I shouldn’t laugh, but my resolve cracks and I can’t stand it anymore. “That was a one-time thing.”
“You. Are. A. Liar!” Liv picks up one of her fancy throw pillows and chucks it at my head. “I can hear you,” she stops. “Unless, oh, eww, is it a different woman every night? Are you some sex fiend?”
Her face is so serious right now. And she’s so very wrong.
“It’s porn,” I confess.
Liv’s mouth drops open then closes again. “No.”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “Once I found out that you could hear what was happening in my bedroom, I decided to have a little fun with you. I mean, I guess you could say it was mutually beneficial, though my hand could use a break. Between banging a hammer and well...banging one out, I think I’m getting carpal tunnel, and I’ve got blisters too.”
She blinks slowly as my words sink in.. “I. You. What the fuck? Do you have some high def sound system in your bedroom or what?”
“Come over sometime and find out,” I say with an eyebrow waggle.
Another throw pillow comes my way. “I hate you even more now.”
“I’m okay with this.” Because I’ve brought a smile to her face, and for a moment in time, I’ve distracted her from the fact that her world is about to crumble.
“Shit,” Liv quickly reaches for her phone. “I have to call my dog walker and see if she can take Peaches on such short notice, while I’m gone.”
I put my hand over hers and stop her from dialing, “I’ll keep her. Don’t worry about it.”
“You. You’ll watch my girl?”
As if she knows we’re talking about her, Peaches perks her head up and looks at the two of us. “Yep. I’ll watch her at my place.”
“Would it be a pain in the ass for you to drop her here in the mornings so her walker can still come by and take her out during the day?”
“No problem at all. It’s not like you live so far away,” I shoot her a wink.
Liv watches me pensively while I gather up my trash and get rid of it. When I’m back in the living room, I stretch and take a quick look around. Moving quickly before she can stop me, I head for where I assume her bedroom is, given her apartment layout damn near mimics mine. “Now, let’s go pack. I’ll take care of your bras and panties.”
Chapter 7
Olivia
Twenty-four hours ago, everything in my life was fine. Perfect. Amazing, mostly. I was blissfully happy and so very unaware in New York. From the moment I stepped off the plane this morning, my world has been flipped upside down.
I thought the airline losing my luggage, since I was one pound over and they made me check my bag, would be the worst of it. I was wrong. Frank, the driver, my parents sent, informs me that we’re heading straight for the hospital as he holds open the passenger door for me.
The drive isn’t long, thankfully. I’m not sure how much longer I can stand the anxiety that’s sitting on my chest from not knowing what’s going on.
Frank lets me out at the main entrance, and I hustle inside. I had hoped my mom would be down here waiting for me when I walked in, considering I called to let her know we were almost here, but she’s not. I give my dad’s name to the woman behind the information desk and watch as her friendly smile fades slightly as she hands me a badge and directs me to the elevators.
The minute I step off onto the eighth floor, I know something is seriously wrong. The overhead sign reads Oncology, and I feel like I’m about to throw up. There is no way my dad has cancer. He can’t. He’s supposed to be invincible.
Each step I take down the hallway to his room, my feet grown heavier and heavier. I knock gently on the door of room 801, and my mom opens it with a sad smile.
“You’re finally here,” she pulls me to her and begins to cry.
Looking over her shoulder, I see my dad laying in the hospital bed looking frail and gray.
“Let her in the door Dahlia,” my dad’s voice cracks. Mom sighs but lets me go.
“Daddy,” The tears I’ve been fighting begin to fall.
“Come here sweet girl,” he pats the bed beside him.
I take a seat and lean in to put my head on his chest as the tears flow. He wraps a gentle arm around me and pats me on the back.
“How bad is it?” I ask between tears.
Dad adjusts the oxygen in his nose and takes a shaky breath. “We didn’t want to tell you on the phone.”
“Olivia,” my mom speaks up. “Daddy has Stage IV, lung cancer. They’re given him a few weeks at best.”
“What?” I gasp. “How? Why didn’t they detect it before now? Isn’t there something they can do?” I question frantically.
Mom shares a look with Dad, and he nods before speaking. “We’ve known for a long time. Nothing else they can do now.”
Staying by my dad’s side, I soak it all in. Anger, sadness, and grief all consume me.
My parents hid all of this from me. For months, years even. They knew before I moved to New York. My dad knew for even longer. He’d be trying “experimental treatments,” as he called them, and that’s why their finances were so messed up too. All the long business trips I thought they were going on, were cover-ups for different treatments and clinical trials.
His team of doctors joins us a short while later, and I listen as they explain everything to me. And deliver the final blow. My dad’s elected to stop treatment at this point and call in hospice now that I’m home. Once things are set up, he’ll be discharged and set home to spend his final days with us.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it. I should have seen it and noticed his body growing weaker. But I didn’t. I guess nobody truly wants to see their parents growing older or dying for that matter. Now I’m being told I’ve got a few weeks left with my dad. There’s nothing they can do now except keep him comfortable. It’s spread too far. Too fast, this time.
After a few years in remission, cancer’s came back with a vengeance.
“We should go; let Daddy rest for a little bit,” Mom speaks up before dinner time.
“It’s okay Livy,” Dad speaks slowly, his eyes beginning to droop. “You and Mom go home and get some rest. It’s been a long day already.”
I’m reluctant, but it’s clear he needs his rest.
“We’ll come back first thing tomorrow after we’ve all had a chance to recharge.” Mom tries to reassure me.
With a nod of agreement, I stand and walk over to kiss my dad’s forehead. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, baby girl. This will work out. I promise. You and your mother will be just fine. You’ll see.”
His words feel so hollow, though I want to believe him. I’m not sure how I’ll be fine without my rock, my hero.
Twenty-five minutes later, Mom pulls into the driveway at home. The Southern-style home I grew up in no longer has the warm and welcoming appeal it always boasted. Something is already missing. There’s a tightness in my chest with the realization that soon, that feeling will be permanent.
I follow Mom into the house as if I’m seeing it all for the first time. Memories surround me, in every inch of space. While I take my time and soak it all in, my mom quickly retreats to Dad’s office and begins making calls. Offering to help her gets me nowhere. She shews me away and insists I go rest instead.
How the hell am I supposed to rest, knowing that my time with my dad is so limited? Regret takes hold. I should be with him; I should have stayed at the hospital. Spending every moment I have left with him.
Retiring to the sanctuary that is my bedroom room, takes me back to my childhood when things were so much simpler. It’s sage green walls and pink ballerinas everywhere, remind me of the girl I once was. So carefree and happy. Part of me wants to go back to that time.
Opening my old dresser, I hope that maybe I’ll get lucky and find some comfortable clothes that I may have left behind, but it’s no use. They’re as empty as my heart feels right now. Moving over to my favorite spot in the room, I decide to curl
up in the window seat that looks out over our backyard. I spent so much of my youth in this very spot. Reading, watching the sunset, and just being.
Memories of all the parties my parents hosted in the yard come flooding back. How much fun my dad always had. How he would beam with pride on each of my birthdays as I blew out the candles. The way he would operate the grill and entertain our guests with such ease. People enjoyed being around my dad. His easy-going personality attracted everyone to him. Dad never met a person who wasn’t a friend.
I’m caught up in a whirlwind of emotion and memories when my cell phone buzzes from beside me.
Jameson: I’m sorry.
I snort. If he didn’t know every detail of what’s happening here last night, I am sure he knows by now.
Me: Thank you? Is that what I’m supposed to say. What the hell DO you say at a time like this?
Jameson: I don’t know. ‘I’m sorry’ felt like a cop-out to me, too if that’s any consolation.
Me: I’m not sure that it is.
Jameson: Anything I can do?
Me: How’s Peaches?
His response is delayed but only by a minute.
Jameson: I took her to work today. I think she’s tired and she’s made a new friend.
Attached is a picture of my pup sleeping next to Harley, on their couch.
Me: Why are you so kind to me? I still hate you.
Jameson: Liv. I’ve always been kind to you. You’re the one who assumes I'm a jerk.
It’s too much for me even to begin to decipher what that means, or if his own feelings are hurt for some reason. Instead, I power my phone off and decide to try and close my eyes in the comfort of my own bed.
The last thing I remember as I drift off to sleep is praying that I’ll wake up back in New York and that today has only been a nightmare.
I wake the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing and hushed voices in the house. As my body adjusts, I realize that I’m still in my childhood bedroom and it wasn’t a nightmare at all, but my new reality. Soon, there will be one less person living in this house. My dad will be gone, and a piece of my soul will go with him.
Shuffling out of bed, I slowly make my way downstairs to the kitchen and find my mom talking to Jameson. When I walk in, they both go silent, and my mom looks at me questionably. Only then I realize, I’m still in yesterday’s clothes and I’m sure my hair looks more like a rat’s nest.
“Oh, honey. Why don’t you get a shower and freshen up? I’ll bring your coffee to you.” Mom immediately jumps into action, giving me a quick side hug then trying to brush down my hair with her hands.
“I’m fine, Mom. Please don’t.”
Mom pulls me back into her arms and whispers in my ear. “It wasn’t a request. Go shower and put on some fresh clothes. We have company.”
Ah, yes. Heaven forbid our ‘guest’ sees one of us in less than perfect condition. I grit my teeth and do my best not to roll my eyes. Funny how even with everything else going on, Mom is still hell-bent on keeping up appearances.
“I, uh,” Jameson squeezes the back of his neck. “I actually should get going for a bit. I’ll come back by later with my parents.”
“Nonsense. You stay right where you are young man. Olivia will be back shortly,” she turns her attention back to me. “Right dear?”
Smiling sweetly I reply, “Yes ma’am. Let me go freshen up.”
Jameson’s mouth twitches to smile at the sarcasm in my voice. When my mom’s not looking he winks at me before I scurry away.
Tucked back in my room a few minutes later, I quickly power on my phone and send Jameson a text.
Me: What are you doing here???
Mom must be occupied at the moment because his reply is instant. He wouldn’t dare pick up his phone if she was near, Mom would have a coronary.
Jameson: I came home to see your dad, and check in on you.
Me: Why?
Jameson: Liv, we’ve grown up together. Your dad is a second father to me. You know that. And even though you hate me, I care about you. I always have.
Me: Who’s running the school build if you’re here?
Jameson: Christ, Liv. Your dad is dying. That can wait. Not that it matters. It’s Saturday. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in NY by Monday.
Okay. That was a little harsh on his part. I know I deserved it. He’s right. He has just as much of a right to be here as I do though. He and my dad are close, much to my dislike.
Me: You’re right. I’m sorry. It can wait. There’s just a lot going on right now, and I’m...damnit…Jameson. My dad’s dying.
A lone tear runs down my face.
Jameson: I know, Liv. I know. And I’m so damn sorry.
Me: What did you do with Peaches?
Jameson: She’s with Harley. They’ve bonded. PS. Mom alert, she’s coming up the steps. To be continued…
I quickly toss my phone under my pillow like a teenager and run into the bathroom to turn on the shower. I’m staring at my reflection as my mom knocks and walks in with a cup of coffee, orange juice and a light breakfast on a tray.
“Honey,” she frowns. “I know this is going to be hard on you, but please remember, there will be lots of people around the next few weeks. We must look our best. I know your luggage hasn’t arrived yet, so I grabbed you some clothes from my closet to make do for now. We can go shopping later.”
It’s a split second decision to bit my tongue or let loose. This time, I keep my words to myself. How in the world can she possibly worry with appearances when my dad is withering away?
“Thank you for breakfast. I’ll be down soon,” I do my best to dismiss her subtly. Thankfully, she takes the hint and leaves me to it with a pat on my shoulder.
In the shower, I do my best to try and wash all of the hurt and sadness away. It doesn’t work, but I’m a little more awake by the time I finish. Slipping into my mother’s clothes feels like a coat of armor, a disguise, to hide behind.
Chapter 8
Jameson
“Jay,” Mr. Hawthorne whispers my name as the ladies head into the kitchen. “Let’s talk.”
It’s Sunday afternoon, and we’ve all done our part to get Liv’s dad settled back at home. He’s looking comfortable on the couch, watching baseball, with the oxygen on that hospice sent. Truthfully, I’m surprised Liv, and Mrs. H have left him alone for even a moment, but I guess after he snapped at both of them, they had no choice except to give him some space.
Taking a seat in the chair to the left of him, I cross my legs. “What’s on your mind, Sir?”
“Ah, none of that bullshit,” he coughs, and Mrs. H comes running. “Dehlia, I’m fine. Get. And let the men talk.”
She retreats again while he mumbles to himself before turning back to me.
“We need to talk about my daughter.”
I swallow hard. “What about Liv? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here, even after…” My voice trails off, and I do my best to fight back the lump in my throat.
“I do not doubt that,” He pushes the prongs of the cannula back in his nose and takes a breath. “That’s exactly what we need to discuss. I want you to know that you have my blessing to marry her.”
My eyes widen, and I nearly choke on the air in the room. “Mr. Hawthorne…”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “You think she hates you. She thinks she does too, but I know my girl. And after all, this is said and done; she’s going to realize what’s been right in front of her the whole time. When she does, I want you to man up and claim her, the way I know you’ve wanted to for years.”
“Mr. H, Pops…I...I don’t see that happening,” I laugh nervously. “I do promise to interrogate the hell out of any man she does think is worthy though.”
“Then, I suggest you take a good look in the mirror and have a talk with yourself.” He says confidently. “Trust me on this. Love her. Take care of her. And for Christ sake, don’t like Dehlia drive her too crazy.”
Unsure of what to s
ay back to him, I nod, thankful when the room goes silent, and we return to, watching the game.
Liv and her mom flutter in and out bringing us both sandwiches for lunch. Mr. H’s goes untouched, but he sips on the iced tea. He speaks up again as I finish my sandwich and push the plate to the side.
“Jay, help me stretch out here, will ya? Where’s the damn remote to lower this bed some?” He looks around.
I stand quickly and find the controls, lowering it until he’s comfortable.
Once he’s resting, I take my cue and say my goodbyes to the ladies. I’ve got one more stop I need to make before I go to the airport.
In my dad’s truck, I put the windows down and turn the radio up, letting the noise drown out the intense feelings that are lingering around me. Trey’s house is fifteen minutes outside of town, just enough time to, hopefully, clear my head.
Turning off the main road, I hit Trey’s dirt driveway and smile. My old friend is waiting for me on the porch. This house looks just as good as it did that day we added the last nail. Hell, it looks better. With the landscaping and green grass growing in, it’s looking more like home.
He’s walking down off the porch to greet me as I jump out of my Dad’s truck.
“Hey man, how’s Pops?” he asks as he claps me on the back.
I shake my head. “Not good man. Not good.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard. I’m guessing that has something to do with why you asked to meet up with me on a Sunday.”
“It does,” I sigh. “I appreciate everything you’re doing here for me while I’m in New York. Things look like they’re running smooth.”
Trey’s been my right-hand guy since I started my business. He’s one of the few people I trust completely. Which is why I know he’s the only person I can hand this off to.
“Is there a ‘but’ coming?” He laughs as I lean back against the truck,
“Sort of,” I shrug. “How do you feel about New York?”
Love Under Construction (425 Madison Avenue Book 6) Page 4