Table 10: Part 3: A Novella Series

by Jiffy Kate

  “Kadi will have to tell you that. All I know is she needed some time off.”

  I sigh, knowing I probably should be grateful for the information she’s given me and not push my luck.

  “Thank you, LuAnne.”

  She smiles, standing up straight and smoothing her hair back. I notice a tinge of pink on her cheeks as she clears her throat. “I really said too much. None of that is my business, but Kadi’s my girl and I only want the best for her.”

  “Thank you, really.” I’m still not happy she’s gone, but it’s a relief to know her absence has nothing to do with me.

  “You’re welcome. But could we keep all of that between us and the wall?”

  “Sure.”

  “You need anything else?”

  “No.”

  I do. I need Kadi. But talking to LuAnne, or listening to LuAnne, I guess I should say, has been more than helpful.

  It’s given me hope.

  Hope that maybe there’s still a chance for me and Kadi.

  After leaving LuAnne a nice tip beside my half-full coffee cup, I slip out of the diner and down the sidewalk, pulling out my phone as I walk.

  My fingers can’t dial Kadi’s number fast enough. Before today, I thought calling her was futile, but now I can’t stop myself. I need to know she’s okay, and since I can’t see her, hearing her voice is the next best thing.

  The phone rings half a dozen times or more before an automated message picks up, telling me the person I’m trying to call doesn’t have a voicemail set up. Of course, she doesn’t. This is Kadi we’re talking about. She didn’t even have a phone until I gave her the one I’m currently calling.

  What if she left it at her apartment?

  What if she threw it away after she left me at the hotel?

  With a frustrated groan, I think about throwing my own phone, but quickly get a grip and shove it back into the pocket of my suit.

  “Don’t make me drive all over the state of Texas to find you, Kadance Davis, because I will.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” the doorman at my building asks, holding the door open for me.

  “Nothing, George. Just talking to myself.”

  He smiles, chucking. “I do that all the time.”

  I pat him on his shoulder as I pass by. “It’s a sign of genius. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different.”

  Chapter 5

  Kadi

  “You’ve been sittin’ in that chair since you got here yesterday,” my dad says, leaning against the doorway of the bedroom.

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you think you should sleep or take a break or something? Take it from someone who knows. Too much time cooped up in this room and you’ll start to feel like you’re dyin’ too.”

  I look up at him and take inventory again—pronounced wrinkles, extra grey in his hair—and I wonder how much of it has happened in the last four months.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him, turning back to the bed where my mother has been lying lifeless. Last night, she moved her arm a few times, like she was agitated, but never opened her eyes. And early this morning, she moaned. I thought she might be in pain, but she stopped after a few seconds. She also looks old, so so old. The last time I saw her, she still had the same color hair as me and her skin was smooth and bright with life.

  One of the things I remember most about my mother were her eyes. They were always kind, even when her actions and words weren’t. I don’t know what they look like now, but I’d like to see them one last time, even if it’s only for my memory’s sake.

  “I have something I want to talk to you about,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks back down the hallway.

  With a look over at my mother, I stand up out of the chair and stretch my body, twisting to get myself moving. I really have been sitting for a long time. I’m not used to that. I’m used to going all the time, day and night. Usually, the only time I get to sit is when I’m at my apartment for the night and, occasionally, when LuAnne and I sit down for a late lunch. Most of my other meals are eaten while I’m standing up.

  That’s something that always used to bother Nathan. He would ask me if I ever sat down for a meal. I’m convinced that’s why he started making it a point to take me out to dinners.

  I miss Nathan.

  Possibly more now than I did a day ago.

  Something about being here—in the home I grew up in and the town I grew up in, with the mother who left me and the father who didn’t know what to do with his life after she was gone—it makes me miss him more.

  I miss the feeling of being with him. I even miss him bossing me around. I miss him worrying over whether I’ve eaten dinner or not. I miss him making me bacon. I miss the way his arms felt when he was holding me.

  At night, especially, I miss the familiar thrum of his heart beating while he slept. I used to lay awake and listen to it for hours. It was the one time where I could look at him and not have him question me. I didn’t need a reason. I could just soak him in, along with his strength and confidence and goodness. It was heady. He was like a drug, not a bad one, but one that made me feel better.

  “Have a seat,” my dad says, looking up at me from his spot at the kitchen table.

  I slide into the chair I always sat at when we would eat dinner together.

  Reaching over, he grabs a shoebox from the counter and places it between us on the table.

  “Your mother,” he begins, but pauses. “She loves you. I know that’s hard for you to believe. But she does.”

  I don’t react. I only stare at him, wondering where this is going.

  Clearing his throat, he continues. “She didn’t want to have kids. She went through some bad stuff when she was younger and she always said she didn’t want to bring a child into this world. When we got pregnant with you, I thought she’d change her mind.” He goes silent for a moment and I watch as he flips through his memories, deciding which ones to share with me. “She held it together for a while, but I knew she was still afraid. Always worried she was going to mess it up, fail you.”

  I almost laugh at that, but I manage to keep it tucked away.

  “And she did,” he continues, his eyes glued to the wall in front of him. “She did, but she did it on her own terms.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. I feel like I should say something, but there’s nothing I can say about that. He knows how I feel. There’s no sense digging up bones.

  “I always thought she’d realize what she’d left behind and come back,” he admits.

  I’ve always known he felt that way.

  “But she didn’t,” I finish for him.

  “No, she didn’t. And I can’t make up excuses for her. But I just want you to know she loves you, in her own way.”

  I nod my head. In her own way. Not a real mother’s way, but in her way. I get that. I think.

  “And she has this,” he says, taking out an old envelope. “It’s a life insurance policy. It’s not much, but once she’s gone, it’ll be yours.”

  “What?”

  The words don’t compute.

  “A life insurance policy. I think it’s fifty thousand. Not much. But I figured you could at least finish that school you started or whatever you want to do with it—buy a house, start a life.” He slides the envelope over to me. “It’s yours. She bought it years ago.”

  I look down at the envelope and try to reconcile his words. My mother has never done anything for me, besides give me life. So, the fact that she would do something like this doesn’t make sense.

  “She loves you.”

  His chair scraping against the kitchen floor makes me look up. His demeanor seems a little lighter than it did when I sat down. I think he’s needed to tell me this for a while.

  “Get some fresh air. I’ll sit with her for a while.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been doing this by yourself,” I tell his retreating form. “And I’m not just talking about taking care of her. I mean, everything.”

 
“I know I wasn’t a good replacement for a mother. Heck, I wasn’t a good father, but I did the best I could.”

  “I know.”

  On my way out, I shove the envelope into my bag sitting by the front door and I see the other envelope that’s been in there since I left Dallas—two things I’m going to have to acknowledge and decide what to do with.

  For now, I just need some fresh Texas air to clear my head.

  Table 10

  One day turns into two, and two into three, and my mother seems to remain the same—incoherent and unresponsive. However, according to the hospice nurse, her vitals are slowly declining. I know she’s right. I’ve been sitting here long enough that I notice the slight changes. I hear it in her rattled breathing. It’s shallow and nearly non-existent.

  I’m glad I’m here, if for nothing else than to be here for my dad. I’d hate for him to go through this alone. I hate that he’s been going through it alone for the last four months. I’ve seen a tiny bit of improvement in him in the few days I’ve been here. He seems more at peace, at least.

  We switch off sitting with her, and sometimes, we sit in here together. It’s weird for the three of us to be in the same room. We haven’t been together in so long. Neither my dad or I say much, but the company is still nice.

  Table 10

  It’s a little past midnight and I should be sleeping, or at least trying to, but I can’t. Sleep has eluded me most time I’ve been here. I think I’ve managed a few hours at a time and that’s been during the day, curled up in the chair on the front porch.

  My thoughts, when not on my dying mother or my grieving father, are on Nathan. I’ve considered opening the package from him, but something always stops me. It might sound strange, but having that with me is like having a piece of him here. As long as its contents are a mystery, I have that to think about when everything else gets too depressing.

  But I do wish I could talk to him. I was almost desperate enough last night, remembering the phone he bought me was still in the bottom of my bag. However, when I pulled it out, it wasn’t charged. By the time I located the charger and plugged it in, my desperation and courage had faded. The voice in my head that says “it wasn’t real” took over and I left the phone charging on the kitchen counter. I haven’t looked at it since.

  “Kadance.” A voice similar to my mother’s, but raspy and gravelly, startles me out of my thoughts. My heart races as I look over at the bed, where my mother is still lying—eyes closed, propped up, no change in position.

  “Mom?” I ask. I’m not sure if I’m hoping for a response or that I was hearing things, but I grab her hand and wait.

  Her tongue darts out to wet her parched lips and I remember what the hospice nurse said about using a wet cloth to give her some moisture if she asks for it. I grab a clean cloth and dip it in the cup of water by the bed.

  Reaching over, I dab the wet cloth to her lips and she lets out a soft, quiet, but barely audible moan.

  “Mom?” I ask again, placing the washcloth back on the bedside table and taking her hand in mine.

  Maybe I’m dreaming all of this up. Perhaps the lack of sleep has caught up with me and I’m hallucinating, but I’m certain I feel her squeeze my hand. So, I sit there, holding her hand and watching her intently, counting the seconds between each rise and fall of her chest.

  When the seconds increase with each passing breath, I panic and yell for my dad.

  I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be the only person who witnesses her last breath. I’ve never felt like I need my dad more than I do in this moment.

  “Dad!” I yell again even though I hear his footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway, but I need him to hurry.

  He steps into the room and walks to the bed, placing two fingers on her wrist as he counts the seconds on his watch.

  I’m not sure how much time passes. It feels like an eternity, but it couldn’t have been, because my dad eventually looks up at the clock on the wall of the tiny bedroom and says, “1:14.”

  She’s gone.

  We both stay frozen in place for a while. Him holding her wrist in his hand and me holding her other hand in mine.

  She’s been gone for a long time, for both of us. But now, she’s never coming back.

  My dad eventually clears his throat and wipes his eyes. “I’ve gotta go call hospice.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask him, suddenly feeling very useless. I came here to see her and now she’s gone and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

  “Can you pick her out a dress?” he asks, pausing at the door, but never turning to face me. “She’s being cremated, but I think she’d like to be in a dress when she goes to the funeral home.”

  “Okay.” That’s the first I’ve heard of her being cremated. We haven’t talked much about her last wishes. I guess having a funeral would be a little strange, seeing that she’s been away from this town for ten years and most of her family is either dead or gone.

  “Her suitcase is in the closet. You should find something in there.”

  “Okay.” It seems to be the only word I’m good at right now.

  After he walks away, I finally let go of her hand and place it on her chest. She still looks the same. The only difference is that the room is completely silent—no ragged breathing—except for the tick of the clock on the wall and my dad in the background, talking quietly on the phone.

  Needing to do something besides stand there, I finally walk to the closet and open the doors. Inside is her small suitcase and my cap and gown from my high school graduation. Other than that, the closet is completely empty.

  It’s strange that the only two things in here are what I left behind and what she brought back with her. Now the pain in my chest isn’t for me or for my mother, it’s for him—my dad. For a moment, I stand there, wondering what he must feel like when the two people he loves are always leaving.

  And that makes me think of Nathan. I don’t know if he loves me, but I wonder if it hurt him when I left. It hurt me.

  My mind refuses to let me ignore the similarities between me and my mother. But I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to walk away from the things that scare me. I’m braver than that… braver than her.

  Opening the suitcase, I find a blue, flowered dress folded on top and it reminds me of one she wore when I was little, so I don’t dig any further. I take it out and zip the suitcase back up and set it back in the closet.

  Chapter 6

  Nathan

  “Your meeting with Flanders Corp is in five in the main conference room,” Nancy informs me over the intercom.

  “Thank you.”

  I’ve been waiting for this meeting with Flanders for a few months now. They have something I want. A building, actually an entire block of buildings. I’m hoping the negotiations will be quick and easy. I know Mr. Flanders has no interest in the property. He hasn’t invested money in it in over five years. But once people realize you want something they have, it seems to gain value overnight.

  The downside to meetings with Mr. Flanders is that he often brings his daughter along, hoping to teach her the ropes. That daughter would be none other than Samantha Flanders—ex-girlfriend, relationship sabotager, and all-around ruiner of my life.

  I haven’t seen her since the night of my charity gala, thankfully. Being in the same room with her today might be a challenge. No, it will be a challenge. I’ve already given myself a pep talk and reminder of how important this business deal is. No matter how badly I’d like to throttle her for what she said to Kadi that night, I can’t let my cool slip. I have to keep my professional facade firmly in check.

  As I walk down the hall toward the conference room, I hear Samantha’s high-pitched laughter coming from the open door.

  I was hoping she wouldn’t be along for the ride today, but apparently, I’m not that lucky.

  Straightening my tie and smoothing down my suit jacket, I put on my deal-closing smile and walk into the room.


  “Nathan,” Samantha says, standing from her chair beside her father. “So good to see you.”

  She walks over and meets me halfway, leaning in for a kiss to one cheek and then the other.

  “Samantha,” I say tightly, quickly moving from her to her father, who offers me his hand, much more my style.

  “Mr. Flanders.”

  “Nathan, good to see you. I’m guessing your father is out of town today.”

  “Yes, sir. It’ll just be the three of us.”

  “We should do this over drinks,” Samantha interjects, her face beaming and hopeful. “It would be better than a stuffy conference room. I’ve heard there’s a great little spot just a few blocks away.”

  “I’m on a tight schedule today, which is why I asked for the meeting to be here,” I tell her, still trying to hold the smile in place, but it’s becoming painful. She’s in my conference room and I call the shots.

  I see the change in Samantha’s demeanor—the raise of her eyebrow, followed by the squaring of her shoulders, and then a tilt of her head. She hates being told no, in any form or fashion. The two of us have always had that one thing in common, which is probably why our joke of a relationship lasted as long as it did. Neither of us wanted to throw in the white flag. I always knew it would be a fight. She already had someone else on the side when I finally ended things, and she knew I knew. Surprisingly, it ended quite amicably. We’ve managed to remain friends, at least in a business sense.

  Until the gala.

  Until she planted fear and mistrust in Kadi.

  Now, all bets are off.

  “Well, then, shall we?” Mr. Flanders asks, always one for getting down to business. His daughter could learn a thing or two from him on this front. She’s always been one to wine and dine first, and close deals last.

  “Yes, I believe you have something I want,” I tell him, with a small smile.

  “And you’ve always been one to get what you want,” Samantha adds. “Isn’t that right?”