by Hunter, Lara
I threw the phone down hard on the floor, turned over, closed my eyes and went to sleep.
~
Chapter Seven
~
Oliver
How can a man go from paradise to hell in a few short days?
This is the question that I, Oliver Clark, seriously pondered as I lay between the soft silk sheets of my elegant four-poster bed.
Even this luxurious sleeping space provided little comfort to my tired, tortured mind and, or so I suspected, nor were the words of the gentle, sweet woman I so dearly loved.
I had repeatedly ignored Lily’s repeated attempts to call me over the past few days and while I felt awful about ignoring and neglecting her, I simply can’t bring myself to talk to anyone—not even her. Not even the woman I was pretty sure I could never live without—the one person who I felt truly understood me and loved me for who I was
It was just a few days ago that I was sharing a dream of a vacation with my lady then, through the force of one phone call, the dream morphed into a nightmare. This was the call that no one wants to receive; the type of message that we all dread.
My secretary Leslie had called to tell me that my father, Harry Clark, had been in a terrible car accident in downtown Bennington. He was in the hospital, and things didn’t look good.
At first I stood at the hotel desk, quiet and still as I struggled to process this shocking, disturbing news; my knees threatening to give way as I pondered the unthinkable. Then I hung up the phone and sprang into action, though I wasn’t sure just what that action could or should be.
The next few moments passed in a fast, frenzied haze as I rushed to my room, packed my bags and called the airport to schedule a flight home before racing downstairs to ask that the desk clerk summon a cab for my immediate departure—all the while scribbling out a quick note to leave for Lily.
Although I knew that I should take just a moment to run out to the beach and say goodbye, somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to do so—I simply couldn’t verbalize the shock and pain that numbed and stung me from head to toe. All I could focus on was getting home, and getting to my dad.
“He’s going to be OK,” I kept repeating to myself, clutching my suitcase with bare white knuckles as I hurried into the cab that couldn’t arrive quickly enough.
I kept repeating this mantra numerous times en route to the airport as well as throughout the seemingly slow flight that followed.
Les, true to his nature and character, was just being overly dramatic. Dad was the strongest person I ever knew; he was a sturdy and stable force of nature that just couldn’t be defeated. I just knew he’d bounce back from this. I was sure that the moment I arrived at Bennington General Hospital, he would sit up in his bed, chide me for being a worry wort, and order me to get back to work. We’d end up laughing about all the drama and sharing a light but tender hug. Then the nightmare would come to a close, with both of us going back to work—and life.
Yet the moment that I actually arrived at the hospital where I was born, the moment that I saw the face of the woman who was introduced to me as my father’s attending physician, I came to finally grasp and understand the gravity of the situation.
“Mr. Clark, I’m so sorry,” The attractive, thirty-something blonde woman took my hands in hers, piercing me with an empathetic stare. “Your father was in a three car accident that took place around 8:30 this morning, about a block away from Clark Industries. The driver in an oncoming car failed to stop for a red light, and your father’s car was hit head on; he was immediately knocked unconscious and suffered severe body trauma.”
I stared at her a moment, shaking my head from side to side as I considered these shocking, unbelievable words.
“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” I muttered finally, making a broad gesture in the direction of the room where my father lie incapacitated. “I mean, people have car accidents all the time and I assure you, we have all the money in the world to ensure that he gets the very best care here. I’m sure you can make him all better and mend him up in no time, right?” Suddenly feeling much like a child on the verge of a crying tantrum, I planted my hands on the doctor’s shoulders and pressed with a trembling voice, “My father will be OK, Doc. Won’t he?”
The doctor sighed.
“I wish I could say yes to your questions, but I’m afraid I just can’t. His injuries were just too severe. I’m afraid he doesn’t have long, Mr. Clark,” she told me. “He is currently in a critical condition and has been floating in and out of consciousness. If you would like to talk to him…”
But I was already on the run again, racing forward into my father’s hospital room and landing at his side.
I stopped stock still before his bed, telling myself that the bruised, weakened man lying between those sheets was the same man I had loved and respected all these years.
“Dad,” I moaned, trembling outright as the truth finally hit home. “No.”
My father was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. All of our money, all of our power could do nothing to save Harry Clark. My father, my mentor, my conscious, my moral compass, my sometimes friend.
Kneeling at the side of his bed, I shut my eyes tight and ducked my head, choking back my tears as I suddenly felt very tired and, for the first time in my life, absolutely helpless.
“You know Dad,” I sputtered out, keeping my eyes closed tight as I continued, “For the past few months I made a promise to myself, to keep more promises to you. I know that, for so long, I was the bratty, rebellious kid who lived off of your riches and constantly disobeyed you. I partied hard and worked as little as possible—I dishonored you as well as Mom’s memory.” I paused here, tears now flowing free down my face as I continued, “I swore just recently that I would spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. I had all the time in the world, right? You’re only 55. And after Mom left us, all we had was each other. Even now that I have Lily, I still need you here, with you, to guide me and show me the right way. Oh my God Dad, this can’t be happening…”
I fell silent as suddenly a warm, comforting hand touched my hair; ruffling and stroking its lengthy strands as I continued to cry.
I hadn’t felt this touch since I was a boy; still I knew it by heart.
Raising my head, I smiled as I stared into my father’s eyes; eyes newly opened as they regarded me with a warm, affectionate stare.
“Hi Olli,” he rasped out, gracing me with a heartbreaking smile.
Immediately I grabbed my father’s hand, bringing it to my trembling lips for a sweet, warm kiss.
“Hi Dad,” I whispered. “Now don’t you worry. I know you’ll pull through this. If anybody can do it…”
“Olli, you know I was never one to tolerate BS,” he snapped, all the while squeezing my fingers with his. “We both know that my time here is limited—my clock is ticking low and there’s no way I can avoid that.”
I shook my head.
“Oh Papa,” I sobbed out, calling him a name he hadn’t heard from me since the time of my childhood. “What can I do to make you more comfortable, to make this easier for you? I swear I’ll do anything you ask…”
“I heard what you were saying earlier, Oliver,” Harry interrupted me, squeezing my fingers between his. “And please know this. I’ve always loved you. And I’ve always respected you as a fine young man—one who maybe just needed to work on himself a little. And in the past months, you’ve come so far—both at work and personally. So all I need you to do, Son, is keep it up. Do Clark Industries proud. Do Lily, that treasure among women, proud. Do your mother proud and take comfort in the knowledge that I’m about to be reunited with the love of my life. I can’t wait to see my Irene—we’ll be watching over you, Olli, so make us proud.” He paused here, adding on a sharp gasp, “Do me proud, Son.”
My eyes flew wide as his eyes drifted shut and with a long, last breath, he was gone.
So that was it. And a mere three hours later, I was home alone in bed;
exhausted and miserable.
I knew that I had a funeral to plan. Family members to contact and comfort. A relationship to repair.
For now, though, I just wanted to lay here and feel sorry for myself. I’d lost my papa and right now, nothing else mattered one bit. Right now, at least, it was really all I could do just to hang on and survive.
~
Chapter Eight
~
Lily
As the first rays of a Florida morning broke free through the panes of a nearby window, I reluctantly took leave of my luxurious hotel room and made a very reluctant trip back home—or, more accurately, the crime scene that I used to call home.
Sure, I now had new locks and a security system to give me peace of mind. Yet as I looked around at a living space that was now cluttered, disorganized and in a state of frightening disarray, I wondered if I would ever feel secure or in any way comfortable here, ever again—if I would ever sleep sound through the night in the sheets of my own bed, or if I always would sleep with one eye open. I wondered if every noise, bump or thump I heard here would strike terror in my heart; making it impossible to watch TV, enjoy one of my favorite movies, or host a visit from friends and family members. Would I ever feel at home again, between the walls of my own place? Or would the residence that I knew and loved feel more like a prison?
Perhaps, I decided with a sigh, it was time for me to move—but where? Oliver and I had talked about moving in together from time to time but in the wake of his recent behavior, I wasn’t sure if the offer still stood—or, for that matter, if I would accept it. I wasn’t sure that cohabitation—or, even, for that matter, a meaningful, lasting relationship—was still on the cards for us.
And it also might not be the best idea to share an apartment with my good buddy Kirk Taylor; a friend who had become just a bit too friendly on the occasion of our last visit. Oh, he had in no way tried to hurt or assault me—he just misread the situation and made a mistake. I was sure our friendship could survive the situation; right now though, we needed a break.
Sure I could find another place, one I could call my own; yet this process would take a great deal in the way of time and consideration—neither of which I had a lot of at this particular moment.
Today, it turned out, marked the last day of my official ‘vacation’ and although I felt anything but relaxed and revitalized, I nevertheless had to go back to work. And before I went back to work, I had to go home and get the clothes, the briefcase, the bare necessities I needed to do my job properly. I had to regroup and get my head together and carry on with things as I best as I could under the circumstances.
For although this foreign, besoiled place was the last I wanted to visit, I just had to go on with my life—and, for that matter, my work. I figured that if I buried myself in my duties and responsibilities—doing work that I enjoyed and felt confident in performing—that it would take my mind off of my mess of a personal life at least for a while, long enough to clear my head and stabilize my scattered, fractured nerves. Lily the career woman was always far more balanced and together than Lily the single gal, anyway and if anything, right now I really needed to stick to what I knew best.
And in order to make my first day back at Clark Industries a productive and successful one, I had to at least dress for success; pulling a clean, fresh pressed blue velvet business suit from the far corner of my bedroom closet and donning it to full effect—also throwing on a pearl necklace and professional-looking pumps, to complete this effect.
Finally I faced the full-length mirror that told the truth of the tale; showing me a grim, rather weary woman who was nonetheless strong, bright, and more than ready to face a new day.
In my mind I mulled over the many projects and accounts that I had awaiting me at work; determining exactly what tasks needed to be done before the day was out. I had so many phone calls to make, reports to write, and memos to pen but that was fine, that was my job. I knew just what to do, and when, where and how to do it. And I was pretty confident that I could do it well.
What I wasn’t so sure of, however, was what I would say to Kirk Taylor when I saw him today at work. My feelings toward him were so conflicted at this point, and I was sure he felt the same and while I was sorry that I had to walk away from a man who had opened his home and life to me when I needed him most, I still felt that he had crossed a line the evening before and frankly, I just wasn’t sure what I would say when I came face to face with him at work today.
Oliver Clark, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him; the questions that I would ask when I saw him at the office this morning. Why had he left me? Where had he gone? How could he do this to me?
So yes, I knew precisely just what I would say when I—finally—came face to face with the man who had abandoned me. And I knew furthermore that I had to be strong and make my feelings known; to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be trifled with, cast aside or avoided.
Only I had no idea what he would say to me in response. Would he cut me off with a cold, hard rejection, or would he make lame excuses while all the while assuring me that I was the one for him—that he just needed a little time to think things through, sort things out, make a little space in his life? Or would he just come clean and admit to me that he had fallen in love with another woman; or that, at the very least, he’d fallen out of my love with me?
As I cleared the front door of the house that didn’t feel like a home, en route to the car that would take me to a workplace that itself felt like a site of confusion and uncertainty, I took pause to ponder just what the hell had happened to my life. In just a few days I’d gone from being a happy and successful woman in love, to a walking mass of worry, uncertainty, and worst of all, fear. Fear for my future. Fear for my love. Fear for my very safety.
Indeed; although I still had no idea as to who had violated my private living space, morphing my basic but comfortable home into a place of nightmares, I knew all too well the identity of the person who had broken my heart.
And today, I determined with a resolute nod, this man would give me the answers I deserved.
~
Chapter Nine
~
Lily
An hour later I found myself standing in my office at Clark Industries and, I was sad to note, even my workplace seemed gravely transformed since the occasion of my last work day.
Oh, Trisha Vance’s office was still a crisp, professional berg of polished cherry wood furniture, high tech computer machinery and polished stainless steel filing cabinets. As per usual, Trisha herself looked resplendent with her smooth lavender business dress, her manicured fingers, the silvery upsweep of her perfectly coiffed hair, her greyish blue eyes that shone with keen intellect, the graceful strength of her tall, sturdy figure.
Yet today her impressive features came marred with a look of grave concern and her office—along with the halls that surrounded it—resounded with an aura of eerie quiet that sent chills down my spine.
“Trisha?” I arched my eyebrows, stepping into the office with slow, cautious steps. “Is everything OK around here? Things just seem…”
I took in my breath as a somber Trisha caught me up in two maternal arms.
“Lily, Kirk told me what happened to you—I’m so sorry and have been so, so worried about you. What a horrid thing to happen to such a kind, sweet woman—who would want to do this to you?” she uttered, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me what I could do.”
I bit my lip.
“Thank you so much for your concern Trisha but I have new locks and a security system now and the police have assured me they’re doing everything possible to find my intruder. Please don’t worry about me.” Giving my concerned employer a brief squeeze, I stepped away from her as I asked, “Trisha, seeing as to how he is my boyfriend and everything, I feel most embarrassed about asking this question. But do you know where Oliver is? Has he even been in to work the past few days?�
�
Trisha nodded.
“He has come to work,” she affirmed. “And it’s a wonder that he has, with all of the terrible things that have happened to the poor man these past few days. It’s just hard to tell how he’s dealing with it all, given the fact that he won’t speak much to any of us…”
“What? Trisha, what are you talking about?” I interrupted, my blood running cold as I heard these words. “What happened to Oliver?”
Trisha gaped.
“He didn’t tell you? You, of all people?” she queried, adding quickly, “Well Dear, I wouldn’t take it personally. We all have different ways of dealing with tragedy and some people inadvertently push away those who are closest to them…”
