Page 29 of Forever Full Circle
Emily looked at Daniel, who looked as confused as she felt.
“Sure, Dad. Now?”
He nodded. “Now.” Then, he stepped back and held open the kitchen door for her. Emily’s heart leapt into her throat.
“I’m good. Go,” Daniel said, already in the fridge pulling out containers.
Shoving her hands in her pockets and slipping on her flip-flops, Emily followed Roy out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Carriage House stood at the edge of the garden path, trimmed by bare hydrangeas and a drift of crushed oyster shell. Emily ducked into the wind as she and Roy crossed the courtyard, the late sun casting her shadow ahead. When Roy unlocked the door, the air inside was warm and stale, cut with the heavy mineral note of old books and something he’d last cooked.
Emily let her gaze wander the little parlor: the spray of family photos crowded onto the mantel, a scatter of pill bottles clustered on a tray, a throw blanket in the couch, a bottle of single malt with two inches left. If you didn’t know the context, it looked cozy, the way a lived-in guesthouse should.
“Mom came and dropped off jam for you earlier,” Emily said. “She thinks you’ll eat more if you use it.”
Roy huffed, but the lines around his eyes softened. “She’s probably right.”
Emily settled into the armchair opposite the fireplace, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.
“You should have stayed home today. I thought you were resting,” she said, after a beat.
Roy looked away. “Don’t tell your mom that I went to town.”
“She’s worried,” Emily said, gentling her voice. “We all are.”
He bristled, a flicker of pride. “I stood up too fast. Happens to anyone.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at his hands, now gripping the arms of the chair he’d sat down in. She couldn’t tell if they were shaking.
For a long moment, he didn’t reply. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were washed pale, shot through with the glassy brightness that sometimes preceded his old temper. Then, it faded.
“I didn’t want to say in front of the kids,” he started, then stopped. He licked his lips, searching for words. “I keep thinking it’s just a patch. That I’ll get over it if I rest, or eat better, or—” He shrugged, a movement so slight it barely counted. “But it’s not going away. Not really.”
Emily’s pulse picked up, thudding behind her ribs. “The doctor said it was serious if it didn’t go away.”
Roy let out a short, joyless laugh. “Some days I can’t hold a pencil steady enough to write my name. Yesterday I forgot the word for spatula.” He shook his head, as if that offense hurt more than anything else. “It’s like I’m leaking bits of myself out with every breath. And I’m tired, Ems. So tired.”
He raised a hand to his face, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. The words came out raw. “I wanted to be strong for you. For the girls.”
“You don’t have to pretend, Dad,” Emily said. Her throat closed a little, but she pressed on. “Not with us.”
He slumped back in the chair, defeated. “Your mom will fuss. She’ll start hovering, because that’s how she copes.”
“She wants you to be comfortable.”
“I want to beuseful.” His voice rose, then broke. “I left you all for so long. Because I was selfish. I was a coward. Now that I’m back, If I can’t be useful, I’m nothing.”
Emily shook her head. “You’re still my dad. That counts for something.”
“You know what the worst part is?” he said. “It’s not the pain. It’s not even the forgetting. It’s sitting here and realizing this is it. This is as good as I’ll ever feel again.”
Emily didn’t know what to say to that.
The silence stretched again, and Roy’s chest hitched, and the sound that came out of him was so small Emily almost missed it. She recognized the precursor to a full-on breakdown—not from her father, who’d never typically allowed himself more than arough throat-clear in front of anyone, but from the girls she’d raised, the guests she’d soothed after weddings gone sideways, and especially herself.
But she’d never seen her father cry. Not like this.
