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Harper’s bright blue eyes softened, and she gave me a slow smile. “You’re a good man, Cole Harkin, and when Layla realizes you’re coming home to stay, she’ll probably pee her pants with excitement,” she mused and chuckled as she glanced affectionately past the phone again.
Chatting with Harper for another few minutes, I managed to glean where they were headed and what the family they were visiting was like. Not that I didn’t trust Harper’s judgment, but knowing who Layla’s playmates were would be my starting point for the first conversation I had with her when I returned home.
Once my call with Harper had ended, I knew it was important for me to get out of the city before the news broke regarding my no-show. There was no doubt I’d lose fans, and some would be angry, but that was better than losing my daughter.
Another call to Derek informed me the news would be out by 9:00 a.m. Checking the time, I saw it was a little after 8:10 a.m. Shit! I need to move. Derek arranged a car for 8:30 a.m and after a smooth transition I was on my way home. I called Fletch, my bandmate, from the car and he wasn’t surprised.
“Take as long as you need. It’ll give us the opportunity to do a few collaborations with some other bands. We want you to concentrate on making yourself happy, Cole.”
Deep inside I knew my mood swings and drinking had been getting worse. Although it had been a long time since I’d lost Grace, most days my grief still felt as raw as the day she died.
SinaMen as a band had worked relentlessly for almost ten years, until Grace died. But after she’d passed I found listening to my own music too emotive. This was partly the reason for my relapse; playing the songs our fans expected to hear sometimes cut me to the quick; especially the ones written about Grace.
The gods were in my favor because, luckily, my emotional breakdown had happened on a Sunday and the street outside the hotel was still quiet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As predicted by Derek, the shit storm I’d created was less than kind toward me. Personally, I couldn’t have given a fuck, because I felt compelled to be with my daughter. Circumstances had been difficult since Grace’s death, and until I had woken up knowing for the first time what to do, I had been in denial.
That fact had come as a revelation to me, and I had ignored all but Layla’s basic needs as her dad in the process. On the way back from the airport to home, I sat in the car Derek had sent to meet me and wondered if I’d used the band as an excuse not to get close to Layla.
Did I really do that? If I did, was it because she looked the spitting image of her mom or had I a deeper, more basic reason than that, such as me being scared to death of losing her too?
Admitting my fears about losing her sent a pang of shock to my chest. It took my breath away. I shook my head because the thought was incomprehensible. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to rob me of both of my girls? Problem was, I had no trust in God anymore.
Even though I felt I had lost my faith, I defied myself by continuing to pray: for Layla’s safety, for strength, for guidance. The contradiction didn’t sit well with me because I was so pissed at the way Grace had died. I struggled with the concept of having someone I was supposed to believe in inflicting such misery and pain on people who had placed their trust in him.
I was still chewing over the hole in my beliefs when the driver pulled up to the heavy metal gates and I took the electronic remote from my carry-on. Pointing it at the metal barriers they clunked noisily before the wired buzzing sound signaled their parting.
Coming home used to give me a sense of relief, but ever since Grace had gone, the initial moment I caught sight of the house always filled my heart with sorrow. It sank instantly and a nauseous feeling rose up in my throat. Everywhere I looked I saw Grace: in the landscape, in the tub, the shower, by the dresser brushing out her long raven hair.
Mixed memories stirred strong emotions, both happy and sad. Images of the once vibrant, bubbly little beauty who lit up the room just by being in it, compared with the drained, exhausted skeletal frame robbed of her life by the ravaging disease that destroyed her.
Stepping out of the car, I stood staring up at the huge U-shaped, three-story building. It was the round attic room window that had sold us on the house as the romanticism of storing our family heirlooms in the attic overtook the practicalities of owning such a large property with such extensive grounds.
There were thousands of square feet of the house we never used. Matty and Stuart had a suite of rooms in the west wing, while Fred and Ramona, our maintenance man and housemaid lived off the premises. Peter and Diane, our landscapers and ground team lived in the East Wing. Harper had a suite of rooms next to Layla’s suite which included a playroom, bathroom, and bedroom. My bedroom was down the hall from Harper and Layla’s.
Opening the door, I stepped inside and closed it quietly behind me. The click of the latch sounded hollow as I glanced over to the sweeping staircase. The same staircase I’d carried Grace up two at a time the first night we’d moved in. I smiled at the memory of her surprised little face when I lifted her up and threw her over my shoulder because I couldn’t wait to get her into my bed.
Throwing her playfully in the center of the mattress, I had tickled her within an inch of her life, and if I thought about it hard enough, I swear I could still hear her laughing at times. I smiled sadly at the memory.
Since she’d gone, when I looked up in that direction, or I glanced around the wide imposing hallway, there was an ache in my heart that wouldn’t go away. All our dreams about filling our home full of babies and pets were now dust.
Inhaling sharply, I pulled myself up straight, realizing how low I’d slumped, and I wandered into the kitchen. Matty was kneading dough on a large wooden board and the smell of freshly cooked banana bread wafted intoxicatingly around the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re here!” she exclaimed, immediately abandoning the beige lump of uncooked whatever, wiping her hands on a cloth, and hurrying over in front of me.
“Where else would I be?” I countered.
“You’ll have to hug me if you don’t want that black button-down shirt covered in flour,” she joked with a welcoming smile.
Dipping to take her small frame in my arms, I squeezed her affectionately and let her go. Stepping back, I mirrored her smile. “Layla and Harper not back yet?”
Matty looked over her shoulder, already on her way back to the dough. Grabbing it in her hand she sprinkled flour from the shaker onto the board and began manipulating it by folding it in different directions.
“They’re with Jaden and Tom’s family. Cressida is a lovely woman and the boys are five and six years old, so around Layla’s age. Cressida is pregnant again, so I think inviting our guys over there is her way of keeping hers out of trouble. You know Harper, she’s got that schoolmarm look nailed and everyone behaves when she’s around.”
I chuckled at her description. It wasn’t something I’d personally seen from Harper, so I noted in my mind to look out for it.
