by Lund, S. E.
For my own good? What does that mean?
Kate, don't do this…
I put my phone away.
I sat in my quiet apartment, my phone shut off completely and sitting on the coffee table. At any moment, he could knock on my door, so I decided to leave. I picked up the cell and ignored the message notification indicating I had five messages waiting to be read.
Five?
He was persistent. I ached to read them, but I knew if I did, I'd crumble. Instead, I called my father.
On the third ring, he answered, his voice sounding distracted, but still pleased.
"Hey, sweetheart, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"You're at home?"
"Yes, I'm on leave so I can plan for the election. What's up? Is everything OK?"
I chewed my nail, wondering what to say. "Can I come and stay there for a few days?"
There was a silence on the line as if he was processing what I said. When he spoke, he sounded more engaged, his voice low and soft.
"Of course, Katie. What's the matter?"
He called me Katie. He only called me that when I was a child and then when I was sick after Africa. I knew then he was worried, wondering if I was having a relapse. "I just need to get away for a while."
"Do you want me to send a car?"
I sighed. "No," I said, glancing around my apartment. "I'll find my way over. I could use some air so maybe I'll walk."
"It's a long hike and it's dark."
"I need to think."
"Your bedroom is always waiting for you. We'll hold dinner until you get here."
"Go ahead and eat, Daddy. I've had something."
"See you in a bit."
CHAPTER TWELVE
I made the trek to my dad's apartment from mine, walking south and then east beside Central Park and then south again to his apartment building. This time, I went in the front entrance, carrying my backpack filled with my MacBook and clothes, makeup and a few personal items. I took the small elevator up to his suite and used my key to enter the front door.
The living room was empty. Elaine was nowhere to be seen, so after I took off my coat and placed my backpack in my old bedroom, I went to the study. My father was sitting at his huge desk, on the phone as usual. He saw me and waved me over while he kept talking. I went to him and waited.
"Yes, certainly, I agree," he said, turning his cheek for me to kiss. I bent down to kiss him. "That's the tack we'll take."
He waved at me to sit on the chair across from him. I did, staring at the pictures on the wall from my trip to Africa. He seemed as if he were trying to end the conversation with whoever was on the other line and finally, said goodbye. He put the phone down and made a face at me, rolling his eyes.
"Long-winded sonofabitch. Sorry, dear. I had to finish that call."
"That's all right."
He stood and came around his desk, leaning against it, directly in front of me, his eyes intense and focused on me, his half-eye glasses in his hand.
"So tell me why you needed to get away from it all. Does this involve Drake in some way?"
I nodded and my throat closed up a bit as emotion filled me. I covered my mouth for a moment, unable to speak.
"Now, you see, I thought things were going well for you two," he said, shaking his head. "You seemed really intense at the concert. What happened? Lover's quarrel?"
"Something like that," I said, getting hold of myself, surprised that my father thought we were lovers.
"Tell your old man what happened. I know Drake is a very eligible bachelor, but you're a very lovely young woman, accomplished and intelligent. Did he want to move the relationship forward too fast? Is he getting too serious?"
"No, Daddy, nothing like that. It's just we're not really compatible, I guess."
He frowned. "Here I thought the two of you were so well-matched."
"Why did you think that?"
He shrugged, pursed his lips. "You're both attractive, intelligent, civic-minded. You both love music. You both share Africa."
"He's a Republican," I said, trying to come up with some reason.
He laughed. "I know, and you don't know how surprised I was to find out. His old man was a flaming socialist, but I guess kids have a tendency to go the opposite way from their parents. You know, in rebellion..." He shook his head, smiling. "What an idealistic fool Liam was, but I loved the crazy bastard anyway. He was a heroic sonofabitch. I don't know how many of us he saved." He shrugged, his hands clasped. "So you're not on the same political page. Liam and I were best friends over in 'Nam. Stranger things have happened before between political opposites. In fact, sometimes, they make the best matches. Opposites attract, you know. Yin/yang…"
Yin/Yang? The Drill Sergeant talking Tao? My father had never talked to me like this. I never heard him describe me before.
"Yin/Yang?" I said, wanting to probe him a bit, since he seemed so talkative.
"Yes, you know. Light/dark. Positive/negative. Active/passive. Male/female. It's what makes the world go round," he said, winking at me.
"Daddy, I've never heard you talk like this. Is this Elaine's influence on you?"
"Good Lord, no. I'm not a spring chicken, Katherine. I've been around the block a few times. Why, once upon a time, I too was a young man out pitching woo." He grinned.
"Pitching woo," I said and smiled. I exhaled, my cheeks a bit heated at what he'd said. "Things just can't work out between us."
"I thought you two were so right for each other," he said. "That's why I invited him to the concert. Why, I've been told by women who know about these things that he's very attractive." He wagged his eyebrows at me and smiled. "I could tell he was attracted to you at the dinner party, the way he kept following you around like a dog after a bone. When we were at the health club, he raved to me about your writing, especially your piece on Africa. You know how important Africa is to him. I thought he might bring you out of your shell. Lighten you up a bit. You've been a bit reclusive since your mother passed and since that business after Africa..."
That business after Africa. My father couldn't admit that I developed clinical depression.
"Kurt was obviously a jerk, but I though Drake was more your type. Strong. Confident. Competent."
"You were matchmaking for me, Daddy?"
He smiled. "Someone's gotta do it. You don't seem all that good on your own. I wanted you and Drake to meet for quite some time, but you've been so reclusive and Dawn isn't much better. Didn't she join a nunnery or something?"
I laughed, in spite of my sadness. "No," I said, smiling just a bit. "She volunteered in India with Mother Theresa's charity. She's trying to set me up, too."
"The Greg fellow? He was a bust."
"Daddy! He was a nice young man. He just finished his MFA…"
"Extremely milquetoast, if I recall…" my father said, shaking his head. "Not your type."
I frowned and examined him closely. "What is my type?"
He picked up his glass of scotch and took a sip. "Someone like Drake Morgan, I'd say. Or at least I thought so, which is why I encouraged it."
Someone like Drake Morgan…
I sat there, frowning to myself, surprised at this turn of events.
"And what is Drake Morgan like?"
"He's very intelligent, capable, strong, confident, professional. He's a man's man, but he knows how to treat a woman, I'd say, judging by the attention he gave you at the dinner party and the concert. I know him very well, Katherine, and I thought he was just about perfect for you." He shrugged. "But I guess if you don’t like him, I was wrong. Usually, I'm a very good judge of character. I pride myself on it, given I have to judge people all the time."
"I do like him, Daddy. It's just not going to work out."
"Shame." He drank the rest of his scotch down. "Why don't you get your old man a refill and get yourself something to drink? The sun's over the yardarm. There's a girl."
He handed me his empty glass and I nodded, returning
to the living room and the bar. As I refilled his scotch, I felt such conflicting emotions. My father actually thought about the kind of man I needed…
He thought Drake was that kind of man.
After a casual dinner with Elaine, we three sat in the den and listened to music, something way too abstract for me, modern classical, chatting about nothing in particular. I forced myself to stay with them as long as possible, the sadness building inside of me. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and faked a yawn and stood, ready for escape.
"I'm going to bed early. I've had a busy day and I've got lots of work on my plate tomorrow."
"Good night sweetheart," my father said when I leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "Sweet dreams. I'm sure things will all work out with Drake."
"I don't think so, Daddy."
"Well, these things have a way of working out for the best eventually."
I went to my room, a sickness in my gut that this was not going to work out between Drake and me the way my father thought. I was tempted to check my mail to see if Drake had written or texted me, but I fought the urge. After washing my face and brushing my teeth in my old bathroom off my bedroom, I crept onto the huge four-poster bed and under the quilt. I lay in the darkness, thinking about Drake. He was strong, competent, professional. He did know how to treat a woman. Make her feel as if she was the center of his attention.
I tossed and turned for quite a while, wondering if I'd ever see him again, finally dissolving into tears at the thought I might not.
I skipped classes the next morning, deciding to work on my paper instead. I tried to work at my father's apartment, but had left an important file at my apartment, so after lunch, I said goodbye to my father as he sat in his study, on the phone. I went to my front door and of course, someone had propped open the door. I kicked the cardboard out that was used to prop the door open and went up the stairs. Inside, I found my files and put them in my backpack. A light flashed on my answering machine on the landline, and I checked the record of callers. Drake showed up several times as did Dawn's number.
Finally, I took out my cell and sat on the couch, checking my email and texts.
There were several from Drake.
Kate, please call me.
Kate, what happened? You were fine when I left you…
Will you at least answer my texts so I know you're OK?
The last one was from just a few moments earlier.
Kate, I'm coming over to talk to you. Please give me the chance to make it right…
If he came over, if I got within arm's reach of him, I knew I’d cave and if Dawn caught wind of me still seeing him, she'd get him in trouble. I grabbed my coat and backpack and left the apartment, rushing down the stairs to the back alley. I slipped along the streets, and then doubled back, going to my favorite deli across from my apartment building, entering from the back door on the alley. I went to a small table in the bay window so I could watch in case Drake arrived. I sat with my cup of tea and kept an eye on the street.
Sure enough, in about ten minutes, Drake's sleek black car drove up. He double-parked and then he left the car and ran up to my building's front door. He was wearing his scrubs and lab coat, a little blue scrub cap still on his head. He stood at the door and jiggled it, but couldn’t get inside. There was no buzzer system so he was out of luck. As I watched, he took out his cell, tapped on the screen and then held it up to his ear.
Seconds later, my cell buzzed. I checked it and the call display read Drake Morgan, MD.
I refused the call, sending him to my voicemail.
My heart sped up to see him, and I felt a real pang of guilt and sadness at what happened but I couldn’t see any way out of it. I had to just end it. I was mortified that I was so careless with the agreement that Dawn found it.
He sat on the steps and just redialed. Again and again. As I watched out the window, he typed on his cell.
At least tell me why you don't want to be with me. What was it? Did the contract scare you? Don't be afraid, Kate. You can strike off anything that you don't want to do. I just included those things that I know probably upset you so you'd have something to cross off. I don't need to do them. I don’t need to do anything that you don’t want to do. I want to be with you.
Please, give this time.
My heart actually hurt as I read his text, like a knife in my chest and my throat choked up. At that moment, I hated Dawn so much…
Drake, I'm doing this for you. To protect you. I can't say anything more but you have to stop trying to see me. You have to just stop for your own good. I can't say more….
I'm sorry…
Then I shut off my phone and watched him. He persisted for a while but then stopped, going to his car and driving off. I bit my lip to stop my tears.
I just lay around my apartment all afternoon, spending time there after Drake left, lying on the couch watching stupid soap operas. Finally, before supper, I walked back to my father's apartment. I went right to my bedroom and closed the door, sad that I was not going to be with Drake. I sat on the bed and just wiped my face as tears flowed, unable to stop them now that I was back at my father's apartment. After a few moments, I heard a knock at my door.
"Sweetheart? Can I come in."
"No," I said, my voice breaking.
"How come? You sound like you need to talk."
"I need to be alone."
The door opened and he came in anyway, sitting next to me on the bed. He put his arm around me and squeezed me, and that only made me cry even harder.
"There, there, doll," he said, grabbing a tissue off my night table. "This Drake misunderstanding has really upset you."
"It's not a misunderstanding. It's just not going to work out."
He just sat with me for a moment as I finally got hold of myself.
"Look, you have some time off next week. I was thinking you should come down to the Bahamas with us for the weekend. Get away from it all. Sun, sand, white beaches, lots of tropical drinks. You've been working like a dog for years, Kate. Some R&R would be good for you. What do you think?"
"When would you want to go?"
"Next Wednesday over the Thanksgiving weekend. Will you be able to sneak away?"
I thought about it. I did have some time off and really, the idea of getting away from everything appealed to me.
I nodded. "I just have to hand in an article to the student newspaper."
"Good. We'll get a ticket for you. We'll get a couple of suites at the British Colonial Hilton in Nassau, on Paradise Island so there's more than enough room. We can do some snorkeling, scuba diving, or nothing at all. Whatever you want."
I smiled and leaned against him, surprised that he was being so attentive and thoughtful.
The following week went faster than I imagined. I ignored and deleted all of Drake's and Dawn's texts and emails unread. To my surprise, Drake didn't show up at my doorstep and I was sad but relieved. At least I wouldn't have to deal with him.
He must have finally given up.
Each night I tossed and turned in my bed at my father's house, remembering everything that happened between Drake and me before falling into a fitful sleep. Each day I went through the motions of my life, rushing through things in the hope that one more day would be over and I could go back to sleep – a dangerous state I'd been in after my trip to Africa. I recognized the symptoms of depression and couldn't wait for a change of scenery. I figured going to the Bahamas would provide me an escape from the reminders of what almost, but didn't quite, happen between Drake and me.
I spent an all-nighter getting an article finished for Geist on Tuesday. I packed a small bag with summer clothes from storage, sundresses, sandals and a bikini and bought some sunscreen and sunglasses at the local drugstore.
The Wednesday evening flight took us right to the Bahamas and a limo drove us to beautiful resort on the water. The British Colonial Hilton looked like a huge plantation with white sand beaches and palm trees. We arrived late that ni
ght and went right to our rooms, which were adjoining, each suite a one bedroom with separate living areas.
I was exhausted. Maybe just the thought that I was away from everything, my article written, with no work ahead of me for four glorious days, made me collapse into bed. I fell asleep in minutes, the bedside lamp still on.
I slept late and my father didn't wake me as he usually would have for an early morning walk on the beach. Instead, there was a note from him slipped under my door. They let me sleep in, not wanting to wake me on the first day of my very short vacation.
Katherine,
Take your time this morning and just rest. Go for a walk on the beach. We've already had breakfast and have gone for a boat ride. Meet us at the restaurant at noon for lunch. Then, we'll go scuba diving in the afternoon. We have lessons booked. Tonight, we'll have a nice Thanksgiving Dinner. The hotel puts on a great spread for American guests.
Love, Dad and Elaine
It was 11:00. I got up and went to the window to look out over the ocean. The weather was perfect, the sky clear, the water azure, the sand white. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and people took their places on the beach.
After a shower, I put on my white bikini and favorite piece of clothing for summer – a little white eyelet sundress with thin straps. I was white as a ghost, my fair skin guaranteed to burn unless I slathered on copious amounts of sunscreen, which I did. Before I met with my father and Elaine, I slipped out the front door to the beach and took off my sundress, holding it as I walked along, hoping to soak up a few rays of sun, avoiding the tourists, ankle-deep in the surf. I kept my face in the sun to get some color. I intended to only be out on the beach for ten minutes, but I got busy wading along, holding my sundress up, my legs in the cool water. It was so quiet and peaceful, I just walked and walked, stopping now and then to pick up a stray shell or examine a piece of driftwood that washed up on the shore.
