a sweet smile but eye message leaving no room for doubt she doesn’t want me to join them, “out there.”
And she’s off.
Chapter 35
“Can’t say I ever thought this would happen.” He hands me an ice-cold bottle of beer and takes a seat in the patio chair catty-corner to mine.
“You got any cigars?”
“Have you ever smoked a cigar?” he asks, clearly as amused as he is doubtful.
“No, but this feels like a cigar moment. Never mind,” I slump in my chair, not feeling as DeNiro as I did five seconds ago.
“Here you go!” Laura chirps as she appears, two cigars in hand. “Elizabeth, if you feel green, lean over the railing.” She grins, then walks to the intercom box on the wall and hits something. “Now you have privacy, carry on! We’re eating without you, by the way.” She waves over her shoulder and shuts the door.
“I don’t hate her,” I mumble around my stogie, leaning forward for the light he’s holding out.
“I’m glad to hear that.” He leans back, leg crossed at the ankle as he puffs out a perfect smoke ring. I’m just holding mine now, way away from me, the smell and that one taste enough to make me sick. “Elizabeth…” He shakes his head, taking it from me, and snuffs it out, thank God.
“I don’t hate you, either.” I speak softly, staring off in the distance.
“I’m extremely glad to hear that. What changed your mind, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Mom wrote me a letter, that’s what was in the box at the bank.” I turn at the sound of the door.
“Here, love.” Cannon hands me a full plate, silverware, and a napkin. “You good?”
I nod and he winks, kissing the top of my head and retreating. I feel rude eating when this detour was my idea, but my father waves a hand absently, telling me to enjoy. “Mmm,” I moan around my mouthful. “Did Laura make this?”
“She did. She loves to cook; used to own a restaurant I frequented. That’s how we met.” He gets a faraway look, remembering those early days of courting I suppose.
“She’s very good. What happened to the restaurant? You said used to own.”
“Her husband was killed in a motor vehicle accident, hit and run. She sold it to pay costs and support her four children.”
“Only the one marriage? One dad for all four kids?” I pry.
“Yes to both.”
Not only do I not hate her, I respect her. “Good kids?”
“Very. Vaughn’s fifteen,” he chuckles, “so sometimes he tends to have a smart mouth, but Laura has no qualms lining him out, I assure you. Hope’s a little doll, Lisa’s away at college, and Bryson is quite shy. All different, but yes, all good kids.”
“Do you love them?” In for me. I wait for his reply, no idea what answer I’m hoping for. On one hand, it’d be nice to hear he has the capability to, but on the other…
“I love you, Elizabeth.” Out for him. “And Conner.” He leans forward, stinky cigar gone, forearms resting on his knees. “Do yo
u want to discuss your mother’s letter?”
I shrug, trying to seek out the moon through the heavy cloud cover. “You already admitted your wrongs; shitty, but I forgive you. She admitted hers, shitty and irreversible, but I would’ve forgiven her too. So I’m angry with her, yes, but mostly I feel sorry for her, and fortunate I didn’t inherit such hopelessness. Was she on medication? I mean the right kind, for that depression?”
He sighs and tears up, obvious even in dusk. Running a hand through his still thick and dark hair, with the tiniest bit of gray hinting, he speaks painfully, as though he’s living it over again. “Every kind they make, trials, combos, you name it. Nothing worked, not that it’s supposed to when you skip doses, then overuse, then swallow it with liters of alcohol. It’s excusable, but I didn’t cheat for almost 20 years, Elizabeth, and it wasn’t any better. That’s why you never had maternal grandparents around this house; they loved you kids, but gave up on her long before I did. But no matter what, look at me,” he barks and my eyes snap to compliance, “she did not mean to hurt your bother, and it’s the one thing she couldn’t find a pill cocktail to forget.”
I don’t mind the handkerchief now, he needs it badly, his whole body convulsing with wracking sobs. Seeing a man cry is startling enough, but one you’ve barely even seen smile? Witnessing his utter emotional breakdown, which I have no doubt is sincere, penetrates a part of me…I’ve never met.
“Why’d you do it?” I open my third beer, taking a long, therapeutic swig. “Bring a date to the funeral? Fall on your sword? Let me treat you like shit, blame you, investigate you in hopes of keeping your son from you?”
He ticks them off on his fingers. “So they’d frown upon me instead of her. Lots of people had formed opinions and whispered grumblings; I couldn’t allow it. And yes, I was sleeping with Cheryl, so it served its purpose well. I let you hate me because you were angry, understandably so, and I’d rather have borne the brunt than have you in bar brawls, jail, or worse…in bed and despondent. And Conner…you couldn’t have really kept him away for too long. If forced, he knew the truth; I just hoped it’d never come to having to hypnotize or medicate him to remember. I kept you both as secure as I could, exactly where you both needed to be, with each other. You’re so good with him, Bethy, and his unfailing adoration of you tells me all I’ve ever needed to know. Sometimes I bit back, and I’m sorry, but it hurts,” he clasps a hand on his chest, “to know your baby girl hates you and you can’t say anything. I would rather fall on my sword, as you say, than disparage your mother when she can’t defend herself, or make Conner relive it. After all, for anything nasty or cruel people could say, she gave me you and your brother, and nothing can take that from her.”
He literally collapses back in the chair, wailing, shoulders visibly shaking. “This isn’t what I wanted for my children.” Then he snaps, turns a complete 180, and leans across to tap his beer bottle to mine. “We really should start old and get young, or for fuck’s sake, at least get two chances. Cheers!”
“Um, cheers,” I mutter, sipping my drink as he throttles his in one guzzle…after saying fuck and calling me Bethy. Should I cut him off? Are you allowed to cut your father off?
Seems we all have “crazy” in us, most often hidden, but sometimes, in our own ways, it comes out full force. To be human, which it turns out he is, means some crazy; maybe he’s just crazier than the rest of us. What’s the heavier burden to bear, knowledge with silence, or not knowing?
“BETHY! COME FIND ME!” The windows shake as Bubs screams inside, sending delightful fire to my heart.
“Does he have another volume?” My dad winces and rubs his temples as I die laughing.
“Sorta. I’ll show you a few tricks.” I stand, sliding open the French doors. “On the deck, Bubs!”
Oh Lord, glasses shake in the cabinets and the overhead light sways as the thunder gets closer and closer. “Soft love, Bubs, you hear me?”
He slides to a stop around the corner, big ole’ body trembling with restraint. “Medium?”
“Okay.” I giggle and hold open my arms. “Humph,” I grunt. “That was not medium, stinker.” I pinch his nose. “Where’s Cannon?”
“Asleep on the couch. That’s not his.”
“Son, don’t be rude. He’s welcome to rest on the couch. Come out with us and sit down. Soft sit down.” He sneaks a smile my way, getting the hang of it, and pats the spot beside him. “Conner, tell me about Cannon.” My dad eyes me teasingly across the way.
“He loves me. Bethy more, though. He sings good, good guitar, really, really good at breakfast. Bad at puzzles. His fish is the white one.”
Damn fish—will they never be forgotten?
“Are you okay with him always around?”
“Yes, very, very good.”
This makes my father beam and shoot me a thumbs up. Which I didn’t realize he knew how to do.
“Bubs, go get Cannon. Soft wake him up. And ask Laura to come out too, please. Hell, bring the whole gang if you want.”
“You’ll meet them soon, but they’re young and self-absorbed in kid stuff,” my father comments, dismissing the idea. “Just Cannon and Laura please, Conner.”
Laura’s first to appear a few minutes later, with a leery smile and glass of red wine, and she takes a seat by my father. Conner’s next, bouncing in one move from inside the kitchen to right in front of me.
“Sit, please.” I point to a chair. “Big news, but only if you chill.”
“Chilled, Sister.” He nods, folding his hands politely in his lap.
And last out, there drudges a sleepy, wild-haired Cannon. “Sorry, Siren, I tried, I swear, but that little girl had The Sound of Music on. Have you seen it?” I nod with a shiver. “Cool, you understand then. Hop up,” he says and I do so he can sit and pull me down on his lap, doing a quick survey of all occupants on the deck. “Everyone’s alive, no bleeding, good stuff.” He kisses my cheek. “Proud of you.”
“So, we’re gathered here today to begin Operation Lizzie’s Informed and Wants Her Life Back. Dad, I love Cannon more than anything in the world, and he and I have bought an adorable house in Richmond. It’s perfectly placed right between you and his parents. And,” I turn to Conner, “it has a secret special house in the back that will be all yours.”
“In-law suite,” I mouth to my father and he nods, swiping at tears.
“Okay, okay.” Conner flails his hands like Flappy Birds. “Okay, Bethy, okay. So I get my own house?”
“Yes.”
“With a door and bed and TV and fish tank and shower and lawnmower and fish?” He’s screaming, jumping up and down and clearly holding in his need to pee.
“Bubs, go pee and come right back.”
Zoom—Flash Carmichael out.
“Bethy,” my dad worries aloud.
“It’s ten steps away and it has an alarm. The gas stove and fireplace will be disconnected, Cannon will mow the lawn, the yard has sensors and windows and doors are included in the ADT Security. What else?” I quirk both brows and cross my arms.
He looks at Laura and she simply snickers. “She’s her father’s daughter. Give it up,” she says, giving him a comforting pat on the leg.
“And I thought I could hire Alma part time, if she’d like? I’ll pay her well, of course, in case Cannon and I want a vacation or break, and maybe to check in two weekdays and nights, so he feels like it’s company and not an overbearing sister?”
“Definitely. You and I can speak with her tomorrow. And the band, done?” he asks, his optimism sounding through loud and clear.
“Yeah, I’m good. I gave the bus to Rhett and Jarrett. They’re the rock stars, not me. I don’t need it.”
“And Cannon, how long do you propose I allow you to ‘shack up’ with my only daughter?” Dad presses his lips together, eyes colder, but not exactly cold.
“As long as it takes to get her to marry me, sir. You ready?” he asks me with a wink.
“Not yet,” I whisper, blushing.
“Little longer, sir,” he says, my dad throwing his head back and…laughing? I’ve never seen it before, but yes, I think he’s laughing. Or having a seizure. Possibly choking, but Laura doesn’t seem concerned.
He recovers quickly, smiling at my love, whose neck I wrap my hand around and rub. “Anything I should know?”
“Yes, sir, I was engaged for two months, only two months ago. She tied her tubes, lied, and dumped me on the side of the road. I never looked back and wasn’t sorry. I stayed because her dad was powerful, my boss, and I had nothing better. I won’t speak ill of her, so I’ll just quit speaking of her.”
“I will,” I jump in. “She’s a manipulative bitch. She keyed his car and threatened to sic her daddy on me. She sent him stories about us from the internet and called me a dyke several times. I hate her and adore him, end of.” I bob my chin, daring argument or further scrutiny.
“Do you work?” Richard asks.
“Not yet; her dad had his thumb on that. But I will now that I know where I’m going to be living. I have a degree from IU. I’ll be fine.”
“I could—”
Cannon holds up a hand and stops him. “No offense, sir, and I appreciate it, but I’d just as soon do things myself this time.”
“Very well.” My father nods, pleased and impressed, Laura also bobbing her head in respectful agreement. “So when do you move in to this place?”
“Two days. Well, that’s when it’s ours. We have absolutely nothing to move in,” Cannon answers and we laugh together.
“And you’re staying where until then?”
“Four Seasons,” Cannon answers.
“Nonsense, you’ll stay here. Honey, could you ask Alma to make up a guest room?”