Reaction (25 page)

“Their engagement party last weekend,” he clarified.

“Last weekend, meaning a few days ago?”

“Saturday night,” he confirmed, smiling proudly as any father would when his beautiful daughter had found Mr. Right. “You must be friends with my daughter.”

I almost had a brain aneurism right there, in his office, in a hospital, in front of a brain surgeon. Because that would be Saturday, two days after Thursday. Two days after four wheeling, and uncovering my scar, and kissing my neck, and nibbling on my ear, Thursday? Wow, Nick definitely had made up his mind, and he’d been fast about it. The proof was flashing right in my face, like a big neon sign blinking “fool”, “dupe”, “chump”, “sucker” with each passing picture.

My emotions in check, I nodded. My tongue twisted in a knot when I thanked him again. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

The sun shined too bright on the ride home. The weather was beautiful for the beginning of December. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it. Not even bothering to think, I went straight to Liz’s house. I didn’t mention to her what happened. Sometimes the spectacularly terrible coincidences of life couldn’t be explained right after they happened. Paige’s father saved my life? Had Paige known, she probably would have snuck in the hospital and pulled the plug. But it was more than that. Sure, I’d told him to choose her, but I didn’t really mean it. I did want his happiness. But I was still hanging on, still hoping without hope that I would be a part of that happiness somehow. Even after our talk, after the kiss in the cafeteria, I didn’t want it to be over. I was hanging by a final thread.

Dr. Westwood tore the last little fiber in two.

I felt nothing, empty, which was a relief after all the pain I’d suffered. I wanted to feel light again. Grief was a monster I was through grappling with. And the pain had wacked me around enough that I was ready to be done with it. At last, the clamp of resignation had taken hold and I knew this was it.

Liz and I went back to my place to work on jewelry for the night. I made two of my best pieces yet. One was a bright red, heart-shaped broach that I’d scuffed up with a pocketknife and then secured on a black chain with grey and black roses. It was eerily gorgeous. The other piece was another necklace, choker length, with jagged beads in randomly loud colors dangling in different lengths all around the piece. It looked like a shattered stain glass window. I tilted my head to survey my newest creations, eventually nodding in silent approval. If I’d known Paige would turn out to be my paranormal-work-of-art muse I would have used her for that purpose sooner. Well goodbye her, and goodbye him.

“Would it be cool if I hung out with Creed?” Liz said while working on the other side of the table.

Whoa, where did that come from?

“You and Creed?” My response might have come out a bit snappish, which was unfair since she hadn’t a clue why my mood was so disagreeable tonight.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” she quickly countered. “I wanted to go see this movie with him that we were talking about last week and I was making sure you were okay with it. You can totally tell me if it’s awkward.”

Put your own troubles aside and tune into your friend, Heather. Now.

It only took a moment to obey, and I looked away from the jewelry and found Liz. “Not at all, Liz. I’m so fine with it.” But was I? Apparently so, because when I said it, I didn’t feel an ounce of offense toward either of them. Maybe I was becoming so strong and calloused that my ability to feel had vanished altogether. No, last I checked my heart it was still beating for a guy who had an engagement party last Saturday.

Liz left at midnight.

Crazy how life works
, I thought to myself as I hopped in bed. Maybe all of this happened to bring those two together. My two best friends. If Creed spent more time with Liz—if anyone spent more time with Liz—it would be impossible not to fall for her. She was too quality. And stranger things had happened, I was proof of that. Well, anyhow, if it did work out between them….

I reached under my pillow and pulled out the black watch Nick had given me so long ago. I wasn’t comfortable wearing it while she still wore his ring. But to sleep near it reminded me of my strength. I’d persevered through a three-year battle with a coma, and a broken heart. I could face anything now. Maybe even an estranged father.

I turned the watch over and read the engraving: Heather and Nick ~ Timeless.

*******

It had been a week since Creed and Liz had gone to their movie.

It had been over a month since Liz and I started our business. We’d sold five hundred dollars worth of jewelry to date, with a stack full of orders pending.

It had been twenty-one years since I’d laid eyes on my father. It was about time I see him again. Healing was about making things happen, not sitting back and waiting for them. I was ready to move forward and take the next step. I had an address and a surprise appointment with his front door tomorrow.

It had been three years since my heart was effectively stolen. It was extremely difficult to figure out how to get it back or live my life without it. My only peace was his happiness, which would have to be enough for now.

But it still hurt like the fires of Hell.

Chapter 12

Movies said he would cry. Books said he would explain why he abandoned us all those years ago. He said nothing, only stared at me.

It took forty-five minutes to drive to my father’s house. Forty-five minutes of mulling over the feelings I’d had toward him over the course of my life. I remembered asking my mom about him once, but she hadn’t said much. I gathered he didn’t want to have anything to do with us since he lived in Missouri yet never called or tried to reach out.

In high school I remembered during sex education class asking myself the question: What kind of person would abandon their own baby, their own flesh and blood, not to mention walk away from the person they impregnated? Sometimes I wondered how anyone could live with himself or herself after doing such a thing. Sometimes I wanted to punish him for ignoring me my entire life. Sometimes I thought I hated him. But most of the time I didn’t think about him at all. I often told myself I didn’t care to meet him. But that wasn’t true. A deep need inside of me wanted this. In truth, lately I longed for the connection.

And I was at a point in my life where I didn’t have a place inside of me anymore to hold onto resentment or anger. Life had taken me through a black abyss and worked me over a bit, but the results were indefinable. I always knew I had a fire for life, but now I knew how to apply that fire. Now I felt like I could accomplish anything. I believed in myself. I wasn’t sure I could have done this at any other time in my life. I felt almost as if the past few months had shaped me for this very moment.

There were no expectations. He might want nothing to do with me, and that would have to be okay. I didn’t want him to think I needed anything from him; I wasn’t looking for money, or even an apology. Neither of us could change the past.

But I had the future, and that’s what I looked to.

I was wearing around my neck my favorite necklace with the old key and Mom’s pearl. This was for her too; she would want me to do this. Not for their relationship because that was their private affair, but because Mom loved me so much, and she’d want my father to know why. And I wondered the same about him: What made my mom fall in love all those years ago?

He lived in a clean, upper-end trailer park in a nice neighborhood, with small but tidy, freshly manicured front yards. When I found the unit with his address across the front, I turned nervous, but mostly for the unknown. I was curious about this man, my father. A million thoughts ran through my head. How old was he? What did he look like? Did he resemble me? Would I recognize him somehow? What kind of person was he? I walked up the steps and knocked on the front door with all these questions. A large dog barked from inside.

And that’s when he opened the door and stared at me.

The first thing I noticed was his blue eyes, because they were mine. He was younger than I thought he’d be; dads were old. But he looked like he was barely hitting his forties. I also thought he’d be a little rougher looking. Though he did have brown stubble over his cheeks and around his lips, his overall look was one of respect, soberness, and thoughtfulness. I knew his kind: middle class, hard working, a man of few words. He had a high, long billed, truck driver hat on, and I wondered if that was his occupation, driving trucks. He could surely see the questions written on my face as we stared at each other for the very first time.

“Are you Wayne Robbins?” I asked. Stupid question, since I already knew he was. But I couldn’t think of another way to start the conversation.

“Yes,” he answered in a thick Missouri accent.

“Hi.” I reached out my hand. “I’m Rose’s daughter, Heather Robbins.” I hadn’t planned on shaking his hand; handshakes were formal. I hadn’t anticipated
wanting
to shake his hand. But I guess it was pretty natural to want some form of connection when first meeting a family member.

Automatically he shook my hand. His was rough and calloused, strong and capable, and felt good inside mine. But after a moment his eyebrows stitched together and his grip tightened.

To answer his silent question, I said, “I’m pretty sure we’re related.”

He didn’t say anything. He’d put it together quicker than I’d expected. By the look on his face I think he forgot that babies eventually grow up and become adults.

“Can I come in?” I was blown away by my composure; my hands didn’t fidget once. Calm interest replaced nerves on this occasion.

When he held the collar of the big, panting golden retriever and unblocked the doorway, I stepped into my father’s home.

The décor was more feminine than I’d pictured it. A large, framed cross-stitch of an old, Victorian-style home surrounded by colorful flowers was hanging from the dark, wood-lined walls. Two fake flower wreaths hung from a sidewall, and the same fake flowers were in a white glass vase on top of a small side table. A beige colored couch lined the back wall, and a coffee table rested in front with an open crossword puzzle book resting on top. Though the carpet was the same dark brown as the walls, the home didn’t feel dim. It felt homey and peaceful.

I gradually made my way toward a shelf, studying two plaques there. My father remained silent as I examined the shelf—I was right, a man of few words. The plaques were some sort of government or union awards that read “Manager of the Year” above my father’s name. Two years in a row he’d received the award; he was a hard worker. The shelf also held a small picture consisting of my father, a brown haired lady, and a guy about my age wearing glasses.

I couldn’t help but pick up the picture to study it. It didn’t make sense that I was examining a picture of him to see what he looked like, when the real him was right behind me. But pictures were easier to stare at. He was slender, but had a tall, strong body. His mouth wasn’t the smiling kind, I could tell by the picture. But his eyes were. And in the photo he was happy.

“Is this lady someone special?”

“My wife of seven years. She’ll be home from the bakery at five. She works there.”

I could tell he didn’t know what to say; he was uncomfortable.

“And the guy with the glasses?”

“My stepson. He’s at college, in Minnesota.”

The picture must’ve been relatively recent since my father looked pretty much the same and the kid had on a cap and gown, obviously his high school graduation. I couldn’t help but feel of tinge of jealousy that my father went to this boy’s graduation and not mine, but I quickly shirked the emotion. Nothing from the past.

The boy and his mom looked alike. They seemed like normal, nice people, from what the picture told.

“I’ve thought about you,” he said from behind me. I knew from the way his voice lost it’s strength, it hadn’t been easy for him to admit.

It took a moment for me to answer. “I’ve thought about you, too.” I placed the frame back on the shelf and turned to rub the head of the large dog that had been brushing against me since my arrival. Paying attention to the dog seemed a good way to hold back my emotions. “What do you do for a living?” I asked, glancing away from the dog and up toward him for a brief second. He’d taken off his hat and was holding it in his hand.

“I work road construction for the government.”

“And you’re in management?”

“I head a small crew. We work from three in the morning until two, every day but Sunday.”

“You must be good at what you do.”

“Well, I don’t…” He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know.”

I was still standing, wondering if I should take a seat or if he wanted me to leave.

He said a moment later, “Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

I took that as an invitation to sit, so I walked to the side of the coffee table and sat on the light blue recliner in the corner of the room. The dog followed and sat right over my feet, which caused me to laugh.

“Bessie doesn’t usually take to strangers so well.”

“Yeah, I think she likes me.” I reached down to pat her, but her head lifted and licked my hand instead.