Perfect Harmony

by Lodge, Sarah P.

  “Tell me, please. Tell me.”

  “Better you see him for yourself.”

  ***

  The beep of the heart monitor is muffled by the clouded glass. Through it, I can see a frail old man withering in the bed. A once great and powerful man, now lying defenseless and alone, nothing but a motionless body violated by a web of tubes and drips.

  I try to stay calm and rational, but the scent of disinfectant stings my nostrils, and the perfect white walls dull every sensation I have. All I can do is place my hand softy on the glass as my heart weeps.

  “It’s leukemia,” says the doctor. “Chronic Lymphoid, to be precise. We’ve been treating your father for six months now, but last week, things took a turn for the worse.”

  I can hardly hear his voice - it’s like a distant mumble far off into the horizon, telling me all these things I should know but I can’t hear him. He’s too far away.

  “We started with chemotherapy and followed up with monoclonal antibodies, hoping for a change, but with this level of aggression...”

  “Is he going to be alright?”

  A silence descends that makes my stomach lurch.

  “You’ve got to understand, the level of treatment we can offer is dependent on the health and age of the patient-“

  “That’s not a patient in there. That’s my father.”

  I’m crying. And shouting. But I don’t care. Oh god, this lump in my throat is too much. “That’s my dad,” I say through quiet sobs.

  The doctor offers me a tissue and I wipe my eyes.

  “Whatever treatment he needs, he’s got to have it,” I say. “I don’t care how expensive it is - he’s got the money and-“

  “It’s not a case of money. Any treatment now would not make a difference. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry, like it means anything at all.”

  He’s silent.

  “How long?” I ask.

  “Not long.”

  “What do you mean, like a month? A week?”

  “Days, maybe.”

  “Oh god.” I sob. My knees give way and I lean on the glass for support, tears streaming from my eyes.

  “If you have any affairs to put in order, I would suggest you do so.”

  I stare at the frail old man, my body crying out but my mind is numb. “Can I go inside?”

  The doctor nods and opens the door for me. “If you need anything...”

  “Thank you,” I say and he leaves.

  I close the door and the world outside disappears. There’s only this room, this cold medicinal room, white walls and white ceilings. The scent of detergent. The beep of the heart monitor, again. And again. And again.

  And in the centre, my dad lies, unconscious. Wheezy breaths escape his mouth and steam up his oxygen mask. But they’re not breaths.

  They’re a death rattle.

  I sit next to his bedside and take his hand. His skin is so dry and thin, his veins protruding underneath like red scars. I can feel his fragile finger bones pressing into my palm, the size of his hand effortlessly wrapped into my own, like a small child.

  “Dad?” It comes out as a quivering whisper. “It’s me, Melody.”

  Ever so slowly, his eye lids flicker and open. He turns to face me, his eyes misted with the faintest glow of recognition.

  “Merrrlllhhhii?” he says breathlessly behind his oxygen mask. A smile curves on his lips and I swear I see a tear form in his eye. He carefully removes the oxygen mask with a quivering right hand.

  “Melody?” he says. “Is it really you?”

  I squeeze his left hand. “It’s me, dad.”

  “My sweet sweet girl. You’re really here.” I feel the faint squeeze of his own hand, as if trying to make sure I’m not an illusion.

  “I’m really here.”

  A breathless wheeze escapes his lips. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “I didn’t know, dad. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should have known, if I’d called or done something, I should have been here for you, please forgive me, please-”

  “Shhhh,” he says. “It’s not important now.”

  “Where’s Duncan? Why isn’t he here?”

  “He was. For weeks, he didn’t leave my side. But as the days went on, I could see how it was getting to him-“ He coughs violently. “He didn’t want me to know, but I could see. I told him to leave. Better he focus on the business. Better he try and save something worth saving.”

  “Dad, don’t say that. You’re a good person.”

  “No, I’m not. But thanks for saying it.” He takes a moment to catch his breath. “I was terrible to you, my sweet girl. I wish I could take it back, live life over again. Words of a foolish man.”

  “You’re not the only one to blame.”

  He shakes his head. “I pushed you away. I want you to understand, the things I said to you, I only meant the best. I didn’t want to see my sweet songbird get swallowed by the wolves. I need you to understand that.”

  “I do, Dad. I do.”

  “Wrenwick, the marriage, I wanted you to be provided for. I wanted the business to stay in the family. I know he was older, but he was a good businessman. I knew you’d be safe with him. You’re brother, he’s willful. Disobedient. I thought he’d ruin what I built. I was a selfish fool. And now your birthright is burning, and it’s my fault.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “Wrenwick. When he found out you had spurned his marriage proposal, he lost it. He leaked information to our competitors, bullied the shareholders. It was all so secret. When Duncan found out what he was doing, it was too late.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dad. I should never have run away.”

  For the first time, his glassy eyes leave my face and look to my pregnancy bump. And he smiles a smile so wide, I’ve never seen anything like it. “I’m glad you did. Who is he, the father? You’re married?”

  My eyes dart to the floor. “It’s complicated.”

  “Life always is.” He squeezes my hand and I look back up at him. “I need you to know, sweet thing, I need you to know something, before I’m gone.”

  “Dad, don’t say that.”

  “I’m a dying old man, I get to say what I like. And you have to listen. It’s how it works.”

  I try to break a smile, but the tears pour from my eyes.

  “I need you to know. I need....you...to know. I love...I’ve always...loved...y...”

  “Shhhh.” I kiss his hand. “I know, Dad. I’ve always known.”

  He nobs silently and his eyes drift shut.

  “Dad?”

  “Rest. Just a minute. Just... a minute...”

  His breathing heavies. The monitors bleep. And bleep. And bleep.

  And my head falls into my knees and I cry. Tears upon tears, I feel like they’ll never stop. My throat tightens and my nostrils sting and I wail into my palms.

  I’ve cried so much these past two weeks and I thought I was done. But I’m wrong. The tears keep coming and I don’t care.

  He’s my dad. Not him, not now. I can’t lose him too. Not after I’ve got just him back.

  But, deep down, I know it’s stupid idle thoughts. There’s nothing I can do to change things. But, I know, if I believe that, even for only a second, he’ll be gone.

  There’s a squeak by the door.

  My head rises suddenly at the noise.

  Chase. Chase is standing in the doorway.

  No, it can’t be. I’m stressed and under trauma and I’m going crazy. He’s just an illusion. A cruel image by my taunting mind trying to pull me deeper into the rabbit hole.

  But then why can I smell the musky scent of his aftershave?

  Why can I hear his breath?

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

  “Chase,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  He tries to hide his emotions, but I know that face all too well by now. The sorrow and compassion invades every muscle in his face.<
br />
  “I was looking for you,” he says.

  My heart leaps for the faintest moment, before I see the papers he’s clutching in his hand.

  “Divorce papers?” I say.

  His eyes dart to the floor a moment, and he holds them behind his back. “My lawyer, he suggested I get them to you as soon as possible. I thought it only right to deliver them in person. I owe you that much. I found out you’d come back home, and the man at your father’s mansion, he told me I’d find you here. But I didn’t know about.... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

  He turns to leave.

  “Stay!” I call out. He stops in his tracks. “Please, would you sit with me?”

  Chase is silent. He wanders over and sits down on to the plastic chair beside me.

  There’s an uncomfortable silence. The distance between us may be only inches, but it feels like a chasm.

  My hands rub my legs in a desperate attempt to keep themselves busy.

  “Where...where are you?” says my father.

  I jump up and grab his hand. His eyes dart around, searching for something to focus on.

  “I’m here, Dad. I’m here.”

  He sees me and I see that wonderful smile return. “I should never have let you go.” He hand finds my cheek and he stares at me. “You’re so beautiful. My beautiful girl. You’ve got to take care of her.”

  “Take care of who, Dad?”

  “You’ve got to take care of Melody. You’ve got to take care of our daughter.”

  My feet go numb like the world has been taken away from under me. He thinks I’m my mother.

  “She’s so much like you,” he says. “So beautiful and alive.”

  I hold his tender hand to my cheek. I try my best to smile but I can feel the tears rolling from my eyes, and that stinging nose and tightness in my chest.

  “I’m so sorry I lost you, my sweet,” he says. “You think you know it all, what’s to come and what’s to be, but we don’t know anything. When love comes along, everything else... it’s background noise. My biggest regret... is not... realising that.”

  “But I’m here,” I say. “I’m here right now.”

  His eyes lose focus and dart around, searching for something. “Where are you?”

  “I’m here.”

  “It’s dark. Where are you?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “...Everything’s getting so dark.... Where...where...”

  “Shhhh,” I say to him in a soothing tone. I kiss his forehead.

  I start to sing.

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. And when that mocking bird doesn’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

  He’s silent, staring into the sky.

  His mouth opens slightly, his breathing slow and shallow.

  His hand drops from my cheek and hits the bed with a thud.

  “Dad?” I say.

  There’s no response.

  “Dad?”

  Nothing.

  “...Daddy?”

  The world falls away. I stumble back, hand to my mouth, weeping. I want to breathe, I want scream. I want something. Anything.

  The pain. I don’t want to feel this pain. Somebody stop it. Please.

  Oh god, please stop this hurt.

  There’s a sensation behind me. Something stops me, holds me. There’s a hand on my shoulder.

  A smell. A scent. I don’t know what it is.

  Something soft, against my cheek.

  It’s Chase. He’s holding me. I’m crying into his chest and he holds me tight.

  The moment seems to last forever. At least, I think it does.

  He guides me down to the chair and we sit, and he’s still holding me and I cry and I cry.

  His hands strokes my hair and he hushes me in a soft voice.

  “Melody,” he says. “I...”

  “Stop. Just hold me.”

  I lay my head on his lap and he continues to stroke my hair.

  “Can everything be still for a moment?” I ask. “Can’t everything just be still?”

  The tears stream down my eyes.

  But I feel safe and protected. In a cocoon. A bubble.

  And then, before I realise it, everything turns to black.

  ***

  My eyes open, my head a groggy mess.

  I must have fallen asleep.

  Chase. Where’s Chase?

  I look around the hospital room in a desperate attempt to see someone. Anyone. But it’s empty.

  Chase isn’t here holding my head and soothing me with his touch.

  The bed is empty.

  My father - he’s gone. The memory returns and burns me like a fresh wound. My stomach lurches as it all comes flooding back and I long for the second or so earlier when I’d lived in ignorance.

  But my father is dead. There’s nothing else to say. He’s gone. Forever.

  But Chase was here. He comforted me in my time of need with those loving strokes I remember so fondly. Unless he wasn’t here. Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe my mind yearned for some solace when I was wrapped up in my pain.

  No, he felt real. That connection we share, it cannot be faked. It cannot be imaged in a weak mental moment. We shared something special.

  Divorce papers. He brought them here.

  My chest tightens as that memory comes searing back.

  But there’s no papers here. No sound in the hallways, no beep of the heart monitor. Nothing.

  Just white hospital walls and the stench of disinfectant.

  I’ve never felt so alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Melody

  “This is a fucking disaster!”

  Duncan slams his fist against the desk, spilling coffee on the rug.

  “Look what you’ve done,” I say.

  “I don’t care. It’s just fucking coffee, Mel. This is our business we’re talking about. Our livelihoods. And those bastards in that boardroom over there are going to rip it out from under us.”

  I stroke his shoulder.

  “It’s alright,” I say. “I miss him too.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Dad, you idiot. He’s been gone for over a week now and you need to get the hell over it.”

  Duncan paces. “What does it matter? Those bastards in there-“

  “Those bastards are the shareholders in our company. In Dad’s company. Don’t forget it. If you go in there like this, full cocked and ready to punch them in the face, things’ll turn to shit pretty quickly.”

  Duncan sits in the chair. “I don’t know what to do, Melody. I just don’t know what to do.”

  He looks to me as if asking for a solution, but I have none.

  To say the situation is a disaster is the understatement of the century. After my dad died, I discovered the true lengths to which Wrenwick had been screwing with the company. He hadn’t just been selling information, he’d embezzled over fifty million dollars and fled the country. The shareholders were in a mess, ready to pull the plug at any second. They just needed a reason. Then my father got ill and control of the company fell to my brother, a man they’d always thought of as a loose cannon, the stories of his rivalry with Chase being the napalm on the forest fire.

  They didn’t trust him with their money.

  When they called a meeting, we knew what was coming. They were going to sell their shares and our company - everything my father had worked for - would be snuffed out in an instant.

  “I’m going to step down,” he says.

  “What? Don’t be silly.”

  “Silly? What’s silly is expecting to go in there and not get met with a firing squad. If I step down, maybe their faith in the company will be restored and they’ll stick around.”

  “And if you leave, who’s going to take charge with Dad gone?”

  “You could,” he says, not realising the insanity of what he’s suggesting.

  “Me? Yeah, I’m sure a bunch
of octogenarian millionaires won’t have a problem handing the reigns to a nineteen year old pregnant woman.”

  “Then we’re screwed.”

  The large wooden door creeks open and a spindly woman in glasses pops her head out.

  “They’re ready for you,” she says, and disappears back inside the boardroom.

  My brother pushes himself up off his chair and sighs. “Don’t suppose they’ll offer me a cigarette first?”

  I rub his shoulder and we march inside, heads held high and all business.

  The shareholders line the long wooden table and stare at us in eerie silence.

  “Ah, yes,” says Ned Campbell, the least stuffiest of the board. He arches his bristly eyebrows and raises his head from the papers in front of him. “The other shareholders and I have asked you here because we feel there is a matter that needs to be addressed. It’s come to our attention that over the previous year, revenue has fallen by over forty percent. In addition, due to the rather tragic situation involving the CEO-“

  “Oh god, would you just say it already,” says Duncan.

  “Duncan!” I admonish.

  “This is ridiculous, Melody. We know what he’s going to say, he knows that we know. This is all pointless rhetoric meant to disguise the truth.”

  “And what is that truth, Mr. Callaghan?” asks Ned.

  “You guys want out. You want to sell everything, even if that means this business dies with it. Am I wrong?”

  There’s an ominous silence.

  “I thought so,” says Duncan.

  “Mr. Callaghan, I can assure you this decision was not made lightly.”

  “Please, it all just comes down to the money for you, doesn’t it? You don’t care that our father slaved away for decades to create this company. You don’t care that you’ll be leaving my pregnant sister and I with nothing. This is our life. And you’re just throwing it away like it’s nothing.”

  “Duncan,” I say. “That’s enough.”

  “We do wish things were different,” says Ned. “If there was a way to save Magnum Records-“

  “What if I step down?” says Duncan.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Me. What if I’m gone? Will that be enough to restore you faith? Will it be enough to at least buy us some time? I know you, all of you, don’t trust me or even like me. But if I’m gone-”