“That’s not exactly my fault, Dad.” Harry spoke quietly, but his deep scowl suggested he had a great deal more to say on the subject. His right leg jerked sideways.
“I’m not blaming you. I’m merely stating a fact. I enjoy my work, I’m good at it, and we’ve all benefited. I’m not highlighting a problem.” So please think before you say anything critical.
A blue jay jeered in the forest, and Harry gave his throat-clearing tic.
“Do you think Mom ever regrets giving up work to be a full-time parent?”
“She does work. Bloody hard, as I’ve discovered this week.”
“You know I didn’t mean that.”
“Then you should have been more specific.” Felix sipped his tea. It was too weak, but Harry was trying. They were both trying, and the effort was exhausting. “Your mother made choices, as did I. She didn’t ask me to move to the States before you were born. I didn’t ask her to give up jewelry design.”
“What do you mean about moving to the States?”
“Pretty obvious, I would have thought. You know your mother was pregnant when we got married.”
“I thought I was planned.”
“Have you ever talked about this with your mother?”
“Yes. But I’m not asking her right now—I’m asking you. Was I planned?” Harry stood and stared at Felix without blinking.
“No,” Felix said. “You were an accident. I assumed you knew this.”
“And you followed Mom to America and married her because it was the right thing to do.” There was no question in Harry’s voice. And still, he stared.
“Harry, I have to get to Home Depot so I can fix the hole in the house before the light goes. I don’t see the relevance of this conversation. I married your mother because I wanted to, and I have no regrets. I’m quite sure she doesn’t, either.”
“But did you love her?”
“I was passionate about her. I was obsessed with her, and I made a choice. Turns out I made the right one. And through that choice, I discovered what it means to be in love. Do I love your mother? Yes. With all my heart.”
Harry turned and slid open the glass door. “I just can’t believe neither of you ever told me the truth,” he said, and disappeared.
Felix looked up at his house, disfigured by the large piece of silver flashing he had attached temporarily to cover up the hole. An ugly metal Band-Aid. The men from Critter Rescue had struggled to accept that Felix preferred they not seal up the hole—“Really, Mr. Fitzwilliam, it’s part of the service.” Really, but no thanks. He was the only person who worked on this house. If necessary, he would rip out and rebuild the entire bathroom. His eyes moved across the siding to the glass doors. Harry was stomping back and forth in the living room, yelling the f-word and playing the part of the disaffected teen Felix had just informed Robert did not exist. Dealing with squirrels was definitely the easiest part of this brave new world.
SIXTEEN
Felix looked up from his lined legal pad. “I have questions.”
Ella, sitting upright in her hospital bed, picked at the weave of her white cotton blanket while her monitor bleeped.
“Of course you do.” The corners of Dr. Beau Carlton Beaubridge’s all-American smile wavered. Unlike Felix, Dr. Beaubridge had applied hair gel. Just another day at the office with the critically ill, the dying, and those unfortunate enough to be his patients.
An image flashed in Felix’s mind, a perverted image of him ripping out Ella’s tubes and bashing the monitor with the fire extinguisher. Or was it Dr. Beau-Beau he wanted to bash?
“Let me get this right.” Felix crossed his legs. “My wife’s stent got clogged on your watch.”
“Unfortunately, these things happen, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”