Dad loved his house. He—God, even the parts of it he didn’t love, like the yellow toile wallpaper in the downstairs half bath, he’d kept unchanged because Mom had picked it out. It didn’t make sense.
“I bet there’s a logical explanation for this, okay?”
“The house has been on the market for two weeks. Do you know how many times we’ve spoken, how many chances he had to mention it? We just spoke yesterday.”
“Hey.” Margot reached out, cradling the side of Olivia’s face gently. Olivia closed her eyes and leaned into Margot’s palm, pressing her lips to the inside of her wrist. “Why is this freaking you out so badly?”
She opened her eyes and sucked in a rasping breath, throat raw. “What else hasn’t he told me?”
How many times had he told her he was fine? That his blood work was good, that his doctors were happy with his progress, that he was taking care of himself, eating better, and working less? Was any of that true or was he placating her, brushing her concerns aside so she wouldn’t worry?
“He’ll call you back,” Margot repeated herself, thumb sweeping against Olivia’s cheek.
When? “He’s going out of town tomorrow, remember?”
Even if he did call, who was to say he wouldn’t do what he always did, blow off her concerns and tell her not to worry before changing the subject?
She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she figured out what was going on. If Dad was truly okay or if . . . if . . .
What if Dad was selling the house because he was sick? What if he wasn’t answering the phone because he couldn’t? What if there was no fishing trip—what if he was back in the hospital and he didn’t want her to know?
Even if she didn’t have his health to worry about, this still would’ve struck her as odd. Unsettling. They talked, often.
But she did have his health to worry about.
God, what she wouldn’t give to press rewind, go back to ten minutes ago when she and Margot had been tangled together in the sheets, the only fluttering in her gut from butterflies, a pleasant sort of squirminess. Not this awful anxious churning, her mind suddenly flitting to all sorts of worst-case scenarios.
Until she got to the bottom of this, her brain would try to fill in the blank that came after if with one terrible option after another. Not only would she not be able to sleep, but tomorrow was Annie and Brendon’s rehearsal. Their wedding was the next day. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, wondering, worrying.
Chapter Twenty
Olivia’s tongue darted out, sweeping against the lip she’d chewed red. She crawled off the bed, swiping her sweater off the floor. “What’s if he’s not okay? What if he’s—”
“Whoa, whoa.” Margot slipped out of bed, wincing when a twinge of pain shot up the side of her foot from putting too much weight on it. Walking was going to be a real bitch. “You need to take a deep breath, okay? Breathe in with me.”
Panicking wouldn’t solve anything.
Sweater clutched in front of her, Olivia pinched her lips together and mimicked Margot as she inhaled through her nose. Margot held it, lifting a hand to make sure Olivia would do the same. She exhaled slowly, lowering her hand. Olivia’s exhale was ragged, her shoulders sagging and curling forward. She scrunched her eyes shut, looking upset but no longer on the verge of hyperventilating.
“What if he isn’t fine?” Olivia repeated, voice breaking.
Margot’s heart clenched at the sound, at the way Olivia scrunched her eyes shut.
“He promised to tell you if he wasn’t. I was there, remember? I heard your entire phone call. He told you he didn’t want you to worry.”
Olivia turned her sweater right side out and slipped it on over her head. Static caused strands of her hair to stick straight up in multiple directions. “Exactly. He doesn’t want me to worry. All the more reason for him to keep me in the dark.”
“Don’t you think”—Margot winced, already anticipating Olivia’s reaction to what she was about to say—“if your dad says he’s fine, you should trust him?”
She swept her fingers through her hair, wincing when they snagged on a tangle. “I told you. He drove himself to the hospital when he had a heart attack, Mar. He only let the nurse call me when he had to stay overnight.”
Margot blew out her breath. “Okay, I can see where something like that might not engender a whole lot of trust. That’s—that’s shitty. I completely agree, and I—I can understand that your brain is probably going to the worst possible place right now.” Anxiety and fear weren’t always rational. Fuck, most of the time they were the complete opposite. Brains were assholes sometimes. “But, offering an outside perspective, I don’t think the fact that he’s selling the house necessarily means there’s something wrong with his health.” She cracked a smile. “Who knows? Maybe he’s selling because he plans to retire and wants to move down to one of those all-inclusive retirement villas in Florida. You know they have a huge nudist community right outside of Tampa? I watched this whole show on HGTV on it. Everyone carries a little personal towel around so when they visit they can sit on that instead of directly on the furniture. And they specifically cater to retirees. Maybe your dad wants to broaden his horizons.”