Perfect Harmony (23 page)

When the realisation dawned on me that I was being
completely stonewalled, I just gave up.  Then and there.  I’m pregnant, and
alone and everything I touch turns to shit.  Why make things worse?  I was so
tired of fighting.

So I booked a ticket on the first plane to Iowa.  I’m not
sure why I did it, but the idea of returning to my family seemed like the only
option I had left.  Out there, far away from my life in New York, maybe I’d be
able to find some solace, even if it’s in the arms of the man I despise most in
the world.

My father wouldn’t be happy to see me, I knew that.  We
hardly left on the best of terms after I shunned his decision to marry me off
to that old man Philip Wrenwick.  But that was almost a year ago.  Father
never treated me well, always criticising my dream of a singing career, that I
was too soft for that world.

Turns out he was right.  And here I am, right back where I
started, with my tail between my legs and ready to fall on my knees and beg
forgiveness.  I’ll do whatever it takes.

Anything so I won’t be alone.

The cornfields end and I make my way down the gravel
driveway.  The grounds stretch for miles upon miles, yet there’s an ominous
silence in the air.  No cars, either.

It’s very peculiar.

My father built this mansion for his young secretary turned
lover Eve Galway.  It was after he left my mother, and the painful memory still
sears at my heart like a branding iron.  This is the man I’m returning to - the
one who caused me nothing but a lifetime of memories I long to forget.  How did
it come to this?

Eve always had a love for spending as much of father’s money
as she could and as quickly as possible.  As such, the mansion always had an
entourage of gardeners and servants littering the grounds, so much so that
there wasn’t a moment of quiet.

But the place is like a ghost town.

I trundle up to the enormous oak front door and rap my fist
for two hard knocks.

Nothing.

I knock again.

“He’s not here,” says a voice.  I spin around and see heavyset
man with a dark auburn tan lugging a lawnmower.  “No one is, actually.”

“Oh.  Do you know when they’ll be back?” I ask.

He chews a wad of tobacco and I can see the cogs spinning. 
“Who are you, miss?  Pardon the abruptness, but whys a lady like yourself, with
the child, all the way out here?”

“My father.  He lives here.”

“Your father?”

“Yes, I’m Melody.  Melody Callaghan.  Or, should I say I
was.  In another life.”

“I’m sorry, miss.  I didn’t know.  My name’s Rupert.  I tend
the grounds here.”

“Just you? No one else?  I remember Eve loved her entourage.”

“She did.  I guess that’s why she took ‘em with her.”

“She left?”

“Packed her bags not sixth months past when she heard the
news.  Glad to be rid of her, to be honest.  Glad Mr. Callaghan kept me on
too.  Hard to find work nowadays, ‘specially with no fancy degree and that. 
But Callaghan, he’s a kind hearted one he is.  Even though he ain’t here at
this house no more, still kept me on and paid me good money.  Kind man, Mr.
Callaghan.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

He spits the tobacco on to the mud and rubs his bristly
chin.  “If ya be needing a lift into town, I got old Bessy out by the
woodshed.  She’s not much, but she gets ya from A to B.”

“No, thank you.  I’ve come a long way from New York to see
my father.  Do you know where he’s staying?”

“You two, ain’t talked much, have you?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Talked about you a lot, he did.  Melody this, Melody that. 
Apple of his eye or however the expression goes.  Probably why he never
mentioned nothing to you.  Spare your feelings and that.”

“Rupert, please.  Where is he?  What’s happened?”

He shuffles his feet idly.  “Saint Holloway Hospital.  Been
there, oh, a few months now.”

“Is he alright?  What’s wrong with him?”

“Not my place, Miss.  I’m sorry, but fathers and daughters and
all that.”

I pace down the steps.  “Please, tell me.  He’s my father.”

He nods.  “Come, Bessy, she’s just round there.

“Tell me, please.  Tell me.”

“Better you see him for yourself.”

***

T
he beep of the heart monitor is muffled by the clouded
glass.  Through it, I can see a frail old man withering in the bed.  A once
great and powerful man, now lying defenseless and alone, nothing but a
motionless body violated by a web of tubes and drips.

I try to stay calm and rational, but the scent of
disinfectant stings my nostrils, and the perfect white walls dull every
sensation I have.  All I can do is place my hand softy on the glass as my heart
weeps.

“It’s leukemia,” says the doctor.  “Chronic Lymphoid, to be
precise. We’ve been treating your father for six months now, but last week,
things took a turn for the worse.”

I can hardly hear his voice - it’s like a distant mumble far
off into the horizon, telling me all these things I should know but I can’t
hear him.  He’s too far away.

“We started with chemotherapy and followed up with
monoclonal antibodies, hoping for a change, but with this level of aggression...”

“Is he going to be alright?”

A silence descends that makes my stomach lurch.

“You’ve got to understand, the level of treatment we can
offer is dependent on the health and age of the patient-“

“That’s not a
patient
in there.  That’s my father.”

I’m crying.  And shouting.  But I don’t care.  Oh god, this
lump in my throat is too much.  “That’s my dad,” I say through quiet sobs.

The doctor offers me a tissue and I wipe my eyes.

“Whatever treatment he needs, he’s got to have it,” I say. 
“I don’t care how expensive it is - he’s got the money and-“

“It’s not a case of money.  Any treatment now would not make
a difference.  I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry, like it means anything at all.”

He’s silent.

“How long?” I ask.

“Not long.”

“What do you mean, like a month? A week?”

“Days, maybe.”

“
Oh god.
”  I sob.  My knees give way and I lean on
the glass for support, tears streaming from my eyes.

“If you have any affairs to put in order, I would suggest
you do so.”

I stare at the frail old man, my body crying out but my mind
is numb.  “Can I go inside?”

The doctor nods and opens the door for me.  “If you need
anything...”

“Thank you,” I say and he leaves.

I close the door and the world outside disappears.  There’s
only this room, this cold medicinal room, white walls and white ceilings.  The
scent of detergent.  The beep of the heart monitor, again.  And again.  And
again.

And in the centre, my dad lies, unconscious.  Wheezy breaths
escape his mouth and steam up his oxygen mask.  But they’re not breaths.

They’re a death rattle.

I sit next to his bedside and take his hand.  His skin is so
dry and thin, his veins protruding underneath like red scars.  I can feel his
fragile finger bones pressing into my palm, the size of his hand effortlessly
wrapped into my own, like a small child.

“Dad?” It comes out as a quivering whisper.  “It’s me,
Melody.”

Ever so slowly, his eye lids flicker and open.  He turns to
face me, his eyes misted with the faintest glow of recognition.

“
Merrrlllhhhii?
” he says breathlessly behind his
oxygen mask.  A smile curves on his lips and I swear I see a tear form in his
eye.  He carefully removes the oxygen mask with a quivering right hand.

“Melody?” he says.  “Is it really you?”

I squeeze his left hand.  “It’s me, dad.”

“My sweet sweet girl.  You’re really here.”  I feel the
faint squeeze of his own hand, as if trying to make sure I’m not an illusion.

“I’m really here.”

A breathless wheeze escapes his lips.  “I didn’t think you’d
come.”

“I didn’t know, dad. I’m so sorry.  I didn’t know.  I should
have known, if I’d called or done something, I should have been here for you,
please forgive me, please-”

“Shhhh,” he says.  “It’s not important now.”

“Where’s Duncan? Why isn’t he here?”

“He was.  For weeks, he didn’t leave my side.  But as the
days went on, I could see how it was getting to him-“ He coughs violently.  “He
didn’t want me to know, but I could see.  I told him to leave.  Better he focus
on the business.  Better he try and save something worth saving.”

“Dad, don’t say that.  You’re a good person.”

“No, I’m not.  But thanks for saying it.”  He takes a moment
to catch his breath.  “I was terrible to you, my sweet girl.  I wish I could
take it back, live life over again.  Words of a foolish man.”

“You’re not the only one to blame.”

He shakes his head.  “I pushed you away.  I want you to
understand, the things I said to you, I only meant the best.  I didn’t want to
see my sweet songbird get swallowed by the wolves.  I need you to understand
that.”

“I do, Dad.  I do.”

“Wrenwick, the marriage, I wanted you to be provided for.  I
wanted the business to stay in the family.  I know he was older, but he was a
good businessman.  I knew you’d be safe with him.  You’re brother, he’s willful. 
Disobedient.  I thought he’d ruin what I built.  I was a selfish fool.  And now
your birthright is burning, and it’s my fault.”

“What do you mean?  What happened?”

“Wrenwick.  When he found out you had spurned his marriage
proposal, he lost it.  He leaked information to our competitors, bullied the
shareholders.  It was all so secret.  When Duncan found out what he was doing,
it was too late.”

“I’m so sorry, Dad.  I should never have run away.”

For the first time, his glassy eyes leave my face and look
to my pregnancy bump.  And he smiles a smile so wide, I’ve never seen anything
like it.  “I’m glad you did.  Who is he, the father? You’re married?”

My eyes dart to the floor.  “It’s complicated.”

“Life always is.”  He squeezes my hand and I look back up at
him.  “I need you to know, sweet thing, I need you to know something, before
I’m gone.”

“Dad, don’t say that.”

“I’m a dying old man, I get to say what I like.  And you
have to listen.  It’s how it works.”

I try to break a smile, but the tears pour from my eyes.

“I need you to know.  I need....you...to know.  I love...I’ve
always...loved...y...”

“Shhhh.”  I kiss his hand.  “I know, Dad.  I’ve always
known.”

He nobs silently and his eyes drift shut.

“Dad?”

“Rest.  Just a minute.  Just... a minute...”

His breathing heavies.  The monitors bleep.  And bleep.  And
bleep.

And my head falls into my knees and I cry.  Tears upon
tears, I feel like they’ll never stop.  My throat tightens and my nostrils
sting and I wail into my palms.

I’ve cried so much these past two weeks and I thought I was
done.  But I’m wrong.  The tears keep coming and I don’t care.

He’s my dad.  Not him, not now.  I can’t lose him too.  Not
after I’ve got just him back.

But, deep down, I know it’s stupid idle thoughts.  There’s
nothing I can do to change things.  But, I know, if I believe that, even for
only a second, he’ll be gone.

There’s a squeak by the door.

My head rises suddenly at the noise.

Chase.  Chase is standing in the doorway.

No, it can’t be.  I’m stressed and under trauma and I’m
going crazy.  He’s just an illusion.  A cruel image by my taunting mind trying
to pull me deeper into the rabbit hole.

But then why can I smell the musky scent of his aftershave?

Why can I hear his breath?

“I’m sorry,” he says.  “I didn’t know.”

“Chase,” I say.  “What are you doing here?”

He tries to hide his emotions, but I know that face all too
well by now.  The sorrow and compassion invades every muscle in his face.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

My heart leaps for the faintest moment, before I see the
papers he’s clutching in his hand.

“Divorce papers?” I say.

His eyes dart to the floor a moment, and he holds them
behind his back.  “My lawyer, he suggested I get them to you as soon as
possible.  I thought it only right to deliver them in person.  I owe you that
much.  I found out you’d come back home, and the man at your father’s mansion,
he told me I’d find you here.  But I didn’t know about.... I’m sorry.  I
shouldn’t have come.”

He turns to leave.

“Stay!” I call out.  He stops in his tracks.  “Please, would
you sit with me?”

Chase is silent.  He wanders over and sits down on to the
plastic chair beside me.

There’s an uncomfortable silence.  The distance between us
may be only inches, but it feels like a chasm.

My hands rub my legs in a desperate attempt to keep
themselves busy.

“Where...where are you?” says my father.

I jump up and grab his hand.  His eyes dart around,
searching for something to focus on.

“I’m here, Dad.  I’m here.”

He sees me and I see that wonderful smile return.  “I should
never have let you go.”  He hand finds my cheek and he stares at me.  “You’re
so beautiful.  My beautiful girl.  You’ve got to take care of her.”

“Take care of who, Dad?”

“You’ve got to take care of Melody.  You’ve got to take care
of our daughter.”

My feet go numb like the world has been taken away from
under me.  He thinks I’m my mother.

“She’s so much like you,” he says.  “So beautiful and
alive.”

I hold his tender hand to my cheek.  I try my best to smile
but I can feel the tears rolling from my eyes, and that stinging nose and
tightness in my chest.

“I’m so sorry I lost you, my sweet,” he says.  “You think
you know it all, what’s to come and what’s to be, but we don’t know anything. 
When love comes along, everything else... it’s background noise.  My biggest
regret... is not... realising that.”