I wish I had more time to worry about whatever he's having trouble with, but the meeting starts in about six minutes and I don't need to be the last one there. I grab my water and my notepad and head down the hall to the meeting. There are four more people to wait on by the time I take my seat where my Dad usually sits. He likes to sit in the back right corner of the large table and I do the same because that's what everyone is used to. Everyone smiles and greets me the way they always have, which makes me even more curious about why Adrian was acting so off.
“Alright,” I start after everyone is seated and quiet. “Are we ready to begin?”
The meeting is as typical as they ever are. I can do meetings. I can do meetings all day long. But these quarterly meetings seem to just drone on and on. Everyone, including Adrian, updates everyone else on all the numbers, issues, every project head, and presents a summary of their project's current status. I'm fighting the urge to yawn when my dad's secretary comes quietly into the office. I sit up a little straighter. She looks distraught but I don't remember her mentioning anything about a sick parent or anything like that. She walks quickly to Adrian where he's sitting at the corner opposite me. His eyes shoot to mine before she finishes whispering into his ear. He nods, never looking away from me, and discreetly twirls his pointer finger in a circle, signaling me to wrap up the meeting.
After Jana finishes up her report on the project she's heading, I clear my throat and force my face to clear itself of any of the anxiety tightening my chest. “Everything looks great, guys. Thank you for your time. I'll let you get back to your afternoon.”
It's a struggle to calmly wait until the last person leaves the board room, but I manage it. Adrian has stayed in his seat, looking down at the table, while everyone else takes their exit. Something bad has happened. Something very bad.
After every last person has left the room, I get up and slowly walk to the door and shut it with dread clawing at my stomach. Adrian doesn't say anything until I sit back down in the chair next to him.
“It's your dad.”
He tries to take my hands in his but I jerk them away. “What do you mean?”
Adrian takes a long breath, his brows pinching together. “There was a gas leak at the lake house, Larken. The fire department got there as quickly as they could, but they didn't get there in time. I'm sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” I watch his mouth move with words I don't hear. “Sorry for what, Adrian? It's just a house. We can rebuild it.”
He shakes his head slowly and reaches for me but I stand up abruptly, knocking the chair to the floor behind me. “It's just a house. Gas leaks happen all the time. Dad will take care of everything.”
Adrian stands up and wraps his arms around me, not letting me go when I try to shove him away, and starts to gently rock side to side. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.”
I can hear him now, but I can't breathe. “Don't say sorry,” I whisper. “Don't say it.”
It doesn't matter if he says it or not. My Dad is gone. He was in the house sleeping when it caught fire and it went up so fast that there was no way he could have gotten out. The fire marshal and our insurance company are investigating because of how quickly everything was lost, but it will be lost no matter the outcome. And I'll still have to pick out which picture to enlarge for Dad's memorial service. I'll still have to live without him whether they decide it was just a faulty gas line or arson. I'll still have to live and breathe every day for the rest of my life with this loss eating me alive from the inside out.
Regan comes. She's the one who picks out the picture. I couldn't do it. How do you choose just one picture to represent an entire man's life? There were so many to choose from. A picture with mom? With me when I was little? A candid shot from one of our trips? Maybe the professional, corporate picture he had done for the lobby? How could I choose just one to show everyone who my Dad is...was?
Adrian brings me endless cups of coffee or tea. A thousand people have either called or sent cards in the two weeks since Dad's passing. I can't bring myself to speak to any of them or look at any of the cards scattered and piled on the shelf beside the door. Sympathy cards. Deepest condolences. Their thoughts are with me. I don't want their sympathy and I don't need their thoughts. I need my Dad back.
I wasn't ready. I was never going to be ready. How am I supposed to live in this world without him? There are supposed to be stages of grief, but all I feel is a heavy numbness. I cry, but I don't feel it anymore. Maybe my mind is shutting down in the flood of this loss. It isn't fair. Why would I have to lose both my parents? I might not be a child anymore, but I'm stilltheirchild. I'm still someone's daughter. But I'm alone now. All the friends in the world can't make up for the loss or fill the chasm I have in my chest.
All I can manage to do is hide from this loss in my bed under wrinkled sheets and tangled blankets. I don't want to open the blinds. I don't want to listen to music. I don't want to eat any of the godforsaken casseroles or pasta dishes that Adrian keeps bringing home from the office. I just want to be left alone.
Adrian stayed home with me last week. He was very kind and attentive. Very understanding. But he's gone back to the office this week. He said we couldn't allow the company to suffer and reminded me how much the company meant to my Dad. I had so much trouble listening to him talk about my Dad in past tense that I just rolled over and pulled a pillow against my chest to combat the hollow ache. He's right, though. We can't let the company that my father spent so much of his life building and put so much of himself into flounder because I can't pull it together.
But I can't pull it together.
The very thought of getting dressed and going into the building makes me want to throw up. I can't go on like this. My name is on everything. In the event of my Dad's passing, everything – the company, the accounts, the buildings, all of it– transfers to me. All the responsibility is now draped across my shoulders like dark chains and the only thing I can think about is how much I miss my Dad.
Regan told me she would come over again tomorrow. She said she's bringing vodka and cake. I hope she brings a bucket, too, because I don't think I can keep anything down, especially vodka and cake.
God, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to live this life.
Chapter Four
Larken
Adrian is doing his best to keep me from hearing him send Regan away. He sounds perfectly reasonable, considering I haven't been out of bed longer than ten minutes at a time since the last time she was here. I don't even know how long ago that was. Adrian is just letting me sleep and that feels like the best thing to do.
“I brought her a basket of her favorites, Adrian,” Regan argues. “Just let me take it up to her and I'll go. I know she doesn't feel like having company, I just want to check on her.”
“She's fine and sleeping, Regan. I'm taking care of her, I promise. I just don't want her to wake up if she doesn't have to. She's grieving and needs to rest. I'll have her call you when she wakes up, alright?”
I can hear Regan's forceful sigh all the way up here. “Fine,” she clips. “Fine. At least give her this. And make sure she calls me.” Then the door closes and I hear her car door slam before the engine starts.
Adrian doesn't immediately bring the basket upstairs. Maybe he thinks I actually am sleeping. I've only been downstairs a handful of times in the past couple of weeks, maybe now is a good time to venture down. Maybe I'll feel more like myself if I make myselfbemyself. I can get out of bed. I can put one foot in front of the other and walk downstairs to get the basket Regan brought. And I'll call her afterwards to thank her. I can do these things.
