He begins to read.
Dear Rachel,
Where to begin? You know firsthand that I’ve never been good with words, and now the doctors tell me I’m only going to get worse. I can’t put this off much longer. If I do, I won’t have anything left to say at all.
The diagnosis is Alzheimer’s. After my stroke I started to forget things, and now they tell me that the wires in my brain are getting tangled. Can you imagine? Tangles in my brain. Like when you were little and I combed your hair on Sunday mornings. Once there was a knot that was so snarled I had to cut it out with a scissors. Do you remember that? I guess it wouldn’t work to cut out the tangles in my head.
I wish we could have those days back. Those years when you were small and needed help combing your hair. I tried to be gentle, but I know you sometimes cried. I’m so sorry for that. There are a lot of things that I would change if I could.
Like the last time we spoke. I was so angry. But even more than that, I was afraid. I know who Cyrus is, Rachel. I spent fifteen years with an abuser, and I can spot them from a mile away. I could tell from the very first time I laid eyes on Cyrus Price that he was going to hurt you. I would have done anything to stop that from happening, but instead of pushing you away from him, I pushed you away from myself. And now, I want you to know that I’m going to finally let you go. Maybe if I stop chasing you, you’ll turn around and see that I’ve been waiting here all along.
I’m not very good at this, am I? I told you I wasn’t. Maybe if I was better at expressing myself, we wouldn’t be in this position. How many years has it been since I’ve seen you? Five? More? I lose track of time here, but it feels like forever. I would give anything to talk face to face.
It’s probably too little, too late, but I’m going to tell you everything I remember. Why I loved your mother. Why I wanted to protect her. How I spent most of my life believing that love and provision were the same thing. That if I kept you sheltered and clothed and fed, you’d be fine. I know now that while I worked my fingers to the bone, all you wanted was my attention. My time. Maybe if I had worked less and held you more everything would be different.
Sometimes I dream that I am young again. You are small. Freckle-faced and cute as can be. It makes my heart ache to remember you like that. And you know what? In my sleep I do things differently. I listen when you talk. I leave work early. I stop your mother when she says those horrible things to you. I tell her that she’s dead wrong. That you’re perfect.
I always wake up from those dreams feeling lost. I don’t remember who I am or how I managed to mess things up so bad. I’d give anything to go back. To make those dreams come true.
Do you know that I used to watch you sleep? I had to be on the job site before dawn, but every morning before I left I would go into your room. It was the best five minutes of my day. I loved the moonlight on your face. The way you slept with your cheek in your hand. You looked so peaceful I could believe that everything was right in the world.
I prayed over you every morning. And God must have heard my prayers because in spite of everything you grew in grace and beauty every single day. You are precious, my darling Rachel. You are my angel.
Love,
Daddy
CHAPTER 16
RACHEL
November 24–December 24
I told the doctor I had slipped in the bathroom and it wasn’t a word of a lie. Of course, I didn’t include the small detail that Cyrus had contributed to my fall, but Dr. Sutton wouldn’t have believed me even if I dared to spill the whole, unvarnished truth. By the time the good doctor was casting my wrist, Cyrus had transformed into the perfect, doting husband. He held my uninjured hand throughout the entire procedure, and even went so far as to brush my forehead with the occasional kiss. It was almost more than I could bear. But not because Cyrus was being duplicitous. Because he was being sincere.
After Lily blurted my secret to his entire family, Cyrus managed to hold his temper in check until everyone had enjoyed their pie and coffee. Then, when the final car pulled away from the curb, he marched to our bedroom without a backward glance. He wouldn’t challenge me in front of Lily, but I knew from experience what awaited me when she went to bed.
“Let’s go,” Lily whispered to me, even though Cyrus was an entire floor away.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s get out of here.” There was an edge of desperation in her voice. “Hop in the car and just drive.”
“Are you kidding?” I put the final saucer in the dishwasher and added a swig of liquid detergent. “Where in the world would we go?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Let’s go find grandpa!” Lily caught me by the elbow and squeezed.
“Sweetheart, please.” My heart was stuttering at her mention of my father, but the hope I felt was quick and baseless. Instead of responding, I turned around and drew her to me, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders. “It’s fine. Everything is going to be just fine.”
“But I told Dad about Mr. Wever!”
I smoothed her hair absently, a little stunned that the numbness that had settled over me at her Thanksgiving dinner proclamation had not yet gone away. Maybe I should have been scared, but I felt anesthetized. All I could think was: So, it’s come to this. I didn’t even know what this was.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked. It was a rhetorical question, and when Lily didn’t respond I pressed my cheek to the top of her head and wished her a good night’s sleep.
“I can’t just go to bed,” she argued. There were tears threatening in her eyes, but I ignored them. I didn’t have the wherewithal to comfort her, no matter how much I wanted to.
“You don’t have a choice.” I took her by the hand and led her to her room. I would have locked her inside if I could. Instead, I closed the door behind me and prayed that an angel would stand guard.
From there, the night progressed rather predictably except for one thing: I was not the same cowering maiden I had always been. Cyrus was furious, but instead of dodging his verbal attack I met it head-on. I took a deep breath and faced it. I didn’t deny the truth or try to sugarcoat the fact that I had lied to him for weeks. Instead, as my husband got increasingly angry, I remained calm. And even though I was trembling inside, I could feel that there was something different in the way I held my tongue. Usually my silence was born of fear and shame, but as Cyrus worked himself into a lather, I realized that my self-possession was the result of a flickering inner peace. I had a long way to go, but I could see the woman that I wanted to be. She was within reach.
Unfortunately, the more tranquil I appeared, the more livid Cyrus became. When he finally flung me across the master bathroom, I was only surprised that he had managed to control himself for so long. As I crouched on the tile floor, I knew that my wrist was broken. But it hardly seemed to matter. I had eyes only for Cyrus, and the expression he wore was one that I had not seen in a very long time. My husband was sorry for what he had done.
In the beginning of our marriage, Cyrus was always repentant when he raised a hand to me. But as the years progressed, it was almost as if I could watch him fall out of love with me. It happened a degree at a time, until one day Cyrus shoved me out of his way and didn’t look back when I fell. Even though I was physically fine, that one push hurt more than if he had pummeled me with his fists. It seemed to mark the moment that our relationship died.
All that changed in the bathroom on Thanksgiving night. Before I could even cry out in pain, Cyrus was on his knees beside me. He didn’t apologize, but he lifted me carefully to my feet and guided me downstairs. When I was settled in the car, he went to check on Lily, then rushed me to the emergency room, where he acted like it was pure agony to watch me suffer.
I believed him.
A part of me was dying to ask Cyrus why he could suddenly look on me with tenderness. But a much larger part was content to bask in the longed-for attention, to smile shyly and keep my mouth shut. Maybe my
newfound confidence had changed me in my husband’s eyes. Maybe this was a new beginning.
Although Cyrus and I never talked about what happened, in the weeks after the Thanksgiving fiasco we enjoyed a tenuous peace. I was brave in ways that I had never been before, inviting Sarah over for coffee a few afternoons, and even serving homemade pizzas at the granite island in the kitchen one night. Cyrus looked a little taken aback by the casual meal—it was a far cry from our customarily grand suppers around the dining room table—but he didn’t complain.
The only thing that I did not have the confidence to do was mention Max in any way. I missed his company, especially with Christmas approaching, but things were going so well between Cyrus and me that I couldn’t bring myself to broach the topic of my forbidden relationship. What if I dredged up all of our old bitterness? The mere thought of reverting to where we had been made my heart wring inside my chest.
“I don’t get it,” Lily said one afternoon as we were curled up on the couch. It was the first day of her Christmas vacation and we were watching The Sound of Music, a tradition we had started when she was in kindergarten.
“What don’t you get?” I asked absently, reaching for another handful of popcorn. I smiled to myself as I tossed a few kernels in my mouth. Popcorn on the couch on a Wednesday afternoon? It was unheard of in the Price house.
“I don’t get what happened between you and Dad.”
I pursed my lips for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain. Eventually, I gave up. “I don’t get it either!” I laughed. “But I’m not going to overanalyze it. I’m happy, Lil. Things are good.”
Lily cocked her head a little as she studied me. “You’re happy?” she asked.
“I am.”
“But I don’t think things are good.”
I shifted on the couch and gave her my full attention. “What are you talking about? Things haven’t been this …” I cast around for the right word, “untroubled in years. Look at us! Your dad will be home in twenty minutes and I haven’t even started supper. Granted, we’re having stir-fry and I have to do it last minute, but still.”
Lily looked pointedly at my wrist.
“It was an accident,” I sighed. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Well, that was before. This is after.”
“What about Mr. Wever?” Lily crossed her arms over her chest.
“What about Mr. Wever?”
“Why can’t I go visit him? It’s almost Christmas; he shouldn’t be alone.”
I plucked at a frayed end of the afghan we had spread over our laps. “Max is a touchy subject,” I said. “I’m not sure that I’m ready to bring him up just yet.”
“What about grandpa? Maybe if we can’t see Max we could—”
“Lily, stop. We can’t track down your grandpa.”
“Why not?”
“Because—”
“Then nothing’s changed,” Lily interrupted. “This house is still full of rules I don’t understand. Things we can’t say and things that we’re supposed to say … I don’t get it. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
“I have a feeling we’re on the verge of something new,” I said, weaving my fingers through Lily’s. “Something new and good.”
She crinkled her nose doubtfully. “I sure hope so.”
I should have known that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. A few nights after I assured Lily that our lives were about to be made new, I forgot a load of Cyrus’s dress shirts in the washing machine. My Bible study had decided to deliver Christmas goodies to the local nursing home, and instead of keeping up with the laundry I abandoned a load in the middle of a cycle. What can I say? It completely slipped my mind.
When Sarah told me we were headed to the manor, something inside my chest collapsed. My father had been relocated to a care facility years ago, but the Everton home was too expensive and he had been forced to leave. The scant information I gathered about my dad’s whereabouts came via infrequent updates from my uncle, but even those brief messages had stopped a few years back. Suddenly, the mere thought of visiting a nursing home had me in knots.
My father was out there somewhere. Was he lonely? Did he think of me? What would he say if he knew that Lily wanted to see him? That she harbored a quiet longing to meet the man who shared her blood?
As I walked the halls of the care home, passing out decorative tins filled with shortbread cookies and walnut fudge, I caught myself looking for my dad in the face of every resident. I was leveled by my own response, the almost frantic way I searched their features for something familiar. It had been a very long time since I thought of my father with anything but indifference, but the weeks of recounting my childhood for Lily had opened up a secret corner in my soul—a place I had worked hard to forget.
I wanted to see my dad. It was a shocking realization, and as we pulled away from the care home I found myself sobbing in the passenger seat of Sarah’s car.
“I think I miss him,” I confessed when Sarah pulled over and handed me a tissue. “I don’t know why … I mean, things were never very good between us.”
“He’s your father,” Sarah said gently. “Nothing can change that.”
“But we haven’t spoken for years.” I tried to blow my nose discreetly. “I can’t imagine why this is hitting me so hard right now.”
“It’s been a life-changing couple of months,” Sarah said with a gentle laugh. “You rekindled a decades-old friendship, lied to your husband, came clean with your daughter, spent hours recounting your past, had a massive blowout with Cyrus, and … finally reconciled?” Her voice tweaked upward at the mention of reconciliation. It hit me that my friend was as dubious about my happily-ever-after ending as my daughter was.
“Yes,” I said firmly. Then, with less conviction, “I don’t know. Things have been better between me and Cyrus, but it’s not like we suddenly have a fabulous marriage.”
Sarah looked like she wanted to press me further, but a fresh tear slid down my cheek and she seemed to think better of it. Patting my hand, she said, “Well, I for one totally understand why you would like to see your father after all this time. Your whole life has been one big upheaval lately and there’s nothing quite like a hug from your daddy to make the world seem sane again.”
Even though I could hardly remember what a hug from my daddy felt like, I gave a little nod.
“So,” Sarah shrugged. “Go see him.”
“It’s not that easy. I don’t even know where he is.”
Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “Ooh. A mystery. I love a good mystery.”
She dropped me off at home with a squeeze and a promise that we would track down my dad. It couldn’t be too hard, right?
My head was spinning with memories of the past and hopes for the future when I kicked off my boots that afternoon. I hung my coat in the entryway and left my gloves neatly folded on the hall table beside my keys, then I wandered into the kitchen where I began absently searching the fridge for something to fix for supper. By the time Lily got home from school I was busy rolling out the pastry for my famous beef Wellington, and the load of laundry that I had abandoned in the washing machine had been totally and completely forgotten.
Until the next morning when Cyrus got up for work.
I had just cracked two eggs into a hot frying pan when Cyrus stormed into the kitchen bare-chested and visibly upset. His skin was pink from the scalding water of his shower and his hair was still damp.
“Where is my blue striped shirt?” he demanded.
There was a vein bulging in his forehead, and I could feel the anger radiating off him. “Uh,” I faltered, trying to remember why his favorite shirt wasn’t hanging in his closet where it always was. It hit me in a rush. “In the washing machine,” I said, my stomach sinking. “We went to the nursing home yesterday, and I guess I never moved the load of colors to the dryer.”
“My shirt is in the washing machine?” Cyrus looked incredulous. “It’s the annual chamber Christm
as brunch this morning. What am I supposed to wear?”
A drop of butter spurted from the hot pan and burned a pinprick spot on the back of my hand. My attention was drawn to the sizzling eggs. If I let them go much longer the yolks would be hard. Cyrus hated hard yolks. “I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for the spatula. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t turn your back on me!”
I jumped a little when Cyrus yelled, dropping the spatula into the pan. One of the yolks spilled yellow across the teflon surface. My perfect morning eggs were ruined. “It was an accident,” I said, pulling the pan off the stove, trying to explain. “My Bible study went to the nursing home, and it got me thinking about my dad …”
“What’s your dad got to do with this?”
“Nothing,” I blurted, surprised by the venom in Cyrus’s tone. I had been planning to broach the topic of my dad over breakfast, but apparently that wasn’t a wise move. “I’m just trying to explain why I forgot about the shirt.”
“I don’t need excuses. I need my shirt.”
“Can’t you wear another one?” I asked timidly.
“Can’t you have my laundry done when I need it?” Cyrus took a step closer to me and I backed up against the stove. “Seriously, Rachel. Is it so hard to get a load of laundry done? What do you do all day? I know you snuck around with Max for a few weeks, but I thought you got that out of your system.”
“You make it sound so dirty,” I whispered, shrinking into myself so that there was less of me for Cyrus to hate. “Max is my friend.”