The Long Way Home (25 page)

She took a drink, "You saved my life,
I
want to help you."

I closed the folder, "Muriel, I never saved your life so
you would help me. I have asked too much of you already. You protect Mike from
my father and Phil, and gave my sister's husband a job. You got Mike on with
Boston. You have done enough." I smiled, "I have never had to work
for anything in my entire life until now. I want to earn what I have. I never
want anyone to give me anything and have something they can hold over me. I'm
not saying you would do that, I just don’t want to put us in that
situation."

Her eyes glistened from the tears sitting in them, "You never
realized you saved my life. The tiny bit of care you showed me was all I
needed. I never truly wanted to die. The moment you arrived, I had just
finished praying that one person cared I was dying. You walked through the door
like an angel. I was about to give
up and take it all when you got there, answering my prayers.
Let me answer yours."

I reached across the table, taking her hands in mine,
"You have already."

She let a single tear drip down her cheek. She sniffed,
"The air here seems to be bothering my allergies. Please excuse me."
She got up slowly, squeezing my hands and leaving me there. I looked out over
the valley and imagined if I had something like that.

I flipped open the folder again. The North Carolina mother
grape was fascinating. The history was as rich as the fields.

It was a tempting offer
,
there was no doubt
.
I flipped through the pages, noticing the old homestead on the property. I
could turn that into the refurbished tasting spot and tear down the crummy
barns. I could build my own castle, my own villa. The sea air and the storms
would be incredible. The beaches there were incomparable to any. I could buy it
for myself but how? I was deep in thought when she sat back down, "What is
good here?"

I smiled at her, "The lamb is second to none."

She nodded, "Lamb it is then."

It was a sacrifice to eat at a vineyard and not have wine,
but for her, I would do anything. I owed her everything. That one afternoon was
nothing, compared to what she had already done for my family. Not to mention, I
knew the struggle of the little pills that made everything feel better. I had
craved them for months when I was a waitress in New York.

We finished and I walked her back to her driver.

"Thank you for coming and seeing me."

She scowled, "You don’t even want to know why he's in
the hospital?"

I shook my head, "He is as dead to me as I am to
him."

She took my hands, "I know that isn't true. I know you
are not hard like him, not in the heart.
Maybe the head.
He is your father."

I laughed, "Fine, what is it?"

"Cancer. He has cancer in his stomach, liver, and
bowels. He has months to live. I don’t want to tell you how to run your
life—well, that’s not true. I do, but I won't. I will say that the regret
of not saying goodbye can become your own cancer. I am leaving tomorrow if you
want to come with me. I will have a seat ready for you on the private jet. I
think we are having chicken."

I nodded, "I'll think about it."

She tapped the
folder,
"Maybe I
can help you write a business proposal for the vineyard while we are
flying."

I rolled my eyes, "You are so bad."

I couldn’t sleep that night, even though I was exhausted from
working all day. The vineyard and the possibilities, and my dying father plagued
me. I woke, stressed, puffy, and fully convinced Muriel was right. I would
never have proper closure if I didn’t say goodbye to him, even if he had
already said goodbye to me. I scrambled to get dressed and pack my bags. I knew
I most likely wouldn’t be coming back, that bothered me.

I ran across from the staff housing to the main house. Rita's
maid answered the door. I breathlessly explained my situation and left her a
note for Rita, who was still sleeping.

Francis, the driver, was awake when I got to the car barn.

I slumped my bags over my shoulder, and walked into the barn,
"Can you call me a cab? I need to go to the airport."

He scoffed, "It is too far. I will drive you."

He was a grumpy man with terrible social skills but he had
warmed, slightly. I stuffed my bags in the back and climbed in the front seat.
He started the car, "How fast we need to go?"

His thick
accent made me smile
, that
and his dark mustache. I nodded, "Pretty fast."

He nodded once and raced from the barn. He didn’t speak until
we were at least half an hour into the drive. Then he gave me a serious look,
"You go to America?"

I nodded "My father is dying."

He shook his
head,
"They will
miss you, at the house."

I smiled, knowing he meant he would miss me too. "I'll
miss you too."

He scoffed, "Not me, the house. Rita, she likes you a
lot. She never likes anyone."

"I know. I'll miss this place a lot. It's been an
amazing spring."

"The summer will be hot and the grapes will be sweet. It
will be a good year."

I frowned, "How do you know that?"

"Lots of rain in the spring means lots of sun in the
summer. Hot spring means rainy summer and the grapes are not as sweet. We will
have a good year."

He drove into the small airport and stopped at the private
jet. "Thank you for the ride. Tell everyone I said goodbye." I got
out. He got out too and passed me my bags. When I took them, he wrapped his
arms around me once, hugged tightly and then turned and left without saying
another thing.

Muriel walked off the jet, "Well, look what the cat
dragged in."

I sighed and climbed aboard.

The hospital smelled funny. I hadn’t been there since my
bachelorette party, but it made me feel gross and sad. That party had been the
beginning of the end in many ways.

I had come directly to the hospital from the airport,
fighting Muriel on it the entire drive over. She felt I should have showered
and changed and looked the part, but I liked the new me. I was strong by
myself.

I stopped at the nurses’ station, "Hi. I'm looking for
my dad, Peter Croix."

Her eyes were panicked for a second. She shook her head,
"I am so sorry. He passed about two hours ago. He's still in his room if
you want to go and say goodbye. To the right, room 708."

My heart stopped beating. I turned and ran. My mother and
Brandi were standing outside of the room. I dropped my bags, ignoring them and
walked into the room. He was still on the bed.

I had nothing.
A vast emptiness.
Seeing him made me want the little blue pills and a dark room to hide my shame.
I hadn't made it. He died, thinking I hated him but I didn’t, not anymore.

Silent tears fell, blurring my vision. I walked to his
bedside, placing my hand over his cool one. He was gone.

I lowered my face, scanning it over his. He looked the same,
like Victor from
The
Young and the Restless
.
He hadn’t aged a minute since I'd gone. There was, at long last, peace on his
face. I lowered my face to the blankets on his chest and searched my brain for
a happy memory.

The best I had was when I was nine and he took me Christmas
shopping for my mother. His assistant had gotten sick and was unable to buy the
gift, so he brought me. We walked the shops. I tried to hold his hand but he
shook mine off, complaining it was sticky. I was scared of all the people on the
streets, but still he would not hold my hand, so I clung to his jacket. He
wasn’t aware I had gripped to him for dear life. He had never been aware of the
times I had reached out for him and he hadn’t been there.

Only one person had.

I sat up and whispered, "Goodbye, Dad. I'm sorry I was
such a disappointment and I'm sorry I never made it back."

My mother came into the room
,
I could hear her
sniffles
. They bothered me. I hated that she was sad. Neither of them
had ever loved each other or us. There was no love in the hollowed halls of our
mansions and vacation homes.

"He hoped you would come home."

I looked back at her, "He did?"

She nodded, "He knew he was wrong to cut you out. He
knew in the end."

I shook my head, "I should have called, at least
once."

She wiped her face
,
"You came.
That’s what matters."

Why was she being so sweet to me?

Brandi came rushing in, wrapping herself around me. Her baby
bump was huge. She sobbed into my shoulder and I hers. Our mother, completely
unaware how to cope with emotions, straightened the blankets on our dead father
and muttered, "The funeral will be in three days. Where are you staying?
Will you stay at home?"

I almost said no, but I knew she would need the help. Brandi
was useless and she was worse.

"Sure. If that’s alright with you?"

She nodded, "It would be nice to see you again."

I felt venomous things floating about in my brain. Things
like the only reason it was nice to see me was because my dad was dead and she
was allowed to see me. I held them back.

The nurse came in, "I'm sorry to interrupt but we have
to move him."

My mother looked at me, "Will you go ahead to the house
and get Brandi settled in?"

I didn’t know what she meant, but I nodded as I grabbed my
bags and led my sister from the room to the desk.

"Brandi, do you have a car here?"

She shook her head.

I leaned into the nurses’ station window, "Can you call
us a cab, please? Meet out front in ten minutes?"

She gave me a look like she might tell me to go screw myself,
but then she looked at Brandi and nodded.

We walked to the elevators.

"How was he in the end?"

Brandi shook her head, "Bad. He was mean and cruel to
her. He wouldn’t let me come and see him; forbid you and I both entry to the
hospital room. Two days ago he fell into a coma. I phoned Muriel and told her
she needed to find you. I've been in the room with Mom ever since."

I sighed and walked into the elevator.

The cab ride was silent. I assumed it was our loss and grief,
but when we got closer she finally spilled. "Shawn left me."

I glanced at her, "He found out about Will?"

She nodded.

"Are you going to be with Will?"

She started to cry harder, "No. He won't be with
me."

I almost laughed at her and told her it was because he was a
nice guy. Instead, I wrapped my arm around her and kissed her head.

The old house looked bigger than I recalled it being. It was
stately and ridiculous, but it had always suited them perfectly. The vacation
houses had always been more my speed.

Seeing the luxury filled my mind with memories. My shoes,
clothes, and handbags had all gone there to die. All those things I had placed
so much value and love in, that now seemed silly. My father was dead and my
mother would want to rekindle our relationship. I could and she would pay for
the vineyard I wanted, out of guilt, but that didn’t feel like me working for
it. It just felt like l was moving back into my old house to be my old self.

I hated that girl.

I looked down at my boots and shorts and smiled. I could
still be the girl in the vineyard in New York. I loved that girl, even if I was
freezing in New York.

We got inside and switched on all the lights.

I looked around, "Where is the staff?"

Brandi scoffed, "He got so paranoid in the last three
months, he fired everyone except old Les. Poor man was waiting on them both,
hand and foot, and doing all the driving."

I winced, "Good God."

The house was huge and dark. It reminded me of a haunted
house.

I climbed the grand stairs to my room. When I opened it, I
was stunned. It was exactly the same as it was the last time I had seen it.

Brandi leaned in the doorway with me and sighed, "She
wouldn’t let him touch it. She threatened to burn the fucking house
down—is how she put it. Your clothes and shoes are all put away, stored lovingly.
She doesn’t know how to love us, but I think in her way, that was an
attempt."

Tears filled my eyes. It was like a hug from her cold, stiff
arms. Arms that would never wrap around me, were cradling me in her special
way.

I turned and hugged my sister, letting it all hit. My shoes
hadn’t burned. My clothes were still there. My mother had taken care of my
things. And my father had died and never loved me once. I didn’t know how to
meld the feelings of grief over his death with the love my mother secretly
snuck me. Or the joy I felt over finding myself in Greece and Italy, and yet,
finding myself
there
in that room with my things. I
didn’t know how to be all those things at once.