The Fifth Lesson (The Bay Boys #2) (21 page)

He stood from the chair, the room completely silent as they regarded one another.

“Christie,” he said hoarsely, coming closer.
 
Her name from his lips jolted her.
 
She wouldn’t go running into his arms anytime soon, but just the mere fact that she was here told her that something between them was a possibility.

“Hi, Dad,” she greeted softly, taking him in.
 
She was pleasantly surprised by what she found.
 
The first thing she noticed was the water glass in his hand.
 
It wasn’t vodka, since her aunt would never offer him that.
 
But it gave her hope that he was sober.
 
His brown eyes were clear and the whites of them were free of the red, webbing veins she’d seen too often in her lifetime.

Wrinkles lined his face.
 
She’d never pictured her father as old whenever she conjured his image in her mind, but he looked it now.
 
Weathered and weary.
 
But a sliver of happiness lit up his eyes when he saw her.
 
She was positive her aunt had shown him pictures of her and kept him updated on her life, but she still wondered what he thought of her.

Despite the tension around his eyes, he looked remarkably well.
 
The yellow tinge to his skin had disappeared, leaving his cheeks pink.
 
Christie found that she was pleased.
 
There was a part of her that would always love her father, so she was glad that he was healthy once more.

The heart was such a fickle thing, pulling and guiding her this way and that.
 
She didn’t know what she felt anymore, but she was glad she’d decided to come.
 
That much she knew.

She didn’t move to hug him, but she didn’t protest when he moved even closer and hesitantly reached out to hold her hand.
 
Such a small gesture, but one that almost brought tears to her eyes.
 
He was close enough that she could smell the familiar scent of his cologne.
 
The same cologne her mother had given him.
 
Breathing in the same scent brought back both happy and sad memories.
 
But, most of all, she felt for him.
 
He’d loved her mother deeply.
 
To love someone so desperately, only to know that love hadn’t been enough…to be spurned so cruelly…

Christie understood why her father turned to alcohol.
 
Did it make it okay?
 
No.
 
But she understood.

She felt connected to him for the first time in seven years.

His hand was warm in her own, so she squeezed it.

*
   
*
   
*

After dinner, her uncle and aunt made themselves scarce.
 
It had been a beautiful meal, but the unspoken tension at the table had made it hard to appreciate the food.
 
There was a lot that needed to be said between father and daughter, and while it terrified Christie, a conversation between the two of them was necessary to move forward.

A silent agreement was made between them, so after dinner, they found themselves in the living room, alone.

She sipped nervously on her water.
 
Her father did the same.
 
Christie hadn’t felt comfortable accepting a glass of wine from her aunt and it seemed as though everyone felt the same because no alcohol had been served tonight.

They sat facing each other.
 
Her aunt had two couches parallel from one another with a coffee table in the middle separating them.
 
Christie took one couch; her father took the other.

She didn’t have to wait long before her father cleared his throat and spoke.
 
“I can’t believe how much of an adult you are now.
 
The last time I saw you…” he trailed off.
 
Looking down at his water, he murmured, “Well, it’s been too long.”
 
Christie didn’t say anything.
 
She didn’t know how to respond to that.
 
“Did you get my letter?”

That
she could answer.
 
Christie nodded, watching him carefully.
 
“Yes.
 
But I didn’t read it,” she admitted.
 
When her aunt had first given her the letter, she’d been in a state of anger and disbelief.
 
She wished now that she had read it…instead of burning it over a candle flame.
 
She’d been in a theatrical mood that night.

A pained look flashed over her father’s face and she felt a hint of guilt.
 
But then he nodded and said, “I understand.”

“What did it say?” she asked, her voice soft.
 
The house was quiet around them, as though a single noise would interrupt this moment and tear them apart once more.

His swallow was audible, revealing his nerves.
 
Leaning forward, he set his water down on a coaster and clasped his hands together.
 
“It said a lot of things.
 
But most importantly, I wanted you to know that I love you and I always will, despite what happened.”
 
Christie’s throat tightened.
 
She wondered if she would make it through this conversation without crying.
 
She decided it was unlikely.
 
The ragged emotion in his voice alone would tear her apart.
 
“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.
 
So,
so
sorry.
 
For everything.
 
I let you down when you needed me the most.
 
And it’s something that I’ll never forgive myself for.
 
If I could go back in time, I would.
 
But I can’t.”

She let his words sink in.
 
She felt them absorb into her skin and enter her bloodstream.
 
And then she asked him, “Are you sober?”

His answer was immediate.

“Yes.”
 
He seemed relieved to finally be able to say the words, as though they were toxic and he was purging himself of them.
 
“For almost seven years now.”

Seven years.
 
Which meant he’d been sober ever since she’d left.

“When I…struck you,” he forced the words out, wincing.
 
“It was my wake up call.
 
I know it should’ve come a lot sooner, but it took physically hurting my daughter to make me realize what a monster I’d become.
 
I’ve relived that night over and over in my head a million times.
 
Each time never makes it easier to bear.
 
It makes it harder.”

They were quiet for a moment, each processing.
 
Christie’s heart seemed to pound in her brain.
 
She could feel a headache coming on.
 
But he was saying everything she’d hoped to hear.

“I think a part of me has already forgiven you for that,” she said, hesitant.
 
“I knew the moment you did it that you regretted it.
 
I could see it in your eyes.
 
But I didn’t want to stick around to see if it would become a recurring thing.”

“And I don’t blame you for that.
 
At all
.
 
I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to reach out to you.”
 
He cleared his throat again, his eyes never leaving her own.
 
They were so familiar to her, yet so foreign.
 
In a quiet tone, he murmured, “I’m glad you came tonight, Christie.”

She didn’t respond.
 
Instead, she looked down at her lap and noticed she’d been fiddling with her bracelets.

“Why now?” she asked quietly.
 
“It’s been seven years since I left.
 
Seven years since you’ve been sober.
 
So why seek me out now?”

“I’ve written you letters over the years, trying to apologize.
 
But I could never bring myself to send them.
 
I would always talk myself out of it, telling myself you didn’t want to hear from me.
 
Your aunt’s been in touch with me, keeping me updated on your life.
 
You were—
are
—so successful.
 
I didn’t want to shake up your life.
 
I’d already done enough.
 
And I feared your reaction.
 
I was afraid of your hatred, thinking that if you heard from me, you’d hate me even more.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” she reminded him, keeping her voice soft.
 
Her father would always beat around the bush when he was uncomfortable.
 
It wasn’t something that irritated her, but he needed a push in the right direction every now and again.

“Right,” he mumbled.
 
“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“I…I’ve been numb ever since your mother left.
 
Ever since you left.
 
I woke up one day, knowing that I needed you in my life.
 
It was as simple as that.
 
I wrote you the letter that same afternoon.
 
And I actually sent it this time.”

Christie never thought that she’d be having this conversation with her father.
 
She was sad that they even had to have this conversation.
 
Their relationship should’ve never gotten to a point where they no longer spoke to each other.
 
It had only been a few weeks ago that she’d burned his letter…but now…

Everything was different.

“One conversation isn’t going to fix our relationship, Dad,” she told him, a soft clinking sound chiming from her bracelets as she twirled them around her wrist.

“I know that,” he said quickly.
 
“All I’m asking is for a chance to apologize and to say that one day I hope we have the relationship that we should’ve had.”

She nodded.
 
“And I can accept that.”

Her father seemed relieved.
 
And happier than he’d been all evening.
 
They simply looked at one another for a few brief moments, cataloging all the changes of the other in their minds.
 
It was a somewhat awkward silence, but one that neither saw fit to break.

After a few sips of water, her father’s eyes finally connected to her wrist.
 
His smile drooped a little when he saw the bracelet and then asked, “You still have it?”

“Yes.”

He tried not to let his disappointment show, but Christie saw a sliver of it break through the cracks.
 
Despite their rocky, uncertain relationship, he was still her father and she had the strangest urge to reassure him.

“I wear it for the wrong reasons.
 
Not because I miss her,” she admitted, although if she was being honest with herself, she
did
miss her mother.
 
“But to remember that words are paper thin and actions are more honest.”

“I’m sorry, Christie,” came his soft reply.
 
But in his expression and tone, she read so much more.
 
She saw the depths of his pain, the reaches of his perceived failure, his love for her.

She wanted to make him understand that she didn’t wear the bracelet out of loyalty for her mother.
 
Which was why she admitted, “One day, I’ll find her.
 
And I’m going to give her back the bracelet.
 
That’s why I keep it, because I never know when we’ll cross paths again.
 
And when we do, I want to make sure I have it.”

Surprise lined his face.
 
“You mean, you haven’t seen her?”

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head solemnly.
 
Last she’d heard, her mother had remarried rich, just like she’d always wanted.
 
She wondered how much her dad knew, but she decided against telling him anything.
 
He’d loved her mother very deeply, the kind of love people only read about in romance novels.
 
But her mother hadn’t felt the same.
 
She’d been a good actress though.
 
Anything he would discover about her new life would cut him.
 
“Not since she left.”

Her father seemed pained by that statement, but he nodded.

Her aunt and uncle came into the room a few moments later.
 
Christie only listened with one ear, her mind distracted with everything that had happened.
 
She replayed certain bits of their conversation in her mind, finding answers she’d long desired.

Restless exhaustion soon swamped her and she stood to leave, noticing that it was already ten at night.
 
Taking her hint, Aunt Barbara stood as well, and her father quickly followed.

“I should get going,” she said, absently thinking those were the same words Adam said to her yesterday morning.
 
“Thanks so much for dinner, Aunt Barbara.”

“Of course, my dear.
 
I’m glad you came.”

Her father looked disappointed that she was leaving, but Christie knew it was best that they both process tonight.
 
However, it didn’t stop him from saying, “I’ll walk you out, if that’s okay.”

Nodding, she turned to her aunt and uncle, saying her goodbyes before walking out the front door.
 
Her father was on her heels and they walked in silence to her car across the street.
 
It was a warm summer night, even in the East Bay hills.
 
Crickets chirped, only stopping as the two of them passed too close.