Page 71 of Begin Again
Chapter 19
Of course there were no direct flights to Lincoln, Nebraska. With a short layover in Denver, it would take about five hours to get there. Sleeping was out of the question, as was sitting still. I would have liked to have burned my pent-up energy somehow, preferably by crying, because I knew I’d feel more peaceful and my thoughts would be clearer afterward. But my body had grown unfamiliar in the last couple of hours. It just didn’t work. I couldn’t even down the water that the flight attendant handed out. My throat was burning, I felt nauseated, and the only thing that helped even a little bit was the smell of Kaden, which surrounded me like a familiar cocoon. I buried my face up to my nose in the soft sweater and pulled the sleeves over my fingertips to hide my trembling.
Once out of the plane, I wanted to run. But there were too many people streaming toward the exit. On the street, I started looking for a taxi.
The driver understood the urgency. Traffic was heavy around the airport, but after a few minutes the jam eased up and he stepped on the gas, heading for the affluent area where my parents lived.
When the driver reached our wide street with its stately homes and stopped, I was on the verge of puking. After throwing money into his lap, I jumped out of the car, took my bag from the trunk, and ran up to our driveway.
I rang the bell and banged on the massive door before I opened it and stepped inside. My eyes scanned the foyer frantically.
Right away, I heard someone approaching and murmuring something unintelligible in an annoyed tone.
“Crystal?” Dad asked, surprised.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Panting, I stared at him.
His hair had gone almost completely gray; his hairline had receded even farther. He was wearing a tailored, gray suit complemented by the usual white shirt and dark tie.
I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. And finally the tears came.
“You’re okay,” I sobbed.
Dad patted my back awkwardly. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked.
It’d been so long since I’d heard his voice. He almost sounded like a stranger.
“What about your accident?” I asked, stepping back and looking for any injuries. I’d thought he’d be lying unconscious in a hospital bed, with a bruised face and bandaged arms. In fact, he looked intact.
“Oh, that,” answered Dad with a frown. “I tore a ligament on the squash court.”
Words failed me.
“You know that Edmund and I sometimes play too hard.”
“But Mom—” I broke off and swallowed hard. “Mom called me and said you were in an accident,” I choked. “She made it sound really bad.”
Dad barked out a laugh and then shook his head. He heaved a sigh, then took my bag from my shoulder. “You must’ve misunderstood her.”
I was stunned. No time to answer back: My father cut that short by stepping aside.
“Just come in,” he urged me.
As we walked through the foyer, I noticed he was limping a bit. He set my bag down on the marble floor and headed toward the parlor without looking back. It took great effort for me not to lose my cool.
On one hand, it was a relief to see that Dad was okay.
On the other hand, I wanted to kill my mother.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
Dad plopped down on the white leather sofa and looked at me expectantly. I collapsed in the armchair next to him, taking a moment to collect myself.
Nothing had changed here. The luxurious decor seemed much more decadent to me now, compared to Woodshill or even Rachel’s home in Portland.
Dad picked up a carafe of water from the table.
“Want some?” he asked. I nodded.
