“He’s already eaten.” The disappointment must have shown on my face. “You won’t be having your meals together, not unless he needs you for some reason. I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, if I can.”
There’s no reason for me to be irritated by the news. As it has so clearly been explained to me, this isn’t a romance. We aren’t dating, or courting, or anything in that vein. Think of this as a job, Candace. I am your new employer. I push to my feet and smile at the man. “I’m actually starving. Could you show me the food?”
Fifteen minutes later, I stab a piece of broccoli and quietly lift it to my mouth, my eyes on the television screen. I chew the vegetable and glance toward the main house, the curtains all drawn, the light in Nathan’s bedroom on. Tomorrow, I will get back on his plane and fly to Jacksonville to see my father. I cut a piece of grilled chicken. The fridge didn’t just hold tonight’s dinner. There were five prepackaged meals in the neatly labeled CANDACE stack, each with reheating instructions clearly printed on the lid. I chose the juiciest of the stack, a portion-controlled sampling that delivered the precise ration of carbs/protein/fat that had been preached to me in my afternoon nutritional session by a perky blonde named Beth.
I can already predict, with absolute certainty, that I will hate Beth. Our first physical training session is set for the day after tomorrow.
The lights dim in Nathan’s room and I set aside the tray, eyeing the bank of curtains, pulled taut across his windows. I have my own set of curtains, I could close them and hide everything I am doing, the entire exciting process of eating dinner in my brand new silk pajamas. I intentionally left them open, thinking he might see me, might stop by. I had wanted to show him my new look, an adolescent need for approval rearing its ugly head. Husband agrees that Sexual Expectations will be limited to one (1) Sexual Penetration Act per day. That contract had been prepared before we had slept together in Rosemary Beach. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it. Maybe we’d never have sex again. He certainly hadn’t shown any interest since then. Wife can initiate additional Sexual Acts if she chooses. I push the tray to the side and settle back in the bed’s pillows, pulling the covers up and reaching for the remote. There is no way I’m going to initiate anything with him. I close my eyes, and try to push the image of his face, the feel of his hand, out of my mind.
CHAPTER 14
Jacksonville, Florida. I finger the ends of my hair, and lean, as subtly as possible, away from the man that sits beside me. He’s a cougher, the sort of stranger that doesn’t bother to cover his mouth, or—from the pungent smell drifting over—bathe. I should have sat on the other side, by the pregnant woman with the snot-covered kid. Poor planning. I sigh, tugging at a piece of hair before letting it go. My head feels strange, my waist-length tresses now glossy and thick, extensions added, my hair dyed the color of dark chocolate. My hair hasn't been brown since I was thirteen and discovered Sun-In.
I’ve got to get Dad out of here. The waiting room itself is a cess pool, I can’t imagine it being much better wherever they keep the sick patients.
My name is called, and I stand, swinging my bag, a Chanel that perfectly matches my linen slacks, over one shoulder. I move through a swinging door and follow the woman down a hall and presumably, toward my father. I glance in the open rooms that we pass, some crowded with guests, most empty, the feet of patients tenting the bottom of white sheets.
I want him out of here. I have the two brochures from Nathan in my purse. All I need to do is to tell my father to pick one. All I need to do is walk in and say hello.
It should be easy, yet my hand trembles as I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I should be excited, yet the guilt is all but suffocating me. I could have come. I could have gotten on a Greyhound, or rented a car, or found some way, in the six months since he fell sick, to come. There’s no excuse that I didn’t.
As we move closer, I second-guess my steps. Maybe I should have called ahead and warned him of my arrival. Maybe this sort of thing doesn’t go well as a surprise.
The nurse stops in front of a room, and reaches forward, turning the handle. “You coming?” She peers at me in the irritated manner of an overworked woman.
I nod, and walk, smiling brightly, one designer heel stepping in front of another, past an intubated woman and the curtain that hides my father. The sole of my heel sticks to a rough place on the floor and I freeze at my first glimpse of him.
How can a man change so completely in two years? The paleness of his skin, the hollows that frame his eyes. He’s lost twenty or thirty pounds, and I can see it in his face, in the thin neck that now flexes in his swallow of meds.
He sets down the plastic cup, moving the tray carefully aside, and glances up briefly, then stares. Puzzlement hits first, and then a crumble of composure, his body straining as he reaches out to me with trembling hands. I hurry forward, his hands fumbling over my shoulders, gripping me tightly, his watery eyes locking on mine. “Candace,” he whispers. “Oh, Candace.”
He holds me with a fierceness that alarms me, his need so great, a man who has been neglected too long. A sob catches me off guard, ugly in its wail, and it takes a moment for me to realize that it comes from myself. I am suddenly wracked with too many emotions, guilt dominant, squashing all of the rest in its fight to the front.
My father, who had been so strong on our phone calls—so light-hearted and nonchalant.
“Sweetie, I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll fight this.”
“The ladies at the hospital have been spoiling me rotten.”
No one in this hospital is spoiling him. I’d be shocked if any of them even know his name.
His fingers tighten, gripping me as if I am his lifeline. Maybe I am. I am his only child, a child who had abandoned him in his time of need. I’ve been four short hours away, lying to my father, inventing a life that didn’t exist so that I could excuse my lack of visitation. Ashamed of my job, ashamed of my life, my selfishness had left him to fight a lonely battle.
In this horrible moment, when I realize all the ways I’ve failed him, I know I’ve made the right decision. I will sign my soul to the devil if it means that I can, in some way, right my shortcomings as a daughter. He is my father, and, right here in his hospital room, I vow to become more worthy of his love.
NATHAN
The last woman he gave his heart to still has it. Sometimes he wonders if she ever looks at it, tends to it, nurtures it. Knowing Cecile, she probably just jabs it every once in a while, strictly for the hell of it.
Today, he felt her jab. He stood there, staring at a beautiful woman, and felt the painful poke of her memory. When Candace smiled, he saw Cecile’s grin. When she ran a hand through her hair, he saw blond locks instead of brunette.