The Problem With Heartache (39 page)

Carly had left me. She was on her own, raising a child, kicked out of home, her life in pieces.

I couldn’t do anything right. How could I fix this when I couldn’t get in touch with my absolution?

It was then I made up my mind. I’d do as Carly said. I didn’t deserve to be happy, and I couldn’t risk ruining someone as wholeheartedly as I’d ruined her again.

Love wasn’t for me.

Love was for suckers.

And love would never be real. Not anymore.

Present day …

I
SAT
on my bed, staring at the letter. Opening it, reading it, closing it. Each time the words seemed to twist in my brain, making things seem as they were not. I’d pushed her away. It was for the best; I still had to protect Lottie. The day she’d changed her name from Carly, the day she fell pregnant with that little boy … that was when she became my responsibility. And I couldn’t risk losing her and Jay again.

I thought about Kate. Kate, sweet Kate, making sure I was okay when I drank too much. Kate, determined Kate, standing there in her underwear to prove a point. Kate, thoughtful Kate, discussing the meaning of the world—life after death, and everything in between. Kate, listening Kate, the only one who knew my biggest secret.

The only one I trusted.

Kate, sexy Kate, naked and giving, giving herself to me …

I knew what I had to do. We were going to have to talk. I was going to have to try and make things right.

I left the letter lying on my nightstand, open so I could read it once again before I went to bed. So I could try and work out if there was any hope. Dear God, I wanted there to be hope.

Dear Lee,

I’ve had to leave. I’m sorry it’s so sudden, but my dad—he’s had a stroke. I’m taking the first plane out to Sydney this morning, but I’ve already spoken to Tony and given him my transfer notes, and he has a new girl on the way already. She’ll be knocking on your hotel doors tomorrow morning at nine a.m., getting you up for your midday flight back to NYC.

Thank you so much for the opportunity you’ve given me. I’ve learnt a lot. I know it’s not a job that you offer to everyone.

I want you to know that I think you’ve got to make a choice with your life here, Lee. I’m not saying between Lottie and me; you’ve made the answer to that question abundantly clear. But are you willing to close yourself off from love forever?

You need to forgive yourself, Lee. Don’t make the body count behind you include your own.

Lachlan (yes, the guy who died) once told me that life was all about taking chances, about pushing the boundaries. I didn’t realise it, but until I took a chance with you, I’d been holding back. I was clinging to a grief I still felt, but I wasn’t giving it a chance to pass. I wasn’t trying to accept the future.

Maybe that’s something you need to think about, too.

Thanks again for everything, Lee. I wish you all the best.

Kate

I
HATED
hospitals. The smell of them, bleached and sterile, the beeping of machines, the quiet hush that floated through the corridors.

Today I hated them even more.

Today, this hospital held my dad.

I stared at him from the doorway of his room. He was hooked up to a whole bunch of machines, some beeping, some pumping fluid into his body, some taking liquids out. His face was almost grey, and from the way Mum sat beside him, his hand clutched tight in hers, I knew this wasn’t good.

I kept staring, the emotion building up inside me until I couldn’t take it anymore. Leaving my suitcase in the doorway, I ran into the room, a small sob erupting from my throat as I reached the bedside.

“Mum.” I stretched out my arms and we collided. She pulled me close to her chest, her nails gripping my back so tight. I felt her ribs, each one separate and digging into my arms and I wondered how long he’d really been unwell, how long she’d really been this worried.

“Kate.” She pulled back and looked at my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You look awful.”

I gave a half-hearted laugh and shrugged. “Well, no sleep, followed by twenty-plus hours on a plane will do that to you.”

“I love you, darling.” She clutched me to her again, and I relished in the embrace. It was nice to feel safe. Warm.
Home.

After a few minutes we pulled apart and I walked over to the bed. Dad’s eyes remained shut; his body still. He looked so lifeless; so unlike the father I used to know, or even the father he’d become with the disease. “How is he?”

Tears flushed Mum’s eyes but she swallowed them down, managing to stutter out the words. “He’s …” She shook her head and her shoulders began to tremble. I rushed to her side, patting her back. “It’s not good, sweetie. The doctors …”

Time slowed down. My pulse thudded at my wrist and I became acutely aware of every other one of my senses. The smell of Mum’s sandalwood perfume. The
clip-clap
of feet from the nurse down the hall. Blood rushed in my ears as panic gripped me like a vice, rooting me to the spot.

The stilling of my heart.

“They don’t know if he’ll make it.”

There. Those seven words.

All of a sudden, everything paled in significance compared to what I was about to lose. My father. The dad I’d only just learnt to accept, to appreciate, could be on the verge of death.

A new wave of hurt washed over me and for the eight millionth time in the last two months, I tried to shake it off. But this pain was exactly like the ocean. You dove under the wave, you surfaced, and sucked in the clear air. But the salt? It stuck to your skin. It festered in your wounds, and as soon as you were in the clear, off the beach, it was gonna sting.

You knew it was gonna sting.

“When … what …?” I shook my head, unsure exactly what question I was trying to ask. When would they know? What was his condition? What could I do? If he was going to die, when?

All the questions seemed ridiculous when faced with the situation in front of me.

“I’m going to get some coffee, dear. Would you like one?” Mum asked.

“I’ll go with—”

“It’s better you stay.” She nodded. “Now, coffee?”

I shook my head and she squeezed my hand on the way out.

I inched my way over to the bed and sat down in the hard plastic chair. My brain ran over the thoughts on repeat. He was here, but he wasn’t. This was my dad, but it wasn’t my dad.

Pain slogged me in the gut and I wrapped my arm around my waist. It crippled me and I grabbed his arm, finding it way too cool to the touch for my liking. “I can’t lose you too,” I whispered.

I bit my lip and made little circular motions on his hand, wondering if they were any comfort, if he even knew I was here. I remembered hearing somewhere that people in comas liked it when you sang to them. Or was that talk? Could you do the wrong one?

Considering my singing voice was well below par, I thought I’d give talking a go.

“Dad … how you doing?” I asked, then immediately shook my head.
Idiot
. “I tried to send you an email, you know. I tried so many times …”

He lay there, still, and I wished the words came more naturally to me, wished they weren’t always so damn hard to find.

“I’m scared, Dad,” I whispered, lacing my fingers through his and clutching his hand with all my might. The beep of the heart-rate monitor lulled me into a sense of security, and I managed to find some more truths in my mixed-up head. “I’m scared that I’ll lose you again; and I already feel like I’ve lost you twice.”

He didn’t move, or reply, not that I really expected him to, but God, seeing him lying there, so vacant, so
checked out
scared the shit out of me. I dug my nails into his hand, hoping I could somehow shock him out of his state. The monitor doubled up for a beat, then beeped its way back to normal.
Damn it.

“The truth is, you can’t … you can’t die now.” My voice was tiny, and I leaned closer to his hand, laying my cheek against it. “Dad, I … I need you here. I just spent two months overseas, and the six months prior I was practically in a coma myself. Damn it. I couldn’t stand it if I lost that time we could have had together. I can’t lose
you
.”

Tears leaked from my eyes and snailed their way down my cheeks, and I brushed them away with the palm of my hand. I didn’t know that I’d ever felt so desperate, so much desire for something for so long.

People lost their loved ones all the time. I’d lost Lachlan. Lee lost Ryan. Johnny lost his whole family.

But I didn’t want to lose again.
God, please don’t make me lose again.

“Don’t die, Daddy.”

Two hours later, I walked out of emergency, bag wheeled behind me, and I caught the train home. Mum stayed at the hospital to be by Dad’s side. She wanted to be there always. Just in case …

It wasn’t until my head hit the pillow that I realised. I realised that I must believe in something after all.

Who else was I praying to if I didn’t?

“So you just left?” Stacey turned the handle of her coffee mug from side to side, her jaw basically on the floor.

“I did.” I nodded.

“Shit.” She looked around, and I joined her in the observation. We were back at Sideways, but with different people looking after it, everything about it had changed. Sure, things were the same; the décor hadn’t changed, and some of Lachlan’s art still hung on the walls. But the service was brisker; there was an Employee of the Month star chart hanging behind the cash register, and a small sign next to the coffee machine that read
The best kind of tip is a smile.
It was very un-Johnny. Hell, it was very un-anyone-but-Mary-Poppins.