“Hey.” His hand caressed her cheek before moving back down her arm. This was the first time he had intentionally touched her since their argument over Katie months before. She had missed it. Things between them had been strained, broken, and she wanted nothing more than the comfortable familiarity they shared before her tirade. She needed his strength and comfort, but things weren’t right, and she couldn’t ask him to be there for her now.
Pushing his hands away, she took in a deep breath. He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. The concern he showed only moments ago evaporated. Cold Billy was back. She didn’t like this version of him.
“Billy, I need some time off.”
“Why?” She couldn’t look at him when she spoke. He would see how utterly shattered she was, and she didn’t want him to know. She wanted to take care of herself. She didn’t need him. At least she didn’t want to need him.
She pulled up strength she didn’t know she had and spoke. “I need to take care of some things.”
“What things?”
She didn’t want to have this conversation with him. “It’s none of your business.” She threw the words at him.
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He turned away and paced the length of the diner’s back wall. She could see his anger growing in the way his jaw flexed and the hard stomp of his gait. She was about to ask him again when he stopped in front of her. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and his back was straight as a board. If she didn’t know him, she would have found it intimidating.
“How much time?”
“I’m not sure. It could be just today, or I might need a week. But, I need to leave right now.”
He dropped his arms and stepped closer until he was less than a foot away. “Bridget? Are you in trouble?” He reached out to touch her but dropped his hand before it connected with her arm.
Staring at his hand that now hung at his side, she answered, “No. It’s… Please, I can’t talk about it, but I’m not in trouble. It’s not illegal. It’s…just something I need to deal with.”
“What about Sweets?”
“That was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Can she stay with you until…whenever?”
“Of course.” His voice softened, but the crease in the center of his forehead only deepened.
“Thank you.” She stepped around him to run up the stairs to her apartment.
When she was halfway up, he called out to her. “Bridget, if you need anything, I’m here. I know things are…” He shook his head. “I’m here.”
“I know. Thank you.” She wished she could talk to him about her father, but it was different between them now. She had made it that way, but she didn’t know how to fix it.
* * *
She wasn’t sure how long she stood outside his hospital room door. Twice she turned around and took the elevator back down to the lobby and twice she returned to stand in front of the door. Finally, she pushed it open and stepped inside.
He was bald. It was the first thing she noticed. His thick, curly hair—the same shade as her own—was gone. Even closed, his eyes looked too big for his gaunt face. His skin was void of any color.
It wasn’t him.
The intimidating man that she had grown up knowing as her father had transformed into nothing more than a loose assembly of skin and bone. If she put her hand around his wrist, her finger and thumb would meet.
Someone cleared his throat, notifying her of another presence in the room. She turned to see a stranger sitting in a chair in the corner. He stood and offered his hand. “Bridget? I’m Barry.”
She placed her hand in his. It was surprisingly warm. She expected any man who would be friends with her father to be as cold as he was. His appearance was casual, approachable, and even a little fatherly, nothing that she would expect from an attorney.
He pulled out a chair for her and placed it next to her father’s bed. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She wished she could say the same. She nodded but turned her gaze back to the shell of a man that lay in the hospital bed.
“His doctor doesn’t think it’s going to be much longer.” She thought she should feel something, but the numbness overcame her again. She was relieved. She didn’t want to feel anything for him.
“We’re not sure if he’s even aware of what’s going on. He hasn’t spoken for a week. The pain meds are pretty strong, so he’s in and out.”
She didn’t know what to say. He spoke to her as if all of this had mattered. As if she had a relationship with the man and that his death would be a tragic blow, but it wasn’t for her. She didn’t care he hadn’t spoken. It had been so long since she heard his voice, she didn’t even remember what he sounded like.
Taking the offered seat, she sat and stared at the still form. What was she doing here? He wouldn’t know she was there, and even if he did, for all she knew, it would piss him off.
“You can talk to him.” His voice was gentle as he laid a hand on her shoulder.
“And say what?” He pulled his hand away as if she had tried to bite it. What could she say? That she hated him? That he hurt her so badly that the wound still hadn’t healed? That he did her a favor because now she had a family who cared about her and Katie? There wasn’t anything to say.
His jaw clamped shut. Knowing she was directing her anger at him didn’t stop her from doing it. He might have been a great guy. But she could only see him as someone who would befriend a heartless man like her father.
Every day she looked at her daughter as the most wonderful gift she had ever received. It hurt knowing her dad didn’t feel the same about her.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat next to him. Her eyes followed the line on the machine that tracked her father’s heartbeat. Looking at him was unbearable. The beep of one of the machines hooked up to him was the only sound. Then suddenly it changed.
The line on the machine went flat.
Silence.
Barry stood next to him and took his hand. “Goodbye, old friend.” A tear streaked down his cheek.
A doctor came in and announced time of death. February 17, 2013, at 20:12.
His life was over, and she couldn’t bring herself to cry.
She stepped into the hallway as a nurse entered, unable to get out of there fast enough. She got as far as the elevators when a hand gripped her arm. “Bridget, do you want to say goodbye before they take his body away?”
“We said goodbye seventeen years ago when he told me never to come back.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp.
He had the grace to look ashamed but continued, “We still need to discuss some issues.”
“I’m exhausted. Can we do it another day?”
“Yes, of course. How about tomorrow? Eleven at my office?”
She took his offered card, nodded and stepped onto the elevator.
* * *
She wasn’t sure how she ended up there. The last time she had seen it was the day he kicked her out. Not once had she had a desire to ‘go home’. It had never been her home. It appeared to be the same cold, sterile place where people existed but didn’t live.
Her mother’s car was still parked on the side of the house. It had layers of dirt and the tires were deflated and rotten. He had been adamant that it didn’t belong to her, yet he had just left it there to die.
Her phone rang. She glanced down to see an image of smiling Kent. He was sunshine and easy. He didn’t take much seriously, which was why she would like to think she hadn’t called him. The truth was it hadn’t even occurred to her.
“Hey.”
“Hey, babe. Where are you? I’m at your door, but the lights are out and your car is gone. It’s kind of late for you to be out.”
“Why are you there?”
“Duh. I wanted to come see you. I just got off shift and needed some sweet loving before going to bed.”
“I’m not home.” Unsure why she stated the obvious, she shook her head.
A burst of laughter came through the phone. It seemed unreasonably loud and harsh after the silence of her car. “I know. That’s why I’m calling.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“How about breakfast tomorrow? It’s been days since I had my tongue in your mouth and all the other delicious places.”
She closed her eyes, wanting him to help her forget for a moment. That was what he was good for. Eight years younger, he didn’t have any expectations. He was just—easy.
“We’ll have to plan something.”
“Plan? Is that where our relationship is going?” he teased. “Are we like some old married couple who have to plan for sex now?”
“I’m going to be really busy for the next week or so. How about I call you when things settle down?”
His voice turned serious. “Babe? Are you all right? Is Katie with you?”
“I’m fine. Just dealing with…stuff. And Katie is fine. She’s with Billy.”
“Stuff? You and your secrets. Fine, fine. Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
“Love you, sweet cheeks.”
“Love you.”
* * *
She drove past Billy’s house on her way home. His lights were on, and she was tempted to stop, but her pride and the deep ravine that gaped between them kept her from accepting any comfort he would offer. She knew he would drop everything for her. It was who he was, but she didn’t deserve it. Not after the way she treated him. They had talked after their big fight over Katie, but it hadn’t been the same since. He was angry and she was angry that he was angry, and that was where they left it.
Stepping into her empty apartment, the loneliness overwhelmed her and dragged her back into the worst days of her life. Today was another one.
Her father took with him any chance that someday things could have been made right. It was truly just her and Katie now.
* * *
After years of getting up early, her body woke without an alarm. A few sounds from the diner could be heard through the floor. She had several hours before she had to meet Barry, but she couldn’t stay home and risk Billy coming to look for her.
The chime of a text interrupted her thought.
Katie: Love you, Mom.
Bridget’s heart broke a little. As much as she missed Katie, she was in no place emotionally to see her. Katie would know just by looking at her face that something was very wrong. Before she left, Bridget promised herself she would tell Katie about it when it was over.
Bridget entered Barry’s office dressed in a skirt, blouse, and heels. She felt as fake as her concern over her father’s Will. His death should have been the only thing she had to deal with.
Barry offered her a seat. “Robert left instructions for after his death. It’s pretty straightforward; he wants to be cremated and doesn’t want a funeral. I can take care of that if you’d like.”
Relieved, she said, “Sure.”
“Would you like his ashes?” She shook her head. “I’ll deal with it then.”
He pulled out a file with her father’s name on it. “He left you his house.” She stared at him in disbelief. “He has some debts, but if you sell the house, they’d cover them and leave you with a reasonably large sum of money. I can take care of that, too, if you’d like, but I’ll need you to clean out the house.”
The father who had rejected her left her his house. “Why would he do that?”
“Sorry?” Barry lifted his head from the pile of papers laid out in front of him.
“Why would he leave me his house?”
He pulled off his glasses and leaned forward on his elbows. “I’ve known your father for a long time, but he never discussed with me what happened between you two. I assume that he loved you and wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”
She laughed, but it was only to keep from crying. “Take care of me? I don’t think so. You need to re-read the Will. You made a mistake. He wouldn’t leave me anything.” She stood to leave, but Barry reached for her hand.
“Please, sit. I can see you’re upset, and I suspect you have every right to be. Can I get you some tea or some water?”
“No, I just want to leave.”
“We’re not done. There’s still more.” He waved a hand toward the seat, and she sat back down, her back stiff against the soft chair.
“Robert started a savings account for Katherine back in May of nineteen-ninety-seven.” Barry placed a bank deposit book and a letter from the bank in front of her. “When she turns twenty-one, she’ll be able to take the money out. As you can see.” He pointed to the balance on the deposit book. “It’s a very large sum of money.”
Bridget shoved it away and stood. “There’s been a mistake. He wouldn’t leave me a house, and he would never give Katie money. He wanted nothing to do with either of us.” She reached the door as Barry stepped in front of her.
“Miss Larson. I know this must be a shock, but I’m not mistaken, nor am I making it up. It’s very clear.” He handed her keys and said, “These are to the house and his car, which he also left for you. Take some time to soak it in, and then we can discuss what to do with the house.”
“I don’t need time. I’d appreciate it if you dealt with the sale of the…property.”
“That’s no problem. As soon as it’s empty, I’ll get a realtor to place it on the market.”
Gripping the keys, she managed, “Goodbye.”
* * *
She lifted the blinds, lighting the dust particles in the air. The living room was exactly the same as the day she left, except the couch and chair had faded with age. When she opened the window to air the house out, she wondered how long it had been since anyone had been there.
The same feeling of emptiness filled her as she walked through the dining room into the kitchen. She shivered, unsure if it was because the heat was turned down or because of the lifelessness of the house. Memories flooded her mind; her existence there and the feeling of being utterly lost and alone. Selling it was the right thing to do. Maybe another family would be able to bring it warmth and life.
Sitting at the dining room table, she searched on her phone for donation centers that did pick-ups. They could take everything. After making arrangements with different organizations, she walked upstairs to her bedroom. She assumed he had cleared it out years ago, wanting to remove anything that would remind him of her. When she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed that her door stood open. When she stepped inside, it was like walking into a shadow box of her life.
Her bed was still unmade, precisely the way she left it seventeen years ago. An open notebook lay on the bed, the pages dried and yellow. When she lifted it, the pages crinkled in her hands. The writing had faded.
Pictures of her and Tiffany that had once been taped to her wall, lay on the floor where they fell. The bottoms of the drawers left open when she packed were coated in dead bugs and dust.
She smiled at the clothes that hung in her closet. Katie would have loved to see the clothes she’d worn. She slid the closet door wider to see if there was anything salvageable to take home when she discovered her box of writing.
She pulled it out, flipping the lid off the plastic container. Her life history sat before her, along with all the dreams and imagination of her younger self.
Her phone rang, disturbing the silence of the house.
Kent again. She placed her cell back in her pocket without answering.
She carried her box of journals out to her car and took one last look around the house before locking the door behind her.
It was dark by the time she returned home, but still early enough that she might run into Billy. She breathed a sigh of relief that his truck wasn’t parked near her spot. She carried her box of stuff up the stairs and shoved it into the far back of her closet. She wasn’t ready to go through it.
Restless, she pulled out a bottle of wine and managed to get through a glass before someone knocked on her door. She
sat on the end of her couch, hoping whoever it was would go. But the knocking continued.
She opened the door just enough to see who it was.
“You’re home.”
“As you can see.”
Billy sighed. She wasn’t sure if it was from relief or the tone she used to speak to him. He tried to look behind her, but she blocked his view with the door, barely allowing him to see her.
“Is Katie okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. She’s worried about you and wants to know when she can come home.”
“Just another day. Maybe two.” She stared at his chest, instead of looking him in the eye. He could read her too well, and she was already feeling raw and exposed. Billy having knowledge of what she was feeling would be too much.
“You all right?”
“Just heading to bed. I’ll let you know when Katie can come home.” He stuck his foot in the doorway before she could close the door.
“Talk to me, Bridget. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be. I’m all right.” She kicked his foot out of the way then shut and locked the door.
* * *
Not wanting to be alone in the house again, Bridget stood frozen in the driveway, waiting for the first scheduled donation pick up.
“Whose house is this?” She jumped at the familiar voice and spilled coffee down her shirt.
She turned with a frown and asked, “How did you know where I was?”
“I followed you. I’m sorry.” Billy paused. “Actually, I’m not. I’m worried.” His tone was firm, but it wasn’t the hard, detached one that had dominated their communication over the last several months.
She turned away from him before she answered. “It’s my father’s.”
“I didn’t know you had any contact with him.”
“I don’t…didn’t. He died.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had been holding it in pretty well, but telling Billy made it more real.
He slid an arm around her. “I’m sorry, Bridget. Why didn’t you tell me?”
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