After dealing with my dad at the cemetery, my stomach was already in knots, and that sickness unfortunately followed me to the restaurant. I would have to admit why I was feeling so ill that night. That my father sought me out. That he wanted to reconnect with me. Everything would all be out on the table as well as what I was about to do now…. So instead of calling Drake, I opted for the same response I chose when responding to his previous texts. The message was general, but it was the only one that would keep him from drawing out a conversation with me.
I just need some time to myself. You wanted me to rest so please let me.
I hit send. That was all I could do.
“We’re here little lady. That comes to $39.12.”
I handed the cabbie his money, then left the cab with shaky legs. I seriously felt like I’d be sick again, but I needed to do this. I needed closure, and I felt this was the only way. He promised he’d leave me alone if I came. So I did. To this place. The building was huge, sparkling in the sun like a beach resort. The drive was long, and I feared the cabbie was taking me out to the middle of nowhere, but here it was.
My father’s sober living house.
I hated that I had to fib to Drake in my text about how I was resting. I never lied to him, but I couldn’t admit what I was really doing. I was too ashamed I allowed my dad to affect me enough to come out here. But that was done after this moment. I’d go in, see this place he wanted me to see, and that was it.
I stepped toward the large doors. This place was the epitome of celebrity rehab. Shiny and new, it gave the illusion that it was anything but a place for recovering alcoholics and drug abusers like my dad.
Drawing in a breath, I opened the glass door. The small heels of my purple shoes clicked on the clean tiles all the way up to the front desk. A woman sat there, dressed in a nice pantsuit.
“Can I help you?” she asked, beaming me a smile.
I fought myself from fleeing. I had to do this. “Yes. I’m here for friends and family day.”
“Of course. And what guest are you here to visit?”
I moved my tongue around my mouth, forcing a name to form I never thought I would have to speak again. “Kevin Anderson.”
It was virtually painless.
She tilted her head, smiling warmly at me. “I can see it. Come with me.”
I did, though I didn’t appreciate her comment. I knew I looked like my dad. His features bled through despite the fact I picked up most of my physical features from my mom.
The halls were filled with other ‘guests’, small groups of family and friends everywhere. They all seemed pretty happy. I wished I could be the same. The lady I followed opened a door and motioned me inside. Rather hesitantly, I entered the room. I expected to see my dad, but he wasn’t there. There was a single bed, a large window, and a dresser like this place was a hotel.
“I’ll let Kevin know you’re here.” The woman then left me to the empty room.
I stepped lightly, feeling the foreignness of this place. My dad lived here. He slept here and owned these things. He was into music so I wasn’t surprised to see his guitar. This one was new. My mama threw out the one he left.
Everything was neat here, orderly. It was so unlike him. I paused when I came across a large binder. I had to. My name was on a newspaper clipping poking out of the top.
I picked the binder up and it was heavy, jam-packed with stuff. I quickly figured out what it was jam-packed with—me. The album started with my program from the show I did in Paris. After that, there were newspaper clippings from both local press and foreign. There were numerous reviews, dozens of features, and they were all of me.
“You look so much like your mother when you’re on stage, Lace.”
I turned. My dad was across the room. He kept his distance, leaning against his dresser.
“You light it up,” he said, giving me a small smile. “You own it just like she did.”
I gripped the binder, forcing my hands not to shake. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand any of this. I lifted my head. “Why?”
He tilted his head, his eyebrows narrowed. “Why what?”
I closed the book unable to look at it anymore. “Why this? Why did you make this? Why did you ask me here? You left us. You made it clear you didn’t want us, yet you’re doing this. Why?”
He came closer, and though he did, I kept myself from backing away. Taking the book from me, he popped it open again. “Lace, I know I could never make up for what I put you and your mother through.”
“You’re right. You can’t. You weren’t there. You left after she got sick. Who does that? Who—” Shaking my head, I went around him, fighting the tears that were forming in my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I just… couldn’t.
“Someone who doesn’t have his shit together, Lacey.”
I paused, my hand on the doorknob.
“Someone who was so selfish, so lost in his addiction, that he left his child and the one woman who put up with him. The two people that meant the most to him.”
His voice was closer. I turned, confirming he was. His hazel eyes were as watery as mine, just as sad as mine.
“It took going to jail and being face down in the gutter only twenty-four hours after my release to realize what I had. What I lost to heroin and cocaine.”
My lip quivering, I gazed down.
“It took a long time, but I got clean, and as soon as I did, I looked for you. I did, but by then you were gone. It was too late. I came too late.”
He made another move closer, and when he did, he held out the album he made featuring my accomplishments.
“Is it too late, Lace?” he whispered. “Please tell me it’s not.”
I was shaking. I fought so hard for my tears not to show, my body trembling in my attempts to stay strong. I was so confused, so unsure if I could accept this man and what he was telling me. Despite my internal struggle, I reached for the album with quivering breaths.
I popped it open and the picture of the first page charged a jolt into my already rapidly beating heart. It seemed I missed this page. The picture there was familiar to me, so familiar that it was the one to finally send the tears rolling down my cheeks.
I had this photo. It was the one that had a permanent place on my dresser since I was a child. Even to this day. It was the photo I could never get rid of as it allowed me memories of the good times. The ones outside of addiction, drama, and heartbreak. The people in this photo were in their own world. Their own safe haven of happiness.
I ran my fingers over the photograph of him and me. He had me propped up on his hip; a toddler and her father both smiling into the camera. Closing my eyes, I curled my fingers on the photograph.
“I’ll need time…” I whispered, gazing up at the man who was my father. “But no it’s not.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Drake
I found Derrick working underneath a car after I clocked out for the day. I bent, hunkering down to him. “Hey, um, you haven’t happened to hear anything from Lacey, have you?”
I hadn’t seen her since that night at the restaurant. Though she was answering my texts, she didn’t seem any closer to wanting to see me.
Derrick wheeled from underneath the black sedan he was working on, a stoic look on his face. “Last I heard she was staying at Margot’s.”
I figured as much. If she wasn’t staying with her aunt and cousins that had to be where she was. I didn’t just want to know where she was though. I wanted to know if she was okay.
Derrick leaned up before I could ask, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “Y’all still together?”
His question had me doing a double take. “Why would you even ask that?”
He shrugged, tossing the towel before grabbing a wrench. “Seems like you should know what’s going on with her if you were. Maybe you’re spending too much time with Natalia.”
God, not this shit again. I shook my head. “Sorry I even asked.”
I left him th
ere without words. I didn’t need to defend myself to anyone. Least of all the person who used to be my closest friend.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lacey
My order came up on the counter. I grabbed the two cups of coffee and placed them on the closest vacant table at the coffeehouse. My stomach turned, my anxiety level rising, and I ignored my coffee. It still wasn’t too late to back out, but I forced myself to stay. At five o’clock on the dot, the man I was to meet walked through the coffeehouse door.
His eyes met mine and his face brightened as he came over to my table. He looked so put together, not an ounce of the broken man who used to bring my mama to tears due to his vices. Perhaps he really had changed.
He took the empty chair across from me. “Thanks for meeting me, Lace.”
I nodded once, fingering the lid of my coffee I was too nervous to drink. “I’m going to try. I’m going to try this out. I can’t guarantee anything.”
“I appreciate anything you can do. I know it will take time, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
Realizing I looked nervous, I let go of my lid. I gestured to his cup. “It’s just black. I didn’t know what you wanted.”
“This should be fine.” He tipped his cup to me before taking a drink.
Awkwardly, I chewed on the metal of my lip ring, not really knowing what to say. What was I supposed to say to my biological father who I hadn’t seen since middle school? Thankfully, he took charge.
“So tell me about you. Things you like to do. Places you like to go. There’s just so much I’ve missed. How did you do in school? Did you ever make the Honor Roll? Do you still hang out with that girl? The one with the pink hair that always had dirt all over her face?”
I couldn’t help it. I let a laugh escape. I’d forgotten about Margot in her mud pie and pink hair days.
His face fell. “I’m sorry. I’m asking a lot of questions, aren’t I?”
Giving another short laugh, I waved him off. It felt good to laugh. To not be so uneasy around him. “No. It’s just, yes, I still hang out with Margot. It was just really funny how you described her.”
“Margot.” He lifted his finger, tapping the air once. “That was her name. You two were joined at the hip from what I remember.”
“Yeah. We were. Still are.”
I can’t believe he made me laugh….
I think he noticed. Tilting his head, he gazed warmly at me. “You seem to be doing okay, Lace. Paris. Seeing the world.”
It was so surreal being here and talking to him. He sounded genuinely interested in what I’ve been up to. I played with my cup’s sleeve. “I’ve been very blessed.”
“And you met someone,” he said, sitting back. “I think I remember hearing you say that to your mama the other day. I hope I’m not imposing by mentioning that.”
“No. It’s okay.” My lips lifted in my thoughts about him. Though Drake and me had our ups and downs, I could see myself with no one else. He was the one. The guy for me, and I had no doubts whatsoever about that.
I looked at my dad. “His name is Drake. He’s really been there for me. Even went to Paris to support me. I owe him a lot.”
He set his cup down after taking a drink, nodding with a small smile. “He sounds like a good guy, Lace. I’d like to meet him sometime. Give him one of those mandatory Dad grilling sessions.”
I chuckled lightly. “I’m sure he’d love that.”
The atmosphere between us loosened up at the turn in conversation, and I was grateful to find that it had. He even let out some light laughter himself, and I had to smile inside at the sound. There was a similarity in his chuckle to mine. I suppose I got that from him too.
Placing my hands in my lap, I gazed up at my dad. “So you’re clean? The real deal?”
“Yeah, Lace. I really am. But, I’d be staring at day one if it wasn’t for sober living.”
“I’m glad you’re doing okay.” And I really was. It seemed as if recovery had given him his life back, and maybe one day, my dad back.
He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “It means so much to hear you say that, Lace. It really does. I’d like to do more things like this.” He gestured to our coffees. “Take you to some shows downtown like I used to do when you were younger. Maybe even take you to see me play some time. I’ve been talking to some of the members of my old band. We’re thinking about booking a few open mic nights at some jazz clubs. It would be great if you could come.”
To my surprise, I felt the same. “I’d like that.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and just for a moment, I saw the man from my childhood. The one who played with me during our brief moments of happiness. His gaze went over me, and I lost that for some reason when his expression fell. I turned at the waist and saw nothing but a few parked cars in the parking lot through the coffee house window. The SUV with darkly tinted windows caught my eye when the door pushed open.
“I’m sorry, but I have to wrap things up early today, Lace. It’s my last day at the sober living house. Can’t break curfew.”
As a boot stepped out of the SUV, my eyes flickered away and to the clock above the coffee house’s door. My dad must have noticed the time up there. I didn’t consider it that late in the evening, but I didn’t know the rules when it came to halfway houses. I suppose they had to be back at certain times. That made sense. Users and alcoholics were very fragile. They needed strict rules to stay clean and sober.
When I faced my dad, he was writing down something on a slip of paper.
“Here’s my number and the address of the new place I’m moving into. My door is always open, and if you ever need anything call me. Don’t worry about the hour.”
He really was trying.
He handed it to me, and I didn’t hesitate this time taking the paper from him. I slid my bag around my body to put the paper inside. When I glanced up, I watched my dad. As if with caution, he reached out slowly across the table. He held out his hand like he wanted to shake. He kept his eyes trained on me, silently giving me the option to meet him the rest of the way.
Biting my lip, I allowed myself to. Our hands seem to slide together in slow motion, gliding together, and there was a familiarity in that simple touch. It had been so long, yet a wave of memories flooded back to me as if they occurred yesterday. Him helping me up when I fell on the playground, him patting me on the back after I did a cartwheel for him, him hugging me on a bright summer day.
I think he felt it too.
He lifted his lips and placed his other hand on top of our joined ones, and I didn’t retreat. I didn’t retreat because I didn’t want to.
Eventually, he released my hand and the connection was gone, replaced with the breeze of traffic moving through the coffee house.
Placing his hands on his legs, he stood. “Thanks, Lace. I’ll be in contact. I fully intend on keeping that promise to take you to see some jazz soon.”
I genuinely hoped he would and happiness fluttered inside me because of the fact.
He left me with a nod, glancing over my shoulder a moment before turning and moving across the crowded café toward the side door. That took me aback a bit. That wasn’t the door he arrived in.
Drawing in a breath from all that had happened, I stood myself, preparing to leave.
“Lacey?”
I lifted my eyes and blinked. A face I didn’t expect to see stared right at me.
Cooper Ferguson stood directly in front of my table. Cup of coffee in hand, he had one leg out like he was mid step before he stopped. He was staring at me curiously, eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure out why I was here. The eye contact was only brief before he moved his gaze away from me and across the busy café. The curious look he sported was now focused on my dad. He watched my dad’s back as he pushed his way through the coffeehouse door and left.
My heart fluttered at the way the scene looked. My dad had given me his number only moments ago… and we held hands at the
table. Maybe Cooper wasn’t confused as to why I was here, but rather who I had been here with. Ex-drug addict or not, my dad was a good-looking man and young enough looking where it wouldn’t be a stretch he’d be seen with someone like me. It would still be completely inappropriate, but I could see how Cooper would be confused. Not to mention this whole meeting looked very similar to one I once had with Cooper himself, and it had also ended with him giving me his number.
Crap…
I wrestled with the strap of my satchel. “Um, hi, Cooper. Long time no see.”
He lifted his head, acknowledging that. He still sported the popped collar look, the brightly colored polo offsetting his dark skin. “Yeah. Long time. You look good.”
I gestured to him. “You too.”
“Thanks.” Awkwardly, his eyes moved away from mine, and he shifted on his heels in silence. After a moment, his eye contact returned to me. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”
I couldn’t let him leave thinking I was a sugar baby to my estranged father. I took a step when he made one to leave. “Hey. Um, that guy you saw me with—”
He raised his hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself. But honestly, I did think you and Drake would still be together.”
“Cooper, that man was my dad.”
*
Honestly, I didn’t know why I told Cooper about my dad at first. But when he sat down at my table, and I finished my coffee with him, I quickly understood. I think I just needed someone to talk to, a person outside of my world. I needed someone who was unbiased and incapable of judgment. Someone who wouldn’t see me as naïve or stupid for continuing communication with my dad. By the time I was I done telling him everything that had happened, I felt good. It was nice to get everything off my chest.
“So Drake doesn’t know you’ve picked up communication with your father?” he asked, placing the cup he just sipped from on the table.
The Dividing Line Page 27
