Too Close to Touch (15 page)

Gretchen hadn’t focused on much that had to do with a social life when she was in school. Her close friends were few, but that hadn’t mattered. She’d worked her ass off to win her father’s approval.

Whatever it took, she did it. She’d graduated in the top ten of her class from both high school and college and to this day, wasn’t sure if he’d even noticed. The day J.J. had brought home his Þ rst ever B in math, they had gone out for ice cream. An old anger ß ared in her, and Gretchen made herself look elsewhere.

The television on the dresser was a fairly new addition. Her father had hooked it up for when the grandkids stayed over. A DVD player sat next to it, topped with a stack of Disney movies and cartoons. She smiled, thinking how she’d never had a TV in her room when she was a kid, never even thought about it.
Times certainly do change.

After tossing the sheets into a pile, she opened her bag and changed into jeans and a pink sweater tank.
Cool enough for summer
weather, warm enough for a restaurant with too much air-conditioning
, she thought, examining herself in the mirror. She pulled some of her dark hair back and fastened it with a gold clip so it was off her face, but still spilled around her shoulders. It was a good look for her, and the one rebellious lock that refused to stay clipped and instead hung down near her left eye like a corkscrew made her appear a bit younger. She hoped.

When the phone rang, she knew it would be Jenna calling to remind them when and where to meet. Her father’s ability to remember his day’s schedule seemed to be eluding him as he got older, but J.J.

and Jenna were good about keeping him on track. Gretchen thanked her lucky stars for the zillionth time that her brother was nearby and

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GEORGIA BEERS

willing to take care of John Kaiser as he aged. She certainly had no desire to do it.

Realizing the selÞ shness of the thought, she muttered, “I am so going to hell.”

She gathered up the pile of bedding and headed down to put it in the washer before they left for dinner.

“What are you doing?” her father asked as she descended the stairs. He eyed the sheets suspiciously.

“I thought I’d wash these before I slept in them tonight.” Gretchen tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but her attempt wasn’t all that successful.

“I just washed them this morning.”

“You did?” She stopped in her tracks, shocked.

“Of course I did. You said you were staying over. What, did you think I’d expect you to sleep in dusty sheets?”

“Oh.” She could think of no response. Nothing. It had never occurred to her to actually smell the bed linen or look closely and see if it was clean. She’d just assumed. She tried to picture her father not only washing the sheets, but making the bed back up and doing a good job of it. The image wouldn’t come.

“Oh,” she repeated feebly and took the sheets back upstairs.

v

Gretchen jabbed a Þ nger across the table at her brother. “You.

Outside. Now.”

She stood, threw her napkin down forcefully, and stormed out of the restaurant in a blaze of fury. With J.J. on her heels, she stomped far enough into the back end of the parking lot that she was sure her shouting wouldn’t be heard inside.

There, she whirled on him. “Are you
fucking
kidding me with this?”

“Gretchen, calm down. Please.” J.J. held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Just get a grip.”

His voice was irrationally composed, as far as Gretchen was concerned. She paced around the darkened parking lot, fuming, fully expecting that she was giving off some kind of steam. A couple glanced warily at her as they passed by, heading toward their car.

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

“Calm down? Get a grip? Fuck you, J. Fuck you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this. I
cannot
believe it. Bypass surgery? That’s not just some simple, everyday procedure. He’s not having his tonsils out. He’s not getting an appendectomy. This is his
heart
. His
heart
, J.”

“I know. I wanted to tell you. He asked me not to.”

“How long have you known?”

J.J. pressed his lips together and ran his hand through his unruly head of hair.

“How long?” she repeated through clenched teeth.

“A couple weeks,” he said, his voice laced with guilt.

Gretchen’s mouth dropped open and a sound something like a strangled snort escaped. “A couple weeks.” She looked up at the sky, not even registering the beauty of the blanket of stars. “A couple weeks.” She pressed the heel of her hand into her right eye, trying to stave off the headache that was approaching as rapidly and powerfully as a freight train; she knew she had little chance. “Tell me, J. Why did nobody think this might be something I should know about? For Christ’s sake, I’m the oldest, if nothing else.”

“Dad was worried about you. He didn’t want me to tell you until you were settled. You had the move and the new job and all that. He didn’t want to add to your stress.”

“That’s crap. Dad has
never
worried about me.” Gretchen’s voice was Þ lled with such venom it shocked even her.

J.J.’s face hardened. He took a step toward her and she ß inched.

He wasn’t a tall man but his presence was large, just like their father’s.

They were the only two people who had ever been able to make her feel small. He pointed at her as he spoke, aggravation tinting his eyes.

“You know what, Gretch? You need to get past this shit. You got a raw deal from him growing up. I know that. We all know that—you never let us forget it. But times have changed. People change. You’re a big girl now and this isn’t about you. It’s about him.”

Gretchen narrowed her eyes and poked her Þ nger back at him, unable to keep the anger at bay. She kept her voice low, barely audible, but it was Þ lled with a combination of pain and resentment plain even to her. “You have
no
idea what it was like to be me and live in your shadow.
No idea.
”

J.J. seemed to suddenly let go of his tension. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I know.” His voice was tender, his face touched

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GEORGIA BEERS

by the anguish Gretchen couldn’t hide. “I know. You worked your ass off to get him to notice you and you felt like he never did. I knew it then and I know it now.”

Gretchen nodded, irritated at the prickle of tears she felt behind her eyes, annoyed that J.J. could get to her so easily.

“He sees you now, Gretch. He does.”

She shook her head and shrugged, not believing him and not having the voice to say so.

“Maybe you should have a discussion with him. Did you ever think of that?”

She looked at him like he’d grown three heads.

“I know, I know.” J.J. placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “He’s not the easiest guy to have a serious conversation with. He’ll never bring it up. You know that. But I bet if you did, he’d talk to you and maybe you could put this all to bed once and for all. None of us are getting any younger, you know? And this has eaten you alive since you were seven years old.”

Gretchen swallowed the lump in her throat, mentally warning the tears not to fall. She took a deep breath, reclaiming her composure. Talk to him? Discuss the fact that she’d always been sure he didn’t really love her all that much? She chuckled inside. It was an interesting idea.

Silly, but interesting.

“When exactly is the surgery?” Her voice was back to normal, authoritative and commanding.

“A week from Tuesday.”

Gretchen began ß ipping through her schedule in her head. J.J.

waited her out.

“Okay. I think I can be here.”

It wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say and his smile gave away that fact. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

“Good.”

v

Sleep was elusive. Gretchen was one of those people who had a hard time shutting off her mind, even when she was utterly exhausted.

That night, she lay in bed with her eyes wide open, listening to the familiar sounds of her childhood home: a barking dog, distant trafÞ c,

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

a car driving by with its music too loud. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, people, and conversations. She was sure if she’d been a cartoon, she’d have several faces ß oating over her head, spinning around in some weird pattern that was supposed to represent random thought.

Her father, her brother, Kylie, Jori, and Margo Wheeler spun in circles, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut in order to close out the ridiculous battle for her attention. She glanced at the clock. It was going on three, which annoyed the crap out of her. With a sigh, she threw off the covers, deciding a glass of milk might help, and stood in the dark room in her panties and tank top. It was mid-June, but the nights were still a bit cool. She reached for her pajama pants and pulled them on before opening the door and padding into the hall in her bare feet.

She was surprised to see light under the door of her father’s bedroom and could hear movement within. Stepping to the closed door, she cocked her head, listening, her hand poised to knock. The sounds coming from in the room were faint—a shufß ing, a sigh. Making a decision, she tapped softly.

“Dad?” When there was no response, she tried again, a little harder. “Dad? Are you okay?” She thought she heard his voice, just above a whisper, but she was uncertain. “Dad. I’m coming in.” Under her breath, she muttered, “I hope you’re decent.”

She turned the knob and pushed into her parents’ bedroom.

Her father was trundling slowly from the bathroom, his feet dragging along the hardwood ß oor. His pajama bottoms looked two sizes too big and his bare chest was covered with white hair, the skin sagging off his torso. Gretchen had never seen him look so old and it stopped her in her tracks.

“Gretchen.” He glanced at her as he continued to make his way to the bed. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d get a glass of milk and I heard you.

What are
you
doing up?” She crossed the room uncertainly, wondering if she should help him in some way.

“Something at dinner didn’t agree with me.”

He held out his hand to her and she grabbed his arm, helping balance him as he got into bed. His skin felt strangely foreign to her; they’d never shared much physical contact. As she helped him settle into the queen-sized, four-poster oak bed, she was transported back in time for a minute to the Saturday mornings she’d spent watching

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GEORGIA BEERS

cartoons in bed with her mother, her father being off at work or playing golf with his coworkers. The bed seemed much smaller to her now, but her father also looked much smaller in it.

Gretchen covered him with the blankets. “Do you want some water?”

Not waiting for an answer, she went into the bathroom and Þ lled up a glass, setting it on the nightstand when she returned.

“I do wish your mother was here.” He said it so quietly and with such wistfulness that Gretchen almost wondered if he’d said it at all.

“Me, too.”

“This is the time in your life when you look back. You analyze.

You reß ect. You Þ gure out if you should have done things differently. I wish she was here so she could help me with that part.”

Gretchen was surprised to feel emotion close up her throat. Her father was the least vulnerable person she’d ever met in her life, but right at this moment there was no better word to describe him.

“Of course, we can’t change the past,” he continued.

“No, we can’t.”

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He was silent for so long Gretchen was sure he’d fallen asleep, but he spoke again just as she made a move toward the door.

“If I could go back, I’d have done things differently.”

When she looked back at him, his dark eyes were frighteningly clear and boring into her. She fought the urge to run. Instead, she nodded once. “Good night, Dad.”

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TOO CLOSE TO TOUCH

CHAPTER TEN

Kylie glanced at the clock and was shocked to see it was a little after Þ ve. “My God, where did the day go?”

The endless lists of phone calls, reports to generate, and packages to get out to the salespeople had forced her day into a blur. She hadn’t even remembered to eat lunch.

“Hey, Ky.” Mick peeked into her cubicle, then blinked and smiled appreciatively. “Wow. Nice suit. You look great.”

“Thanks.” Kylie smoothed her hand over the arm of the deep green fabric, always pleased when Mick complimented her like that.

“Do you think you can bring your green bat tonight? I want to try hitting with it, pull myself out of this slump.”

“Tonight?” Kylie Þ ddled with the pearl-like button on the sleeve of her jacket.

“Hello? It’s Tuesday. The game? You’re coming right?”

“Shit.” Kylie dropped her head into her hands. “I forgot.”

“What?” Mick’s face registered her disappointment. “How could you forget? We play on Tuesdays. We play every Tuesday.”

“I can’t come tonight. I’m sorry.”

“You have to come, Ky. You’re my good-luck charm.”

Kylie waved her off. “Oh, stop it. You’ll play Þ ne.”

“Why can’t you come?” Mick stood with her hands on her hips, making it clear she was going to harass Kylie a bit longer before letting her off the hook. “What plans could you possibly have that are more important than coming to my softball game? Hmm?”

As if scripted, Gretchen inched up next to Mick in the small

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GEORGIA BEERS

cubicle opening. Her purse was hanging from her shoulder, her briefcase dangled from one hand. She jingled her keys with the other.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I don’t mean to interrupt.” Her eyes settled on Kylie and her voice grew warmer. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty, okay?”

“Okay.”

Gretchen cast a satisÞ ed smile at Mick. “Have a nice night.”