I pause when I see the last person I expect get into Dad’s car. Aspen. She yanks the door open and flops into the passenger seat.
“Get the fuck out,” Dad barks at her, and even I wince at it.
I often forget that he’s not the same person around other people as he is around me.
He might have been a doting father to you, but he was a ruthless devil to everyone else. Her words come back to me as a reality.
“You need to stop being difficult for no reason, Kingsley,” she tells him, her tone as hard as his.
“I have my conditions and they’re final.”
“Nonsensical conditions. You can’t possibly expect them to accept those conditions.”
“They will do it peacefully and settle or we’ll go to court and make them. Either way, I will win.”
“You don’t even want it done the peaceful way, do you?”
“Peaceful ways are boring. Now, get out. I’ve spoken to you enough for this decade.”
She flips him the finger as she steps out of the car.
“Fucking witch,” Dad mutters under his breath and drives away.
I’m left skeptical about the entire exchange, but I push on and listen to his phone calls, which are mostly with his assistant about work and court. Many are with me, asking what I want for dinner.
Moisture gathers in my eyes when I watch the easing of his expression whenever he talks to me. I took everything for granted. His love, his attention, his presence. And now, I have none of those.
Jane taps my shoulder and I stare at her, removing my headphones. She gives me hers and points at the laptop. “I think you should listen to this.”
I plug in the headphones and hit Play. The image on the screen is of Dad driving. He’s wearing the suit from the day of the accident, and he has those dark circles under his eyes.
An unknown number flashes on the dash and Dad answers with, “Tell me you found her.”
I lean closer in my seat, but I can’t hear what the other person is saying, because Dad is listening through an earpiece. However, I see the change in his face, the way it turns to granite, and his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.
“That can’t be…” His voice is low, almost a murmur. “She can’t be Gwen’s mother. Look again.”
He ends the call, throws the earpiece down, then hits the steering wheel a few times in a row. I can almost feel the rattling of the dashboard in front of him, because it’s inside me, too.
I didn’t hear it wrong, did I? He said Gwen’s mother, right? Does that mean Dad was looking for her?
According to what I just heard, he found her. He did, and then the accident happened.
The whole thing can’t be a coincidence, can it?
24
Nathaniel
“I thought you wouldn’t survive Mrs. Weaver.”
I glare at my nephew as he slides on top of the conference table, facing me. The other partners left, but he stayed behind to play the bastard role.
“You knew she was coming and didn’t tell me?”
He raises his hands in the air. “Hey. I only got the call after she left. A furious one at that in all of Mrs. Weaver’s snobbish glory. She kept asking if I knew and then said of course I did and that I should bear the consequences if this becomes public and all that fun stuff. But most of all, she was royally pissed that “the little girl” kicked her out. Gwen really did that?”
“Gwyneth. The name is Gwyneth.” And she did. She kicked out my mother even though she’s not the type who shows rudeness without a reason. Despite her smart tongue and sass, she’s not an antagonist. But she has a strong sense of justice and that’s what pushed her to talk to Mrs. Weaver that way.
I’ve been in a gloomy mood ever since she left this morning. I’m surprised I was able to handle this meeting with enough reasoning.
It shouldn’t be this way. It shouldn’t feel empty, harsh, and unyielding, as if something inside me is lifeless. As if her hollowness is now with me and I couldn’t get rid of it even if I tried, because that emptiness is restricting my breathing, no matter how much I loosen my tie.
And because she transferred her hollowness to me, there’s an urge to go find her, to fucking talk some sense into her so she stops having girlhood dreams. Because that’s all they are, girlhood fucking dreams and misconceptions and everything in between.
But even if I do talk to her, she’ll make those dreams shine harder and brighter. Gwyneth is the type of person who thrives on small gestures yet plummets hard because of them as well. And I can’t let her tow that line.