Pretending to be Rich

by Parker, Weston

  Hell, me and anyone like that was a bit of a novelty.

  Chapter 29

  Cade

  Maceo had called ahead and had a car waiting for me. It took me to the hospital, and I had barely given the car time to pull to a stop before I had my suitcase and jumped out.

  I walked inside, asked for my dad’s room, and was directed upstairs. I headed down a ridiculously long hallway, my head turned to the side as I read off the numbers in my mind. I found the right number and stopped outside the closed door. I took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  My mother was sitting in a chair next to his bed, staring out the window. My father was lying in bed, propped up on pillows and sleeping. His skin had an ashen, yellow tone. He looked frail, something I had never seen on him.

  His ghastly appearance stunned me. I had just seen him. How in the hell had he gotten so ill in a matter of weeks?

  “Mom?” I whispered.

  She blinked and turned her head. “You’re here.”

  “I am. What’s going on?”

  “Have a seat,” she said, nodding toward the chair in the corner.

  I dropped my suitcase and quietly dragged the chair closer to her. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s dying.”

  I looked at him, then back at her. My head was spinning. “What? How? Why?”

  “Cancer.”

  “What? Cancer? What kind? Is he doing chemo?” I had so many questions.

  “No. It’s pancreatic cancer.”

  “Can they cure it?”

  “No.”

  I closed my eyes. She wasn’t making any sense to me. I wanted to shake her, shake the answers out of her. “Mom, you’re killing me here,” I said and immediately regretted my words. “Sorry.”

  She smiled. “It’s okay. I know this is a shock.”

  “It is. I don’t understand.” I was trying to keep my emotions in check. I didn’t know what I was feeling.

  She sighed, looking over at my sleeping father and then back at me. “He was diagnosed about eight months ago. The prognosis wasn’t good. He decided to live his life out on his terms. He didn’t want chemo.”

  “Eight months ago? Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

  “He didn’t want you to think of him as weak.”

  “Weak? It’s fucking cancer!” I quickly remembered who I was talking to when my mother scowled at me.

  “His fight is coming to an end. I wanted you to be able to say goodbye. I know you two have had a very difficult relationship. I didn’t want him to pass away without you knowing the truth.” She smiled softly.

  “The truth?” I asked, the reality of the situation starting to sink in.

  “The truth is he cares about you a great deal,” she explained. “He’s so proud of you. It’s one of the reasons he didn’t want to tell you about the cancer. He didn’t want to pull you away from your life in Greece. He knew your business was important to you, and he didn’t want you to sacrifice it to be here with him. There was nothing you could do.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me when you guys visited? He didn’t look sick.” I was still trying to find a way to make the situation unreal.

  “He wanted to see you one last time,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “He came to say goodbye but never said goodbye,” I whispered, shaking my head.

  “He loved you. I know that’s hard for you to believe, but he was so proud of you. I brought something I’d like to show you.” She got up from her chair.

  My eyes went back to my dad. There was an IV in his arm. He looked so peaceful. He didn’t look to be in any pain, which was a very good thing. He certainly didn’t look like that tough guy I remembered. There was a certain vulnerability that came with death. I had never seen it on him, and I didn’t think I wanted to see it again.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking the photo album from her.

  She sat down, smiling as she looked at the book. I opened the cover and frowned. It was a newspaper clipping from the day my shop opened. I turned another page. It was a review from one of the local pages in Heraklion.

  “He bought a subscription to all the papers,” she said. “He scoured the news, looking for anything about you or the shop.”

  “He did? Why? He hated that I opened the shop.” I flipped through pages and saw pictures of me that had been taken for some ads I had run when the shop first opened. It was like a history lesson from the very beginning days of my business.

  “Your father cared. He was proud of you. He didn’t tell you because he was worried he would make you soft.”

  “Soft?” I asked. “He was worried that showing me some kind of love and affection would make me soft? That’s dumb. He could have thrown me a bone.”

  “It’s not his way. You know that.”

  I flipped through page after page and kept shaking my head. What I was seeing in the book and what I knew to be true weren’t adding up. “Why? Why does it take this for you to tell me? Would it have been so hard to mention he was happy for me? I can’t understand any of this. He’s dying?” I asked as if she would give me another answer.

  “Yes, Cade. He doesn’t have much time. I know we made mistakes as parents. I am sorry if you felt like you weren’t loved.”

  “You said not much time. What does that mean? A week? A month?” I put the book on the floor.

  She looked away but not before I saw the tears welling. “No.”

  “No?” I echoed.

  “I told you it was urgent to get here right away,” she whispered. “He’s not expected to make it through the night.”

  I felt like I was going to vomit. “What? Why in the hell did you wait for so long? Is he awake? Can I talk to him?”

  She ran a hand over her cheek, wiping away the tears. “He’s been given morphine. The pain became too much for him. He tried to tough it out, but I insisted. I don’t know if he will wake up. The doctors told me that there was a good chance the medicine would relax him enough to slip away.”

  “Mom,” I whispered, imagining the struggle she must have had.

  “I couldn’t watch him in pain. I wanted him to be awake and conscious when you got here, but I couldn’t wait. I’m so sorry.” She finally broke down in tears.

  I pulled her into my arms and held her while she sobbed. I felt horrible that I hadn’t been there to help her make the decision. “Why don’t you take a break? Go home, shower, get something to eat.”

  “I can’t leave,” she said.

  “You need to get some rest. How long have you guys been here?”

  “He was brought in by ambulance yesterday,” she said.

  “Mom, why did you wait?” I asked again, trying very hard not to be pissed at her.

  “He insisted I not call.”

  I knew how stubborn he could be. “Okay, okay. Please, go get a few minutes. Take a walk. I’ll be right here with him. You need to take care of yourself.”

  “Cade, I need to tell you something else,” she said, stepping away from him.

  “What is it?” I asked, my heart in my throat. I was terrified she was going to tell me she was sick as well.

  “The will,” she started.

  I already knew I wasn’t in the will. My dad had made that very clear years ago. “It’s fine, Mom. I already know he didn’t want me to have anything. It’s okay. I don’t need his money. I’m doing okay.”

  “No, you don’t understand. You will inherit the estate. He’s left me enough to live on, and I will keep the house in Italy, but the rest is yours, Cade. You are going to be a very wealthy man. He wanted to make sure you were taken care of, whether you thought you wanted it or not. You know your father.” She smiled. “He could be very adamant about things. Do this—for him. For me. Take the money. Open more shops if you choose, but do not insult him by rejecting what is rightfully yours.”

  I shook my head. “No. That’s not what he wanted.”

  “It is,” she said with a smile. “You can choose to keep
your shop open or retire if you’d like. You don’t have to work. Your children won’t have to work. You can live a comfortable life.”

  “Why?” I asked, feeling like I had asked the question over and over.

  She shrugged. “He’s always wanted you to have the money. You refused it. You rejected it time and again. You rejected his lifestyle, and no matter what you might think, it did hurt him a little. He grew up with nothing and worked very hard to make sure his family had everything they could ever want. He may not have been affectionate, and he did not do a good job telling you how he felt, but I promise you, you made him proud.”

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in throat. “Thank you for telling me.”

  She smiled, tears in her eyes once again. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back shortly.”

  She left, leaving me alone with my father. I stood next to the bed, staring at the man. I reached down and took his hand in mine. I gave it a good squeeze. “Dad, I’m here. It’s me, Cade.”

  I watched his face, hoping for some kind of reaction. There was nothing. I was happy to know he wasn’t suffering, but I would have liked to have a few minutes with him. I would have loved to hear him tell me he was proud, and I would have liked to look him in the eyes and tell him I loved him. It wasn’t going to happen.

  “Dad, I love you,” I said. “I know we didn’t always see eye to eye. I’m sorry I wasn’t more appreciative of all you did for me. I know you worked hard to support me and Mom. I should have said thank you. I should have come home to visit. I can’t change the past. We can’t go back, but I promise you, I will do right by you. I will never dishonor you or the family name.”

  I waited for some kind of reaction or a twitch of his hand. I felt nothing.

  In that moment, I didn’t give a shit about my ego. I dropped the bedrail and climbed into the bed beside him. I teetered on the edge, my arm across his chest as I gently hugged him.

  I couldn’t remember the last time my father had hugged me. It was hard to accept I would never feel his arms around me again. In some ways, I was glad we weren’t overly close. The situation would be so much harder if we were.

  Then again, the situation absolutely sucked because I would never get the chance to be close to him. It was hard to accept we had wasted over twenty years being angry at each other for no real reason, except we couldn’t agree on who I was supposed to be in this life.

  I lay on the bed beside him for a long time. I heard the door open and saw my mother come back in. It was clear she had been crying. I carefully maneuvered my big body off the bed and put the rail back up.

  My mother looked like she had aged ten years in the last hour. I pulled her into my arms and held her.

  “I’ll be a better son,” I promised.

  “You’re a good son.”

  “I’ll be better. I’ll be here for you.”

  She let out a long sigh. “I’m going to be okay. Your father and I have talked about this day. I’m going to do some traveling with an old friend who lost her husband last year.”

  I was happy she and my father had had the time to discuss the end and how she would go on after he was gone. It would give her some solace.

  “I’m going to grab some coffee,” I said. “Can I bring you anything?”

  She shook her head. “No thank you.”

  I nodded and left the room, leaving my suitcase on the floor.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter 30

  Eliana

  I woke up after nine, still feeling tired after a sleepless night. I hadn’t been able to shake what Lola had suggested I do about my mom. I had spent the night tossing and turning, mulling over what I would say.

  I wasn’t sure I had the courage to actually say what I wanted to say. Thinking about it made me break out into a cold sweat. However, after a lot of discussion, which was more like berating, I had agreed that it needed to be done.

  I rolled over and grabbed my phone to check for a message from Cade. There was nothing, which was a little strange, but I had to assume he was busy. I wasn’t going to chase him down.

  I found my mother’s number in my phone and hoped it was still the correct number. She tended to get a new phone every few months.

  “Mom, it’s me,” I said when she answered the phone in a whisper.

  “Yes, Eliana,” she said with irritation.

  “I was wondering if we could grab a late breakfast?” I asked, my palms sweaty.

  “I’m a little busy today,” she said.

  “Mom, this is important,” I said, not wanting to lose the courage I had pulled together. “I need to talk you.”

  She sighed loudly. “I can meet you in an hour or two.”

  “Two hours, same place,” I told her firmly.

  “Fine.”

  It was obvious she wasn’t thrilled to be pulled away from whoever she was with, but I didn’t care. Now that I had the idea in my head, I couldn’t let go of it. I wanted to get things cleared up.

  I had been carrying around the hurt and frustration for too long. I was ready to be free of it. I had never realized I could be free until Lola put the idea in my head. Ever since she’d said it, it was like staring at the single cookie on a plate and not eating it.

  I quickly showered and tossed in a load of laundry before heading out to meet her. If she stood me up, I was going to be pissed.

  I sat down at a table close to the door so she would see me when she came in. I was giving my deodorant a serious stress test. I didn’t smell anything stinky yet, but if this come to Jesus meeting didn’t happen soon, I was going to be one stinky, sweaty woman.

  She breezed in, her hair a bit of a mess and her clothes obviously rumpled from the night before. I ignored the signs that she’d been out with yet another man.

  “I hope this is important,” she said. “I wasn’t really up for a meeting.”

  “It is. Please sit down.”

  She was obviously put out. “What’s this about? I need to get cleaned up and changed. I have a date tonight, and I think this one might just be the real thing.”

  I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Every date was the real thing. “I wanted to ask you something,” I said, suddenly feeling very hot and sweaty.

  “What? You couldn’t just ask me over the phone?”

  “Why have you never cared for me?” I asked, just getting it out there before I could lose my nerve.

  She waved a hand through the air. “That’s ridiculous. Of course, I’ve cared for you.”

  Her answer was too practiced and completely fake. She also wouldn’t look at me.

  “That doesn’t sound very convincing,” I said dryly.

  “Oh, please. What do you want from me? Since when did you become so needy?”

  “I’m not needy,” I said. “That’s the very last thing I am. You’ve never really treated me like a daughter. I’ve always been the one to take care of you. I’ve never felt like you loved me.”

  She scowled at first and then rubbed a hand over her eyes, which were smudged with last night’s makeup. “Eliana, honestly, I never wanted a child. Your dad left, and I was basically stuck with you.”

  Her words cut deep, but I refused to let her see how badly she hurt me. “Stuck with me?”

  “Your father was a loser,” she stated. “He was a drunk. He knocked me up and acted like he was so proud of himself. Neither of us wanted a child. I couldn’t give you to anyone. No one I knew wanted a child. I did my best.”

  I began to grow numb. “I see.”

  “Don’t act like you are a victim,” she said with disgust. “You had a roof over your head. You had food. I had to sacrifice a lot. Hell, I sacrificed everything. My entire life was taken away when I got pregnant. I got fat, and no man wanted me. Being pregnant with you changed my body.”

  “I didn’t ask you to get pregnant,” I spat.

  “No, you didn’t, but you’re looking at me with disdain, like I failed you as a mother.”

 
; I shook my head. “You did,” I whispered.

  “Oh, you’re fine. Look at you. You’ve got a good job. You’re a beautiful young woman. You have your whole life in front of you. Don’t get pregnant. Trust me. You will live to regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “You regret that I was born?” I asked the question, but it was really more of a statement.

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t mind having a daughter now, but back then, it really was such a trying time.”

  “I see,” I said the words on a breath.

  “Is that really what you called me down here for? What is this about? It’s all in the past. We’re good now, right?” She flashed me her practiced smile.

  I shook my head. “Actually, no. We are not right. You use me. Repeatedly. The only relationship we have is when you come to me for money. You don’t love me. You don’t see me as a daughter. You see me as someone you can complain to and ask for money when one of your boyfriends dumps you. You are incapable of loving me. You don’t want to love me. I don’t think you are capable of loving anyone but yourself. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I think I kept hoping you would change. That’s never going to happen.”

  “Change how?” she asked irritably.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said with resignation. “You can’t change. I don’t know if you’re a product of your own shitty upbringing or if you were simply born to be a selfish woman, but you’re too old to change at this point.”

  Her mouth dropped open. I knew it had been a low blow to call her old, but it gave me a little satisfaction to hurt her just a little.

  “How dare you?” she snapped. “I gave you my life, you selfish little bitch. I should have left you at a church.”

  I smirked. “You should have. I’m glad you’ve learned how to use birth control. God knows no other child should ever have to be raised by you. Technically, you didn’t raise me though, did you? I was the one taking care of you. I was the one who had to nurse you back to health after a long weekend of drinking. You left me alone for days when I was twelve. How can you think that was okay? What happened to you in your life to make you such a horrible mother?”