She’d just booked Teresa for September and, without the win, she would have to go into debt to pay her. As well, both she and Dad lived on his retirement package from Turner Lumber.
If Audrey couldn’t bring in more money from the business, she would have to continue to live on his earnings. He’d worked hard all of his life. That money was his. She was a grown woman. She should be supporting herself.
Ten minutes later, still panicking despite how confident she’d sounded with Janeen and Walter, she picked up Gray in front of the coffee shop as per their arrangement.
When he got into the car, though, she sensed that something about him had changed, shifted.
“Can we stop at the lab again?” he asked.
“Sure.” She waited for more, but he was staring out the window. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” He turned to her, and she was surprised that his regard, hazed by distraction, wasn’t razor-sharp, wasn’t ready to skewer her because she was an enemy. “Oh. Yeah. I’m good.”
When his glance landed on her face, his gaze did sharpen. “You don’t look okay. What’s happened?”
Should she tell him? He would probably laugh. It would so work to his advantage. She could imagine him rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain.
He did look different, though. There was a softness about him that hadn’t been there on their way into Denver. She didn’t know what kind of meeting he’d just had, but it must have been a good one. Not that she would trust him completely. She wasn’t that naive.
“I just checked out my booth placement for the show. It’s in the back of the building, in the far corner, while Bolton Florists will be front and center. They had the nerve to tell me it had been done fairly by lottery selection. Fairly! Ha!” Gray watched her with a bemused frown. “Can you believe it? I told them I was going to win, and I will.”
She’d suffered a setback, sure, but damned if she’d let it kill her.
She explained about how the voting would work. “If no one sees my entry, how can they vote for it?”
“Do you have a plan?” Gray asked.
“I’ll drag people to the back if I have to. I’ll dress up like a clown to get their attention. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You really want to win this, don’t you? Why? Why is it so important to you?”
“You mean apart from the monetary award?”
“Let’s start with that.”
“It’s $25,000, which is significant. Also, though, there’s a one-year contract involved that would have me delivering arrangements weekly to a boutique hotel in Denver and—” she lifted one finger because this was significant “—all of the flowers and arrangements in the hospital gift shop.”
Gray whistled and nodded. “Good one.”
She smiled. As a business owner, he got it.
“What do you plan to do with the cash award?” he asked. “Expand your business?”
She stopped at a red light. “Pay for the occupational therapist I need to hire for my father. Just for a couple of months. He can’t do much for himself. He’s slipping into depression.”
She tried to keep her own blues from her voice, but every day, no matter how hard she tried to remain positive, a low-grade sadness plagued her.
Most of the time she managed to either bury it or rise above it, but sometimes when it felt as if the whole world conspired against her, she could no longer hold it at bay.
“How does macular degeneration manifest?” Gray asked.
“Dad can’t see in the center of his vision. He can’t read. He used to devour books.”
“Is there anything that can be done?”
“Some people have luck with surgery. We don’t have the money for that.”
“Why not use the money to get him surgery rather than hiring a therapist?”
“Two reasons. One, there are no guarantees that it will work. And two, convincing Dad he should risk surgery is like trying to fly a kite in a hurricane. He’s terrified of anyone cutting into any part of him. I mean, really terrified.”
“Why? Bad experience when he was young?”
“Worse. Bad experience with my mom. She went into the hospital to have her appendix removed and never came out alive. It ruptured while they were prepping her and they couldn’t save her.”
“That’s not an unsuccessful surgery. That’s nature, the body failing.”
“Tell that to my dad. He thinks they botched the surgery and killed her.”
“That’s not a reasonable reaction.”
“No, it isn’t, but he was crazy with grief after Mom died, and nothing and no one could console him. He’s been afraid of anything to do with illness or surgery ever since.”
“So...you’ll live with his decision and hire a therapist.”
“Yes. I think if there were someone in the house all day with him, he would have a distraction. He would eat properly while I’m at work. The therapist could take him out, could convince him to become involved in the community again. Would teach him how to become involved again.”
They’d arrived at the lab.
“Okay, makes sense,” Gray said, an uncharacteristic understanding in his voice. “Hold that thought. I want to know more, but I need to drop off something.”
Again, he was gone for all of five minutes then they headed out of the city.
Gray picked up the thread of their conversation. “Is the money the only reason why you want to win so badly? I mean, for me it would be.” He grinned. “I’m guessing for you, there’s more.”
With a rueful tip of her lips, she said, “You’re right. It isn’t the only consideration. While I need the money and the win would be good for business, would in fact be huge, it’s also an emotional thing for me. It’s a whole lot more than the award. It would be a validation that I made the right choice in giving up one career for another.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “It was my mom who gave me my love of gardening. I can barely remember her, but I do know that she loved roses and dahlias, and her gardens were a blaze of color. It’s—” She shifted uneasily in her seat, afraid to trust Gray with too much.
“What?” His voice sounded new, different, compassionate.
A brief glimpse of his expression confirmed she hadn’t imagined the sympathy.
“When I’m gardening, I feel close to her. I sometimes feel her presence.”
He didn’t scoff, and she could have kissed him for that.
His brows rose, as though he’d just had a thought.
“So, if you loved it so much, why didn’t you just do that instead of studying geology?”
“My dad.”
“He wanted you to study geology? Why?”
“He wanted me to not garden.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod.
“I’d want my children to go into something that made more money, too.”
“It wasn’t that. I look too much like my mom. My love of gardening reminds him too much of her.”
“That’s why your dad doesn’t want you to own a floral shop. It keeps reminding him of her.”
“Bingo.” His insight impressed her. “It pains him to see me have anything to do with flowers and gardening. All of these years later, he should be over the loss, but—” she shrugged “—he isn’t.”
“I guess we heal at our own pace.”
“It’s been thirty years. When I first came home last year, I did put a garden in around the house, but I caught him staring at me through the window when I was planting. I couldn’t stand the sorrow on his face. I had to stop right away and never went back to it.”
“His grief didn’t stop you from opening your shop.”
“Dad doesn’t have to actually see me doing that. It’s awa
y from the house.”
“Hey, a thought. If your dad stopped you from gardening after your mom died, how did you keep the interest alive?”
She smiled, because the memories were so bittersweet. “I made myself a little patch in the woods. I begged, borrowed and stole seeds, and grew flowers in the wild. It kept Mom alive for me. And, of course, y—”
Oh, dear God, she’d almost blurted the truth. She had almost said, “Your mother gave me a piece of her garden.” It was one of the things she was certain he wouldn’t remember, and one of those things she knew Abigail wouldn’t want her to share with Gray, wouldn’t want him remembering.
Gray asked, “There was what?”
“I was just going to say that I had my ways. I gardened with my aunt until she died.”
When he looked as if he might pursue it further, she ended with, “It’s my vocation. What I desire to do more than anything else on earth.”
Gray nodded, then stared out the window at the passing scenery.
“What about you, Gray?”
He turned back, expression surprised and alert. “What about me?”
“Is the business your vocation? Is it what you were meant to be doing?”
She felt him stare at her profile for a long time, but she had the sense he wasn’t seeing her.
He didn’t answer the question. Whatever he was thinking or feeling was firmly locked away from her.
* * *
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Audrey thought she’d made it out of the house without Dad stopping her, but then heard a “Hmph” from the living room. It was only seven, and she was heading out to put in a couple of hours in the greenhouses before opening the shop.
After yesterday’s trip to Denver, she really couldn’t afford the time to read to him this morning.
She peeked around the doorway.
“Dad, how are you feeling today?”
“Not great. Rotten.” He looked haggard. Bags darkened the skin beneath his eyes.
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“No.”
“I’ll fix you an omelet and fruit salad before I go.” She’d found yesterday’s egg-white omelet in the garbage can and the burned frying pan in the sink. She’d made him toast this morning, but maybe that wasn’t enough.
“I don’t want a bowl of fruit.”
Audrey suppressed a laugh. He made fruit sound like a dirty word. “I’ll have the omelet, though. Use real eggs.”
“I always use real eggs.”
“You just use the whites. There’s no flavor in those.”
Audrey sighed. “They’re healthy, Dad. I want to keep you healthy.” She’d lost her mother and her brother. Would anyone blame her for trying to keep her father healthy? She had no one else.
For all they knew, his macular degeneration had been brought on by his unhealthy, cholesterol-laden food choices. Or it could have been the thirty years of smoking. Thank goodness he’d managed to quit. The doctors said that either one could have caused the problem.
“I don’t care about being healthy,” he said, sounding peevish. “What’s the point?”
Had he meant to stab her in the heart? To imply that he didn’t matter to her? That she didn’t matter to him? Didn’t he understand that she had no one else but him?
“What’s the point? Mom’s dead—” he flinched “—and Billy’s dead—” another flinch “—but I’m still here.”
Dad’s face tightened, and he seemed to stop breathing.
She fought to bring herself under control. She didn’t hurt people like this, but damn it, he was all she had left. Why didn’t he get that?
“Dad.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t I matter to you?” Pathetic question. She was pathetic, always chasing his love and respect. For Dad, it had always been about Billy. Wasn’t it dumb that she was so jealous of her dead brother?
He softened, his chest folding gently and his shoulders easing. “You matter,” he said, barely above a whisper.
The breath she’d been holding whistled out of her. “If that’s true, if you won’t take care of yourself for you, do it for me.”
He covered his face with one hand. “It’s hard.”
She was on her knees on the floor in front of him in a flash. “I know. Oh, Dad, I do know. I can see how hard it is.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away.
“I don’t want to lose you.” She stood abruptly. “Here’s the deal. I’ll make you an omelet with whole eggs and two slices of bacon—”
“Only two?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He liked negotiating.
“Two,” she said, her tone emphatic. “I’m already compromising on the egg yolks. In return for my beneficence, you have to eat a bowl of fruit.”
He scowled, but it had no heat behind it. Her anger must have frightened him. Or maybe it was her question. Don’t I matter to you?
“Okay,” he said grudgingly, as though he were giving her a huge concession, when, really, she was the one who’d given in, wasn’t she?
She went to the kitchen to speed her way through making an omelet with whole eggs.
She spread toast with margarine instead of butter, but added the raspberry jam he liked. When she set the tray on his lap, she kissed his forehead and touched his shoulder. Almost all of the brawn and muscle were gone. Dad used to be so strong.
“I’ll see you at dinnertime,” she said. “I’ll barbecue steaks and corn on the cob.” His favorites.
“Okay, good.” He sounded mollified.
She stepped out of the room and around the corner so he wouldn’t see when she rested her hand over her heart. They’d had their arguments over the years, always about what she should do with her life, and there’d been some real doozies, but, oh, she couldn’t stand what the macular degeneration was doing to him.
Worse, she couldn’t stand that he wouldn’t fight. This anger that churned inside of her scared her. She rarely lost her cool. But being angry with Dad at this time seemed wholly inappropriate. Guilt flared. He needed patience, not her judgment.
Until a month ago, she’d come home from the shop every day to fix him his lunch, but he’d stopped eating it. All he wanted to do was sleep.
She let him, but she knew depression when she saw it.
Dad was wasting away in every way.
Now, Audrey paid one of their neighbors to bring him lunch, but as often as not it went uneaten. The bottom line was that Dad needed to learn to do for himself, to be independent, to try to become again the active man he’d always been. He needed to get back his pride.
Having someone in to do things for him was not the answer. Having someone teach him to do was.
He needed to get out of the house and to be distracted from his depression.
She hung her head, giving in to the inevitable. Dad needed a therapist now, not in September. She would have to call Teresa to see when she could start. She would have to go into debt to pay Teresa’s salary and then pay it off once she won the contest, the win being an arrogant assumption. She had no choice. She had to believe she would succeed.
She stepped back into the living room and broached the subject gently. “Dad, I’ve been thinking that I need some help around here.”
He stopped chewing and looked at her blankly. “Help? You mean like a maid? Can we afford one?”
“No. I don’t mean a maid. I mean an occupational therapist.”
The sound of Dad’s cutlery hitting his plate rang discordantly in the room. “I don’t need a babysitter.” The jut of his jaw became mulish. Underneath the anger, the stubbornness, she saw desperation.
“I don’t mean a babysitter,” she assured him. “I mean someone to teach you how to do things for yourself.” Audrey knelt in front of him again, knowing that her face would be
nothing but a blur, but needing to be close. “If I win the competition, I’ll have the award money and I’ll have that regular money coming from the hospital contract.”
She took one of his hands in hers, but judging by the rigidity of his fist, he wasn’t going to listen to reason. Still, she had to try. “I need to be able to focus on work. A therapist would be here every day to make sure you learn how to cook and eat properly and to get you out if you need to go.”
Dad didn’t respond. Audrey tried to put herself in his place. If she were him, she would miss the loss of her independence keenly.
“This will work out for the best.” Still, Dad said nothing. She stood. There wasn’t much more she could do to convince him that this would work.
She left the room and had just opened the front door when she heard Dad’s breakfast tray and all of the dishes and cutlery on it hit the living room wall.
Her stomach turned over. She couldn’t go back in to face him, not when her own anger boiled too hot, when she might say something she couldn’t take back, that would hurt him too much. She’d have to clean up later. She fled the house. She had to get away from it and all of its attendant darkness.
* * *
JEFF HELD HIMSELF still until he heard the front door close and Audrey’s car leave the driveway.
Then...he crumpled.
Even more than Audrey wanting to bring a stranger into his home, her question had shocked him.
Don’t I matter to you?
What had he ever done to lead his daughter to believe he didn’t care? How could she think that? He loved her dearly.
All that time he’d spent with Billy? It was easier. Billy was easy. Jeff would take him out back and toss the football around, or grab a baseball and a couple of gloves and toss the ball back and forth for hours. No questions that Jeff didn’t know how to answer. No heavy conversations about emotion and grief.
What did he know about little girls?
He’d been happy to have Abigail and Harrison Turner take her on outings. Abigail could relate to Audrey. Jeff couldn’t, but he’d never meant to make her feel unloved.
Because of Audrey Page 9
