“But they get you first.”
“I know it isn’t fair. I want as much time as I can get with you, but I have three other people who love me and depend on me, and I can’t walk away from them and cause even more people the pain I’ve caused you.”
“Why not? It’s okay for me to suffer but not them?”
“It’s not okay for you to suffer. It was never okay, but I wasn’t given a choice. No matter what I did, it was inevitable that you would suffer. It didn’t matter if I went into the program and lived or if I went back to prison and died.”
As I look at him, I can feel the neediness expand in my soul. Its growth makes me feel like I have so much empty space that needs to be filled. I’m hollow and starved for the one thing I’ve been deprived of, and it’s a horrible feeling I’m forced to withstand.
“Can I come back tonight? Around ten or so?”
I nod, because I’ll start crying if I speak. I refuse to cry, but the blades of despair are slaughtering me from the inside.
“Declan?” My father turns from me, seeking permission from the man I love.
“Of course. Come as late as you need.”
With his hands on my shoulders, he looks in my eyes with sincerity, saying, “I’m sorry.”
And I nod again before he pulls me to him and hugs me. I take his embrace, and with a deep breath, I take in his scent once again, because the same fear remains that he just might not come back.
“I love you.”
“I’m sorry,” is my response.
“Look at me. You have nothing in this world to be sorry for. It’s okay to be angry; I’m angry too. I’m pissed and bitter. I want to grab you and steal you away, do everything in my power to make up for all the time we lost. But do you understand why I can’t?”
“I do.”
I don’t.
“I know it doesn’t make it easier, and I’m so sorry. If I’d known that there was a chance in this lifetime that I’d be seeing you again, I would’ve waited alone so that nothing could stand in the way of me disappearing with you. I need you to believe that. Tell me you believe that.”
Taking a hard swallow, I force the words out through all the pain that’s suffocating me. “I believe you, Dad.”
MY DAD DID come back later last night just as he promised. He and Declan talked business and politics while drinking Scotch. I enjoyed watching the two of them together, debating and laughing as if they’d been friends for years. Dad wanted to know what life was like for us in Scotland and now in London, and although our time there has been plagued by so much darkness, Declan did well to veer around all that. When Dad asked about the house in Scotland, I told him all about my time at Brunswickhill: the history of the estate, all the amazing parts of the land surrounding it, the clinker grotto, the atrium, the library. I went on and on, because truthfully, I love the house so much; it’s what most little girls dream a palace to be like.
The more we are around each other, the more comfortable we become. The ease of last night felt so natural and so promising. Having the two men that I love so much in the same room with me is amazing. I try not to focus on the nuts and bolts of how this is all going to work moving forward. Declan told me after my father left last night to just enjoy this time we’re able to share in the here and now, and that we will figure out the details later. I accepted his suggestion to live in the moment.
My father returned a couple hours ago with another bouquet of pink daisies. We’ve been hanging out on the couch, watching an old James Bond movie that my dad claims is one of his favorites. Once the movie ends, we order up some lunch, and are now eating our food as we sit in the living room together.
“Declan, tell me, are your mother and father still living in Scotland?”
Now, it’s my turn to give Declan a preemptive squeeze like he had when my father asked me about my childhood. I’m not sure what Declan will say, but I need to let him know that I’m here.
“No. My mother actually passed away when I was a teenager.”
He doesn’t say anything about his father, and when he turns away from my dad, I know he won’t. Before my dad can ask another question, I turn my father’s attention to me.
“Dad, I umm . . . I thought you should know that I had a friend of mine look into finding my mother.”
He looks at me nervously. “You did?”
“Yes,” I tell him and then add, “I know what she did.”
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know about her because I didn’t want you to think—”