The Confession (21 page)

Emily looked at her curiously.

McKenzie smiled and the seriousness in her eyes only a moment ago dissipated. “Her love for accessories is admirable, but not exactly what I meant.”

“Mimsey told me the same thing the other day, although I think she was only trying to flatter me,” Emily said. “She said she thought Mark had finally found the girl he couldn’t resist because she was so much like me.” She smiled. “The flattery worked. I gave her a raise at lunch.”

They both laughed.

McKenzie tipped her head in the direction of the pool as the sound of a loud scream followed by a large splash, shattered the silence of the night. “Now we have to pray that she has your patience and strength. She’s going to need it with Mark.”

Aimee awoke curled up next to Mark. The early morning sun streamed in through the partially open curtains, painting his face in muted gold tones as he slept. She slipped quietly from the bed to avoid waking him.

Her dress lay in a puddle on the floor, in the exact place it’d landed when Mark undressed her after her fully clothed dip in the pool. Not really a dip. More a plunge taken against her will. She was grateful he’d valued his life enough to take off her favorite shoes before he threw her in.

She’d just pulled his discarded t-shirt over her head when his phone rang. She impulsively reached over to answer it. She pulled her hand back quickly when her mind finally caught up with her reaction. She wasn’t sure if that was something he’d approve of, or that she had a right to do.

Mark ran his hands over his face, and smiled at her. “I like the way you look in my shirt. You should wear it more often.” He grinned mischievously. “On second thought, I prefer you without it.”

She could feel the heat rise on her cheeks as his eyes seemed to look through the thin cotton. He didn’t take his eyes from her as he reached to pick up the phone with a mumbled hello.

His brow furrowed, and he sat up stiffly in bed.

“When? How bad is he? Yeah … okay … I’ll try … thank you.”

By his grim expression, the news being relayed to him wasn’t good. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to take his hand. He hung up the phone and leaned back against the headboard. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t push him. He clenched his jaw, raked his hand through his hair, and sighed.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head.

“What happened?”

He reached up and stroked his forehead like he was trying to ward off a headache. “It’s the donor. That was the hospital. He had another heart attack.”

It took her a minute to understand his chopped statements. His father was in the hospital. And they called him. It must be serious.

Unsure what to say, she squeezed his hand. He looked up at her. His eyes flashed with anger, then with sadness. “Why did they call me? Do they expect me to go racing over there?”

“Is that what you think you should do?”

“Hell no!” Throwing back the covers, he shot out of bed. Rummaging through the heap of discarded clothing, he roughly shoved his legs into a pair of jeans. “The man has been absent my entire life. He destroyed my mother, and abandoned us both.” He raised his voice, and began to pace. “He comes walking back into my life almost thirty years later, with a lame ass apology, and now I’m supposed to take up the role of the dutiful son who sits beside his hospital bed?”

“Maybe there was nobody else to call.”

“Maybe he should’ve thought of that before he made the decision to be the world’s largest prick.”

Mark was picking up speed as he paced back and forth. She wanted to tell him the importance of forgiving his father. Not for his father’s sake, but for his own. She wanted to hold him, and stroke his brow, and erase all the ghosts from his past.

She knew better than anyone that he would never understand the decisions his father made. He couldn’t. But, as she’d come to learn more about him, she also knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his father died and he’d denied him forgiveness.

“You don’t have to sit dutifully beside his bed, but maybe you could stop by and check on him,” she said carefully.

His cheeks grew red. The veins on the side of his neck pulsated. “Are you serious? You really believe I should rush off to the hospital? I don’t remember seeing him at the hospital when my appendix ruptured or when they took out my tonsils. Why should I, because nobody else will?”

“Because even if he doesn’t deserve to be, he’s still your father.” She rose from the bed and faced him. “And you may not get another chance to do the right thing where he’s concerned.”

“I did the right thing. I let him walk out of this house with all of his limbs intact, when he had the audacity to show his face here. I even let him have his say. It was more than he deserved, that’s for damn sure.”

He stormed from the bedroom. She could hear the sounds of mugs banging against the counter, beans grinding, water running, and cupboards slamming.

Giving him a few minutes to calm down, she busied herself with wrapping her wet clothes in a towel, running a comb through her hair, and using her finger as a toothbrush.

She didn’t know what the right words were, but she knew she loved him enough to try and find them.

Walking up behind him, still wearing his t-shirt, she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his back. She could feel the tension in his body as she ran her hands along his hard chest.

He turned around when she stepped back, and handed her a steaming mug of coffee. Thanking him, she blew on it, and took a small sip.

She looked up when she felt him watching her. His eyes were stormy, a vision of the battle raging inside him. She stood on her tiptoes and gently kissed his lips.

“I have something I need to say, and then I promise I will stay out of this.” She scooted up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle and took another sip of her coffee. “We think parents should be a certain way. Unconditional love for their child shouldn’t be something they work at, but something that simply is. For some parents, it’s impossible to grasp that such a level exists, therefore, it’s not even something they work at.”

She looked at him, trying to gauge if he was still listening. He tipped his head to the side and looked at her from beneath the hair that hung over his eyes. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of the hurt little boy trapped inside of him.

“In the saddest of cases, a child is something that just is. It’s someone that, at some point in their lives, they take out and dust off, like a book on a shelf. They cling to hope that the past can be forgotten, never fully realizing that their neglect of that child is now deeply imbedded under emotional scars. They apologize for the wrong things said or done, and expect that it’ll only be a matter of time before things are the way they want them to be and their conscious is cleared.”

He glared.

“I didn’t say it was right.” She leaned back dramatically, like he was going to slap her if she stayed in reach.

“This is more than my daddy didn’t love me enough.” He paused as if searching for the words. “He was a con man. He used my mother for her money. Hell, he used me for her money. He cashed us in like chips in a casino. He never looked back.”

She looked away from him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She wanted desperately to tell him the truth, to purge herself of this heavy secret. “I understand more than you know, how hard it is for you to forgive your father.”

“How could you?” He walked over to the sink and poured out his remaining coffee. He leaned against it and stared out the window. “I didn’t even know how hard it would be. It was never an option.”

“And now?” she asked.

“I don’t think I can.”

Sliding off the counter, she stepped in front of him and caressed his cheek. “I hope you’re wrong.”

In the empty ballroom of the Civic Center, Aimee sat at a large round table, staring blindly at the floor plan for the auction, trying to work out the seating chart. She couldn’t concentrate. Even with the awe-inspiring list of attendees, she hadn’t written one name down. She was already a week behind, and she still had to make changes in the floral order, get the final head count to the caterer, and confirm the linen order. The main room wasn’t set up, and the silent auction items couldn’t be delivered until the showing room was set.

Her mind kept spinning back to the look in Mark’s eyes this morning. The internal battle he fought between old anger and necessary forgiveness.

Before she’d left for the center, she’d watched his car drive out the gates. She hadn’t been able to see who was behind the wheel from the window of her office, but she knew it was him simply by the car. She’d heard it before she’d seen it, the powerful purr of a classic American muscle car. The black and chrome 1969 Mustang, with white stripes running up the hood and down the trunk was in pristine condition, and all Mark.

She could see herself riding beside him, winding along the coast, the wind whipping through the windows, the stereo blaring, and his arm wrapped over her shoulder.

She didn’t know where he was headed this morning, but she hoped it was to the hospital. She wondered what he’d say if he saw his father. She knew how hard it would be for him, the forgiveness, the possibility of having to say goodbye. Picturing her final days with her own mother, and understanding the torment he must be feeling, she wished she were with him. More than that, she wished he would have wanted her with him.

The weight of a hand on her shoulder startled her. She jumped in surprise. She whipped around to find Peter standing behind her. His eyes were filled with sympathy as he silently watched her.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were off in another world.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother. Are you doing okay?” He sat in the empty chair beside her.

“I’m fine, thank you. It helps that it wasn’t sudden. You have some time to mentally prepare yourself, or at least as much as possible.” She nervously tapped her pen against the table. “Thank you for the beautiful flowers. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I wanted you to know I was thinking about you.” He took her hand in his. “Did you get my card?”

Looking away from him and down at the table, she nodded her head.

“The timing may have been selfish on my part, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” He placed his finger underneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I mean it, Aimee. You’re taking over my thoughts constantly. Will you have dinner with me?”

“I can’t … ” her voice cracked. “I … ” She had no idea what to say.

“Are you seeing someone?”

She looked up into his handsome face. He watched her intently, almost as if he were holding in his breath.

Nodding, she replied, “I am.”

His brow creased and his voice became agitated. “It’s Mark, isn’t it?”

Surprised by his reaction, she hesitated before responding. “Yes, it’s recent, but I am seeing Mark.” She watched his face, wondering why he appeared angry.

He inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly, his lips in an exaggerated pucker. When he looked at her, his eyes were now filled with sadness. “You are aware that you’re going to get hurt, aren’t you?”

She was beginning to feel like she was being scolded. “What makes you say that?” she asked defensively.

“Mark is a nice enough guy, don’t get me wrong, but … ” He looked up at the ceiling, like he was searching for the right words.

“But what?” she snapped.

“Maybe I’ve overstepped. If so, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“How can you be so sure I’m going to get hurt?” Her stomach churned, and her palms grew sweaty. She knew he was right, she would get hurt. It was inevitable they both would.

“Mark isn’t a one woman guy. From what I’ve witnessed, no girl has gotten past date three. You don’t seem to be the three date maximum type.”

She stood up and gathered her paperwork from the table.

“I offended you. I’m sorry.” He stood as well.

“No, you didn’t offend me.” She decided to leave out the fact that he’d hit a nerve. “Peter … ” She placed the guest list inside her briefcase and turned to face him. “You’re a wonderful man. Under different circumstances … ” she trailed off, wondering if she truly meant what she was about to say. Where her heart was now, she couldn’t imagine anyone else or any different circumstances.

He smiled reassuringly. “As hard as this is for me to say, I care enough about you to hope you’re the one to break the cycle. I hope you get whatever it is you want with Mark, and that he appreciates how lucky he is.”

He pulled her chair out and waited for her to sit back down. Pulling the paperwork back out of her briefcase, she smiled thankfully at him.

“Catch me up, and let’s make this auction a money making success.”

After spending three hours going over the final details with Peter, Aimee pulled into the Nathan Talbot Hospice House and parked her car.

She was surprised how homey the building looked for one so large. There were brick paths wrapping around the sides of the building leading to cozy seating areas spaced throughout the gardens. There were fountains and bird feeders, and everywhere you looked, brightly colored flowers blended with vibrant green bushes and trees. Somehow she knew Mark had done the landscaping.

She walked into the bright reception area expecting to see something resembling the inside of a hospital. She didn’t. Cozy chairs and small couches clustered together around wooden tables topped with green plants, inviting small conversation circles. There were stunning fish tanks, bookshelves offering the latest bestsellers, and children’s books. Painted castles and pirate ships welcomed the children to come inside through small doors and let their imaginations run free.

The reception desk itself was large, but instead of the tall, white, wall-like feel of a hospital desk, it allowed the visitor to sit at a normal wooden desk, face to face with the reception nurses. It felt friendly, and open, nothing like the cold, intimidating feel of a sterile hospital.

“Can I help you?”