“I was worried you wouldn’t like me.” I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “I know you love me, but I didn’t know if I was the kind of person you and Mom could like.”
“It’s impossible not to like you, Penelope, and I’m so sorry you ever doubted that.”
We sit in silence for a moment. The white noise of the hospital fills the room. It doesn’t feel awkward sitting in my dad’s room with him. For the first time in a long time, nothing feels uncomfortable between us at all.
A nurse drops in with breakfast and to check his vitals. I make a few notes in my phone about his progress, which the nurse assures me is coming along nicely.
“Bankses are naturally resilient,” he says to the nurse. “Just ask my daughter. She’s the most resilient of us all. She’s an author, you know. Penelope, show the nurse one of your books.”
He’s embarrassing me, and I’ve never been more happy to feel embarrassed. “Seriously, Dad?”
“Of course I’m being serious. Take my copy.” He holds out the book for the nurse. “Penelope, I’m going to need you to pick up some additional copies for some of the other nurses and doctors on my team. I’ll be sure to reimburse you.”
“OK, Dad.”
“Or maybe I can get some shipped to the room while I’m in here.”
“Eat your food, Dad.” I shake my head. “You’ll be able to cover more ground as my publicist once you’re back on your feet.”
“Good point.”
I freshen his water pitcher and organize the toiletries my mother sent with me, while he reads me some of the highlighted sections from Jackie’s business plan.
“Now, Penelope,” my father says in between bites of his heart-healthy breakfast, “I gather that you’re going to need a little capital to help get this bookstore up and running.”
“Well, yes, but I’ll figure it out,” I say. “I was looking into crowdsourcing.”
“Isn’t that what rock singers do when they throw themselves into a crowd during a performance?”
“Close but not quite.”
“Well, never mind that.” He shakes his head. “I have a small confession to make.”
“Dad, I’m not taking your money. I don’t want to complicate things between us, OK?”
“Penelope, I’m not offering you money.” He hands me his cell phone. “Do you remember that last Thanksgiving you came to visit, when you and Smith were in the process of divorcing?”
“Yes, of course I remember. It was awful.”
“Agreed. But there was one bright spot. You remember those shares you got from that magazine? The ones I told you to cash out and invest?”
I furrow my brow. “Vaguely?”
“I’ll take that as a no. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Against my better judgment, I held on to them for you. I never thought they would amount to anything, but as it turns out, I was wrong.” He taps his phone screen. “That’s a screenshot of what those shares are worth now, should you choose to cash them out.”
I don’t understand everything on the document my dad is showing me, but what I do understand leaves me speechless.
“I hope you’re not upset with me for never having them forwarded to your address in San Francisco.” He lowers his voice. “I let my pride get the best of me at first. I figured if you didn’t care about them, then why should I bother to bring them to your attention. Over the years, the little company started to do quite well, and there was a part of me that felt guilty for not telling you sooner.”
“These are worth over $100,000, Dad,” I finally manage to say as my initial shock wears off. “Am I reading it correctly?” He nods sheepishly. “That means I have over $100,000 to put toward the bookstore?”
“Well, there is the matter of taxes and such, but, yes. The bulk of that belongs to you should you decide to cash them.” He clears his throat. “I take it you’re not angry with me? You’d have every right to be.”
Ten years ago, I would’ve been angry. Ten years ago, I would’ve seen my father’s act of squirreling away money as a sign that he was preparing for me to fail. That he wouldn’t have believed for a second that I could make it on my own in San Francisco as a writer, and if I was given access to those shares, I would mishandle them. That a life designed without his help could ever be anything but a complete failure. But I’m not angry with my father today. If anything, for the first time in a long time, I see a little bit of myself in him.