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"I want to be with you," he admits, defeated, heartbroken, devastated. "It's not fair."
"I think you need to try wanting something else," I soberly suggest before turning around and running home as fast as I can.
—
"Dad?"
The man whose ocean blue eyes I inherited turns from his computer screen in the basement office and smiles up at me. "It's late, kiddo. What are you doing down here?"
I take a seat on the other side of his messy desk, play with a strand of damp hair. Project plans, heaps of folders, pricing sheets and a few scattered plates fill the space between us.
"Just thought I'd see how you're doing before I head off to bed," I answer.
"Things are busy," he gravely responds. "I haven't had much time to spend with you. With Danny and Nora going to couples counseling, needing extra help with the kids, and Tommy buying a house in California, I've been MIA lately."
I lift a shoulder, give him a small smile. "It's fine."
He takes his baseball cap off, runs his hands over his tired face. His hair looks greyer than it did a few weeks ago. He's always being pulled in competing directions. Danny's marriage, Tommy's new house, Mom's store repairs after a water leak last week. The roofing business. Doesn't leave much time for me these days.
"Are you sure you're alright with me being gone the week before your birthday?" Dad asks, his voice weary. He leaves tomorrow to help Tommy put new flooring in his new house.
I nod. "Yeah. I know Tommy needs the help."
Dad taps a finger on his desk, eyes me with concern. "I can't believe you're going to college in a couple of months."
"Not until August," I remind him. "Still four months away."
"I'm so proud of you, Jenny," he chokes up, tries to hide it with a cough. "You know, Mom and I didn't go to college. Danny only went for a few semesters. Tommy didn't even bother. You'll be the first one in our family to graduate with a four-year degree."
"Yeah," I exhale tiredly. "I guess I will."
"Do you remember when I taught you how to ride a bike?" he asks, leaning forward in his chair.
"How could I forget?" I laugh. "You lied and said you were still holding onto the seat when you weren't."
"But you didn't fall," he proudly grins.
"No, not right away."
"You fell that one day," Dad swallows hard, folds his hands and sets them on the stack of papers in front of him. "I think you were about four years-old and you were playing with the neighbor kids. You took the corner too fast and crashed to the ground. You held it together in front of your friends, but the moment you reached me, you lost it."
"I remember that," I tell him. What a horrible memory to bring up. Thanks Dad.
"When I asked you where it hurt," Dad smiles at me, "you pointed to the knee that wasn't gushing blood. It didn't even have a scratch on it, but I kissed it anyway, told you it was all better and you stopped crying. You clung to me for a while after that. I think I realized then that you needed me to see your pain. You needed me to acknowledge it." There's a long pause before he continues. "I know I haven't been around a lot lately, but I still see your pain, Jenny. I see it and I know it's there. I want to make it better for you, but I don't think I can heal your wounds this time around. That's something you have to do on your own."
My eyes well up with tears, my chest constricts. I can't help the sob that escapes my lips. I stand in my flannel pajamas and pad over to Dad. He opens his arms and I fall into them. I let him hold me for a few minutes like he used to when I was four years-old. While my heart continues the long, grueling process of putting itself back together.
Because he's right.
Only I can heal my broken heart.
And I am.
Slowly, but surely, I am.
Chapter 23
"Jenny Marie Kearns."
