Page 103 of The Version You Hide
“Do you have some ID?”
I pull my driver’s licence from my purse and slide it over the counter. It feels like an eternity passes before she replies. “That’s fine, Mackenzie. If you’d like to head down the hall and to the left, you’ll come to a visiting area. I’ll send for Mr. Riley to meet you there. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
She offers a tight smile. “Don’t make a habit out of it. You’ll need an appointment next time.”
I nod profusely, my eyes beginning to sting with the tears I push back down. “Okay.”
Following the woman’s instructions, I head down the hall and as I veer left, the waiting room comes into view. It’s a bright and inviting space, well-lit by the floor-to-ceiling windows that line both sides of the room. There’s an outside sitting area out the back, lush with greenery and colourful flowerpots. It doesn’t seem like a bad place, all things considered.
A few other people are seated off to one side, so I choose a couch along the far-left window. Although, sitting is the last thing I feel like doing.
Anxiety fires through my veins as I pace the space in front of the couch, my eyes on the ground, my forefingers massaging my temples. I contemplate one more time whether I should turn and run from this place.
The last time I’d seen my father, he had been passed out on the couch. His head was dipped back along the headrest, an almost empty bottle of whisky on the floor at his feet. An amber liquid trickled from it, leaving a stain on the already soiled carpet.
I’d reached for his wrist, relieved to feel the faint thrumming of a pulse. Then I’d turned for the door, following the yellow glow of Henley’s headlights in the driveway with the intent of never looking back.
Now that I’m here, I can’t help but wonder what he might say when he sees me? What will he do?
I don’t have to wonder long. I force myself to look up when gentle footsteps fall on the plush, grey carpet in front of me.
There are two things I notice about my father’s eyes in this moment. One is how much emotion they seem to convey. Happiness, joy but also guilt.
The other is how clear they are. No longer red-rimmed and bloodshot, the whites whiter. If it weren’t for the turmoil that swirls in their midst, I’d say he looked more at peace.
“Mackenzie?” His voice cracks as he questions my name.
He blinks, as though he can’t really believe I’m standing in front of him. I don’t blame him. I can’t believe it either.
He takes a step closer, but I retreat, moving backwards with my arms folded across my chest. I wanted to see him again. I needed to. But now that he’s here before me, looking the healthiest he ever has, at least to me, I can’t stop all of those bad memories rushing in.
“Did you know?” I blurt, swallowing down the heavy lump that forms in my throat.
His eyes cloud over with confusion, his brow wrinkling as he shakes his head. “Know what?”
“Did you know that she was dying? Did you know that Mum’s gone?” My eyes well as I say the words.
The shock that washes over my father’s face tells me that he didn’t know. That he’s learning this information for the first time right now. He pushes both hands through his hair as he falls onto the couch beside us. “I had no idea.”
I don’t say anything while I watch him process this information. He chokes out a guttural sob. “Oh, Mackenzie. I’m so sorry.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about her?” I demand, my jaw set hard in anger. “You never talked about her.”
“I know.” He drops his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry.
“I needed you to talk to me.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he pleads. His hands are cupping his mouth now, muffling the sobs that escape. I watch until I can’t bear it any longer. I can’t stand to see him break in front of me. I fall down on the couch beside him, and he finally lifts his head. “How did it happen?”
“Cancer,” I sniffle as tears sting behind my eyes. “I found out from my grandmother. She came looking for me.”
The uncertainty portrayed in his expression is sincere, letting me know that he didn’t know about Grace either. “Your mother told me her parents had died.”
“Her father died,” I tell him. “Her mother is well and truly alive.”
“I had no idea.” He shakes his head in shock. “She told me she’d never had a great relationship with her mother.”