*****
He stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. After her return, she had gone straight to work. In her absence the bookstore had filled up, keeping the staff as well as her dad busy. She had simply shed her jacket and dove into the thick of things.
The shoppers had come out, braving the nasty weather. Children had clamored for stories and treats, and the Thanksgiving theme had been a rousing success.
Now they were alone after the staff left for home. Instead of turkey, which neither of them had a particular fondness for, she had opted for grilled chicken breasts and potato salad. The store would be closed for the holiday, and she was planning on rising early to do the cooking. She had also taken an interest in the church activities at this time of the year. The soup kitchen had been happy for her help over the years. After she finished supper, she was planning on slipping out to do her part.
"I don't understand." Putting down the spoon he had been using to eat his soup, he simply stared at her.
She busied herself pouring the tea into cups and bringing one to him. "I'm bringing your medication."
"Sit down." The voice was harsh, expecting to be obeyed and she did automatically. "Explain."
Forcing herself to remain calm, she curled her fists into her damp palms and faced him, chin lifted. "I met someone, and he's invited me to spend a week in Scotland. With him." She had decided to go with half-truths and ease her way into telling him the entire truth.
"Are you going mad? Who is this man and why haven't you brought him here to meet me? What is this all about Kadian? Is this your way of defying me? Of punishing me? You think I made myself ill? Good Christ! That's it, isn't it?" He pushed back from the table and rose unsteadily, causing her to be alarmed. She rose with him and started towards him.
"Dad..."
"You hate taking care of me and now you just want to leave and be about your business. Just like your mother. You have chosen someone else over me. Your own father. What have I done to deserve such horrible betrayal? Tell me!"
"Stop it!" She stopped halfway around the table, her heart racing, the guilt churning inside her chest. "You keep comparing me to mother. I am not her. You keep saying that she left and she never did. When I ask you to tell me, beg you to tell me what happened, you just hinted at her betrayal. That she cheated on you, that she was an awful person." She plopped her fisted hands on her hips and faced him. "Did you ever love her?" She swept a hand around the room. "There are no photos of her anywhere around. Was she that hateful, that awful that you've removed every memory of her? I left my life, my career when you called, no hesitation, I just left and came here..." She sucked in a breath. "I came when you called." Her voice was quieter now, the anger draining and leaving her weary. She was so tired, so ready to just call it quits. So dangerously close to saying to hell with everything. She had spent almost an hour out in the cold on the boardwalk, despair coating her like a mist and had almost continued walking. This had to stop.
He seemed to shrink as her words hung in the air, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of old griefs and new accusations. The silence was thick, pressing in around them as the clatter and laughter of the day faded to a memory. Kadian glanced at his trembling hands, veins stark against skin gone thin and pale, and something inside her softened, just a little.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Outside, icy rain slid down the window, warping the golden light of the room into wavering shapes on the floor.
Her father's voice, when it finally came, was raw. "You don't know what it was like. Loving someone and then losing..." He broke off, his face turned away, the lines around his mouth deepening. "It's easier sometimes to erase the past than to live with pieces that never fit." He sat back down heavily, rubbing his brow as if he could smooth away years of pain.
Kadian drew in another breath, steadying herself. "I'm not leaving because I want to hurt you," she said softly. "I'm leaving because I need something for myself. Just one week. A week to remember who I am outside these walls."
He closed his eyes, the flush of righteous anger replaced by something more fragile. After a moment, he nodded, imperceptibly. He teetered towards guilt and almost blurted the truth. That everything was inside his head, that he had believed the lie he told himself to feel better, that same lie that had cost him everything. But the bitterness inside him was too strong, had lived too long, had thrived over the years and became a part of him. He couldn't tell her that Kathy had been too good for him and because of it, he had grown to resent her. "You always reminded me of her. That's why it hurts so much."
"I'm sorry for it." She started to reach out to him and then changed her mind. Instead, she spun back around to pour the tea.
"I cannot lose you." His whispered voice had her clenching her fingers around the cup. "I never told you how much I appreciate the sacrifice you made, coming back here and staying with me. You made the business into something that I couldn't. I never had the knack of making a profit. This place was on the brink of becoming bankrupt and you saved it. Maybe I resent the fact that you did what I couldn't."
She turned to face him and felt her heart quaking with pity. He looked old and haggard and whatever she might be feeling at this moment, he was still her dad, and she loved him.
"It wasn't a sacrifice." She sighed and realized that was not quite true. It had been before she met Leon, before her life changed.
She set the cup down with a clink, her movements careful, as if anything louder might shatter their fragile truce. The silence between them now was quieter, more companionable, stitched together by the old ache of things unsaid and the tentative threads of understanding.
Kadian glanced over her shoulder, the teapot in her hand, and caught her father watching her with eyes rimmed red, but clearer than she remembered. The storm outside seemed to ease its relentless tapping for a heartbeat.
"I didn't mean for things to turn out this way," he said, voice rough but honest. "I wanted you to have everything, prove to her that I could be the man she wanted me to be. Or I wanted to be for her. And in trying too hard, I squeezed too tight."
She let the tea steep, steam curling like a memory in the air. "Maybe we both did, in our own ways." Her voice was low, but steady.
He nodded, the gesture small but full of years. "You should take your week, Kadian. Take whatever you need." His gaze drifted to the faded curtains, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half-remembered smile. Calculating, he decided to change tactics. If he didn't, she might just decide to go away and never return. He would play the part of the ailing, yet loving dad, who wanted what's best for her. He knew her very well, knew that the guilt would tug at her when she was gone and if he managed to end up in the hospital with some sort of injury, then that's the break. He would let her have her week, let her go and then reel her back in. "If you come back, I'll try to be better. For you. For her."
Kadian managed a faint smile of her own, something easing inside her chest. She poured the tea, the aroma filling the room with a sense of hearth and history. For the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself to hope that perhaps, after so much winter, a thaw might finally come.
They sat together in the quiet, the storm retreating beyond the window, and shared their tea. Each sip an unspoken promise to try again.
*****
Much later inside her room and blissfully unaware of what her father was thinking, she picked up her phone and shot off a text to Leon. She had thought about calling him with the good news but decided that it was not time to heal their wounds yet. He had left her standing there staring after him, left her with some sort of ultimatum and hurt her with careless words. She had her pride too. Yes, he was frustrated with the way things were progressing or not progressing, but he had been the one to suggest the secrecy. He knew what he was getting into.
