Page 85 of The Surprise
She spins around. “He’s been planning to steal from your aunt. She was supposed to get half his parents’ estate, and he’s been lying to us all. He knew it, and he kept it from her. Then when she found out, he threatened her and when she came to confront him, he hit her.” Mom’s trembling. “What part of that should I talk to him about?”
I’m not even sure what to say.
“Mom.” What I want to ask is why this is happening to me. Why, when things are finally going well for me, do they always fall apart? How come, every time I’m almost happy, the sky falls down on my head? “Dad was wrong.” I stop then, because what else can I say?
I turn around, trying to decide what to do. Do I pack? Do I stay here with Dad, at least until graduation? I have no idea.
The second I walk out the bedroom door, Dad grabs me and hugs me. It’s one of the most vulnerable things he’s ever done. I wish he’d done it without facing his own personal hades. It would mean a lot more.
“Dad.”
“Wait, Beth. At least let me explain.”
“Explain why you hit Aunt Donna?” I can’t help hating him. It’s been growing for a long time, but really, it all comes down to this. He’s the devil. He’s just like his father.
“It’s not that simple,” he says.
“I think it is.”
Dad releases me. “Give me half an hour. Listen for thirty minutes, and if you still want to leave, I’ll help you pack.”
I’m not even sure I want to leave right now, but I don’t tell him that. “Why do you want me to stay?”
I hate how badly I want him to tell me he loves me. I hate that even now, even when I know what a jerk he is, I’m desperate to hear that he wants me to stayfor me.
“If you’re still here, your mother will come back for sure.”
Something deep in the corner of my heart, something that thought that just maybe he might love me for being his daughter and no other reason dies. “Okay, Dad.” I nod. “Half an hour.”
He bobs his head frantically. “Yes, half an hour.”
I follow him into his office. “Look.” He spreads papers around. “I’ve never shown you this, but just, look.”
“What is it?”
“Your mother.” He swallows. “You know that I love her. When I met her, I felt like I was total trash.”
Because of Grandpa. “Okay.”
“She told me I wasn’t. She said I was strong. She said I was brave. She told me that I was the best thing she’d ever seen. The handsomest. The smartest. The most amazing.”
“Dad.”
“She was raised by two people who always wantedmorefrom her. They dressed her up and trotted her out to parties, to business events, always touting her achievements. They used their own daughter.” He shakes his head. “She wanted to be free. I freed her from them, and now she wants to go back.”
I don’t bother arguing. “Alright, Dad.”
“But when she broke her back in the car accident, the one after her first gallery opening, she was in the hospital for weeks.”
“I know.”
“That’s when she got addicted,” he says. “It wasn’t her fault.”
“You told me that, too.”
“What I didn’t tell you, what I never told your mother either, is how much all her rehab cost.” He points at the documents, and I finally look.
The figures are staggering.
