by Lisa Eugene
“Yeah, but he’s more like a nagging mother hen. Henry must’ve dragged me to every car dealership in the northeast to find just the right car. It was a toss-up between the Mercedes CLS or the BMW 645. Personally, I wanted him to get the Beemer, but he, of course, did the opposite of whatever I said.”
“I think he chose well with the Benz. It’s a good blend of luxury and high performance.” I sent him a sideways glance, biting my lip. “Plus, Beemers are for pussies.”
I’d apparently hit a nerve, and we almost needed a referee for the verbal sparring that ensued. Not that I was truly convinced about what I’d said, but it was fun to disagree with him. Soon I forgot all about his proximity, his rock-hard thigh, and his broad shoulders—almost. I was surprisingly disappointed when the cab pulled to a stop in front of my building, and I could tell that Dex, too, wasn’t ready for our conversation to end.
The lively repartee tapered to an awkward silence that tied our tongues. We stared at each other like bewildered idiots. He seemed larger than life sitting next to me, like someone I’d pulled out of a dream, maybe a wet dream. His presence filled the small space, seeming to filter through everything—including me. Shaking away the strangeness of the moment, I reached for my purse to pay the cabby. Dex closed his warm fingers around my wrist and, feeling acutely conscious of his touch, I immediately wanted to jerk my hand away,.
“Don’t worry about it.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile that made my sore stomach flip. “Maybe you should save your money for some driving lessons.”
“Maybe I should donate it to the Save an Asshole Foundation. You need all the help you can get.”
His deep, rich rumble followed me out of the cab. I put one foot squarely in front of the other as I made my way to the entrance of my building. I refused to look back because he would’ve seen the huge, unfettered grin on my face.
I took the elevator up to the fifth floor, my mind preoccupied as I digested the unusual events of the previous hour. When my cell went off, I pulled it from my pocket, surprised to hear the deep voice on the other end.
“Just wanted to make sure you made it to your apartment okay.”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed my key into the door, but a smile eased across my lips. “Yeah right. You just wanted to make sure that I hadn’t given you a phony number.”
A low laugh sounded on the other end. “Well, that too.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
There was a brief pause and I could imagine him pushing his fingers through his hair, imagine the thick layers falling back into place.
“So, how is that little boy who had the emergency?”
I sat on the edge of my couch, a wave of melancholy replacing the warmth that had begun to blossom in my chest. “The one you were in such a rush to see?” he prodded.
“H-he didn’t make it. He died.”
There was a long silence on the other end. I felt a strange tug in the moment, as though we were invisibly connected to the same taut string.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
I squeezed my eyes shut at the sincerity in his voice and the flashing images of Jake’s smile.
“Me too,” I whispered. “Goodnight.”
“ ’Night.”
I held the phone to my chest and stared blindly at the wall.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all.
Chapter Five
You look very sloppy, Alexa.
Sorry, Daddy.
Little girls should look neat and pretty.
Yes, Daddy.
You must try to look pretty, Alexa.
Okay, I will, Daddy.
That’s my girl.
Alexa
Thankfully there wasn’t a lot of traffic on the expressway, but I’d taken my time anyway, inching along like I was driving the church van. Ironic, because the damage was already done and no amount of prayer was going to save me. The neighborhood I’d grown up in was a neat, middle-class section of Queens, with hardworking blue-color families.
It had turned over since I was a kid, with some new families, but mostly empty-nesters who inhabited their front porch. Our family had always kept to ourselves, preferring to stay inside, away from prying eyes and inquisitive neighbors trying to get to know us better.
I could’ve left the car in the driveway, but instead, I tucked it away, along with my shame, in the garage next to my mom’s old Toyota. I entered the house through a creaky side door. My heart sprinted as I stepped into the kitchen, and I had to take a deep breath, remind myself that I wasn’t fourteen years old anymore. The car crash had been an honest accident, and thankfully, no one had been hurt. Things could’ve been much worse. I had to focus on the bright side. That was something I always had a hard time doing, especially in this house.
My mother was standing at the kitchen sink, washing out a pot. Even though we had a dishwasher, she preferred to do the dishes by hand. Grabbing a towel, she started drying, her gaze not on her task, but stretched far beyond the kitchen window to the back yard. She looked older to me. It seemed that more gray had sneaked in to her temples since the last time I saw her, which had only been a week and a half ago when I’d come to pick up the car. And had she always seemed so frail? Her small frame looked like it would be blown away with the slightest breeze. I had the sudden urge to hug her.
“Mom…”
She startled and turned suddenly, the dishrag clutched tight to her chest. When she saw me, her face transformed with a smile and her posture straightened. This was the mom I was used to.
In three steps, I was in her arms, my cheek pressed against the warm turtleneck. She always wore a turtleneck, even in mild weather. And she always gave tight hugs that seemed to go on forever. I loved this most about her.
“Alexa! I wasn’t expecting you until the weekend,” she said, finally pulling away.
“I had the evening off, so I decided to come today.”
“How was your engagement party?” She turned back to the sink, to her dishes.
“Um…good.”
“How long did it take you to drive there?”
“A little less than an hour,” I answered absently.
“That’s not too bad. I thought it would take longer. Laura’s engagement party is also coming up, isn’t it?”
I nodded, holding back a grunt. Yet another engagement party. As if the last one hadn’t been bad enough. I’d been the only single person at my table. The three couples saddled with me had not only been antisocial, but drunk and sloppily affectionate. I, on the other hand, had not nearly been drunk enough.
I was glad my newly engaged friend had found the love of her life, but the entire night had been as pleasant as I imagine yanking the nails from my fingers would be.
“Sometime in November. Is Dad here?” I was anxious to get this over with. A nervous flutter beat through my body, the wait fueling it.
“The weather was great on Saturday. It was a nice day for an engagement party. Almost sixty-eight degrees, I think,” she continued.
I nodded. The traffic. The weather. My mom had a penchant for dwelling on the mundane.
“She picked a good weekend. Next week is supposed to be colder. Maybe more rain.”
I nodded again, twisting my neck toward the hall. “Is Dad in his study?”
“Oh, yes, doing some paperwork.”
“Okay, I need to talk to him,” I said, moving toward the hall. My dad managed a local bank with twenty-five employees. He was known for running a tight ship. When I pictured my dad, he was always sitting behind his massive desk in the study, brows drawn together in judgment.
I blew out a slow breath and knocked lightly. Pulling back my fist, I realized my hands were shaking. Granted entrance, I wound them tightly behind my back and stepped into the pinewood room. No matter how many times I entered this room, the faint scent of pine always assaulted my senses, made me a little nauseous. Considering that the walls had been paneled when I was a child, I wondere
d if I borrowed the smell from a memory. The wood made the room morosely dark, masculine. But it made sense. It was his space.
I stood just beyond the threshold, quietly idling while dad studied documents in his hands. I knew better than to interrupt. There was a full-length mirror in the corner, the image reflecting a fourteen-year-old girl, a girl who couldn’t find her footing. The top of his desk was covered with neat stacks of ledgers and notebooks. In front of the stacks were several antique car models, his extensive collection of lighters, and a framed black-and-while photo of our family taken at my college graduation. I’d graduated with honors and had gotten into one of the best medical schools in the country. We were smiling and happy. Dad had been so proud.
Every heartbeat marked the stretch of time, anxiety dragging the tense moments. Where would I start? I felt awful. He’d saved for years to buy that Benz. Not wanting to take the train to Jersey, I’d practically begged him to let me use it. It had been Mom who’d finally persuaded him. How the hell was I going to tell him about the accident? He wasn’t the easiest person to deal with.
Finally, he looked up from whatever had consumed his attention and his dark eyes met mine.
He knew.
I don’t know how I knew, but I was certain he knew about the accident. Maybe it was from years of standing in this very spot and gazing into his discerning eyes. I’d grown to read the elusive signs of his shifting emotions as if I were a weather gauge detecting the subtle sway of the wind. His emotions were more felt than seen.
How had he found out?
“Is there something you need to tell me, Alexa?” The familiar monotone was calm, void of emotion, matching his bland expression. Automatically, his hand reached for a gold lighter and a shiver pulsed through my body.
I worked the muscles of my throat, hoping to squeeze out my voice.
“I got into an accident.” Although he already knew, I just needed to put it out there. “The car has some front end damage. I’m sorry.”
He firmed his jaw to a tight square. “Were you hurt?”
“No,” I responded, nervously tucking back my hair. My gaze met the polished floors, avoiding the hard, shriveling stare. “I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
A long, weighty silence was broken only by the creak of the old chair as my dad rose and slowly came around his desk. His fingers expertly worked the lighter as if he were practicing a magic trick. He leaned against the desk, deceptively casual. I knew there was nothing relaxed about the pose. He wasn’t a big man, just average size, but he had a formidable presence, especially here, in this room, where he seemed to command even the very space. This was always the worst part. The silence. The disappointment. The judgment. Both perfectly still, we stared, the only movement his incessant finger-play with the lighter.
“And when were you planning on telling me about this?”
I looked up, confused.
“If I’m not mistaken, this accident took place two days ago, correct? Imagine my surprise when I was contacted by a total stranger asking questions about you and then informing me that my car had been in an accident.”
It suddenly made sense. I’d been trying to figure out how Dex had found me. He must’ve spoken to my dad. But why hadn’t he just said so? Knowing my father, he wouldn’t have given Dex any information without speaking to me first.
“I drove that car for a full year without it getting so much as a scratch. You managed to crash it in just one weekend.”
“The damage isn’t that bad, really. It can be repaired,” I explained, my gaze returning to his hands, to the lighter.
“Do you know how long I saved for that car? How hard I’ve worked?”
I groaned under my breath, expecting him to lunge into his speech about hard work and sacrifice. I’d heard it my whole life and could probably recite it in my sleep.
“I’m sorry. I had some stuff going on at the hospital. I was distracted and upset.”
“You crashed the car because you were careless. You were careless and not in control. You must never lose control, Alexa. When you are stupidly reckless, this is what happens.”
Anger reared up in my gut at his assessment. His words were like stones dropped into my belly, bitter criticisms I had to swallow. Well, I wasn’t going to just stand there and have them shoved down my throat. I’d tolerated enough from this man.
“It’s just a fucking car!” I yelled in rare defiance. “It can be fixed.”
The air crackled with tension that felt like a sticky film on my skin. He calmly met my gaze. “You got into an accident. You’ve ruined my car, and you didn’t even think to call your parents. There was no way to contact you. You—”
“I had a problem with my—”
“I am not done speaking!”
His sharp tone sliced through the air. My muscles flinched. He never raised his voice. Never. And the fact that he had was a testament to his barely leashed rage.
“There was no explanation from you as to what happened. Nothing!”
A resigned sigh came from his chest. I wasn’t looking, but could imagine the sternness of his features etched in harsh lines. In my mind I saw the thick vein throbbing at his temple. Talking to my dad was like trying to reason with a brick wall. He was layered with indignation and cemented in his rigid ideals.
I blinked back the tears threatening to fall. They were so hot they burned the backs of my eyes, so heavy that it hurt to hold them in, but I refused to cry. This room had seen enough of my tears.
“Is that how you were raised, Alexa? To be thoughtless and inconsiderate? Is that what I taught my little girl? To be careless with other people’s property?”
“No, Daddy,” I whispered automatically.
I shook my head, a thick ball of emotion writhing in my throat.
He tossed the lighter from one palm to the other, the gold catching the light and sparkling like a piece of expensive jewelry. My body hummed with a terrific tremor. I slowly counted my breaths. My palms tingled.
I was fourteen years old again.
I needed to get out of the house, to breathe and simply center the chaos twisting through me. Half an hour later, I sat outside on the kitchen steps, huddled like a turtle, deep in my jean jacket. Cool air raked my face as I peeped out at a world I felt no part of.
Soon my mother came out and sat beside me, lacing her fingers with mine.
“Alexa? Come back inside,” she said gently.
I shook my head.
“You know how your father feels about us being out here.”
“I don’t really give a fuck right now how he feels.”
She sighed deeply, shooting me a look of censure. She hated when I cursed. “I can see you’re upset. You’re crying.”
I was? I hadn’t realized.
“The neighbors will wonder what’s going on. They’ll talk.”
I blew out an exasperated breath, swiping my eyes with my sleeve. We were in the back yard for God’s sake, with eight-foot hedges surrounding our fortress. No one could see us, and I wasn’t in the mood to relocate at the moment.
“You mustn’t be upset with your father. You know how hard he had to work to get that car. Of course he would be upset.”
“But it was an accident. People have accidents. He acts as though I crashed his car on purpose, as if that one mistake blights my entire character. He treats this as some sort of test that I failed.”
“Don’t be silly. He just wants the best for you. He always has.”
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
She squeezed my hands. “You’re a good girl, Alexa. We’re both proud of you. We were worried when we heard that you’d been in an accident, that you’d hit someone’s car. It’s just not like you.”
“It was an accident. People make mistakes. I make mistakes.”
“Of course, dear. We’re just glad that you’re okay,” she said, hugging me.
My mom could have invented the hug. It was her superpower. She used it to negotiate peace, heal wound
ed emotions, and communicate things that were too damaging to put into words.
She never took sides. She was Switzerland. When I’d first entered the house, she hadn’t let on that my dad already knew about the accident. In truth, I wouldn’t have expected her to. She would consider this a matter between father and daughter. She would stay out of it. Her role would be to help pick up the pieces in the aftermath and dispense therapeutic hugs.
I sighed and pulled back, drawing my jacket tighter around my shoulders before I reclaimed my mother’s hands. They were warm and soft, just like her blue eyes. It took a long moment for my thoughts to coalesce.
“Sometimes it’s just all too much,” I whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. All of it. I—I get overwhelmed and just feel…awful inside.” I swallowed hard. This was the closest I’d ever come to giving a voice to my constant pain—a pain so consuming at times that I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. Acknowledging it was like shining a beam of light into a deep, dark pit, and I wanted to gouge out my eyes at the images I saw.
“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Just stay focused on your goals and stay positive. You’ll feel better. You’ll get over it. Now come on inside.”
I wiped away more tears. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You’ve had arguments with your father before. Give him some time; he’ll soon forget his anger.”
I gave my mom a weepy smile. I wasn’t talking about my father, I was talking about life—but it would be futile to try to explain more to her. I wasn’t even sure I could explain what I was feeling to myself.
My mom attempted to rise and the sleeve of her turtleneck snagged on a button of my jacket. The fabric pulled up, revealing the edges of a nasty purple bruise.
I gasped. She quickly pulled her sleeve down.
“What happened?” I grabbed for her hand but she waved me away.
“I was clearing out the garage and one of the tools fell on my arm,” she said, standing. “You know how clumsy I can be.”
I frowned, trying to latch on to her shifting gaze. “You shouldn’t try to do stuff like that by yourself. When I get some free time I’ll come help. Just let me know.”