“Nick,” I say softly. “I don’t want you to go down there for him. Do it for yourself.”
He shakes his head, his gaze shuttering even before he’s considered it. “I don’t need anything from the bastard now. He had his chance to be a father. Hell, he had his chance to be a decent human being, but evidently even that was asking too much. I don’t need answers from him, if that’s what you think. I sure as fuck don’t need his apologies.”
“I know you don’t.” I reach out to him, resting my palms against his chest. “But I think you need to forgive him. If you and I are going to try to build a future together, you need to find a way free from the pain your father caused you.”
Something dark flickers over his features now. I can’t name the emotion, and when I try to study it more closely, Nick blinks and it’s gone. He’s put it away now, somewhere he doesn’t want me to find it. My heart aches to see that subtle withdrawal. If we stand any chance of making it this time, he needs to trust that he can show me all of who he is.
He needs to be able to take me into the darkest corners of his past and know that I won’t ever leave him.
“I know what I’m asking isn’t easy for you. It won’t be easy for me to see you hurting either.” I hold his face, imploring him to see how much he means to me. “But I also can’t watch this issue between you and your father destroy the man I love. I love you so much, Nick. That’s why I’m asking you to do this. For you. For me. I need you to do this for us.”
“If I go . . . I don’t know what I’ll find there.”
The sober confession is so vulnerable it brings the prickle of tears to the backs of my eyes.
“I know you don’t. And I know how terrifying that must be.” I rest my cheek against his sternum, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. “But you won’t have to do it alone. I’m going with you. We’re going to do this together.”
Chapter 24
Three days later, Avery’s hand rests warmly in mine as we walk together into the sand-colored brick building in Homestead where my father has lived for the past five years.
Of course, lived is a relative term. As Avery and I are greeted by a distracted twenty-something receptionist then directed toward the wing of the institution that’s reserved for full-time nursing care, I can’t help feeling the smallest pang of pity for the old man.
After spending his whole life on the water down in the Keys, this taupe-walled maze of corridors and sickrooms must feel like a damn prison.
A monotonous, prolonged state of hell.
Not that he hasn’t earned his piece of it in many ways.
Although to be fair, he isn’t the only Baine man to deserve a stint in hell.
“You must be Dominic,” says a heavy-set woman with big hair and a kind smile as we arrive at the attendant station in my father’s area of the home. The woman shakes my hand, then Avery’s, introducing herself as the afternoon floor manager. “I have to say, we were surprised to hear you were coming. And so soon. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to Bill to know you’re here.”
It feels bizarre to hear her mention my father with such familiarity, as if she knows him. As if she actually cares about the surly son of a bitch. Maybe the stroke mellowed him.
Then again, William Baine only seemed to have problems getting along with his own son. Just another of the reasons I learned to hate him at a young age.
The woman gestures for Avery and I to follow her. “How long has it been since you came to see him, Dominic?”
“I haven’t. My father and I aren’t close.”
“I see.” I don’t miss the trace of judgment in her tone. It’s also in the flick of her gaze, the slight compression of her lips.
As we walk the length of the hallway, Avery’s fingers flex in my grasp, a reassuring reminder that she’s with me. That she will remain with me every step of this dubious journey.
I don’t realize how rapidly my heart is pounding, how damp my palms have gotten, until we’re approaching a room with a closed door. Its gauzy beige curtain is drawn across the narrow pane of glass, shrouding the unlit room and its lone occupant. To the right of the doorjamb is a removable name plate that reads William “Bill” Baine.
It’s been sixteen years since I saw him; now all that separates us is a few feet of pitted linoleum tile and the door I’ll have to walk through on my own volition.
The attendant lowers her voice. “Before you go in, I feel I should warn you that your father’s not doing well. He’s been declining for some time. I, ah, I don’t know if anyone has told you, but he’s in the early stages of kidney failure now. Usually that means we’re down to a matter of weeks before his organs begin to fail.”
“Yes.” I nod. “I’m aware.”
I feel Avery’s tender gaze on me, her soft inhalation when she hears this news for the first time. We haven’t spoken of what this trip will entail or what might wait for me on the other side of this door. She’s given me endless patience this week, allowing me all the time and space I need to sort out my feelings in preparation for this trip.
More importantly, she’s given me her love.
“Just so you understand, Dominic, even if your father is awake, he won’t be able to speak to you. But he can hear, so whatever you’d like to say to him, know that he will understand even if he no longer has the ability to express himself or respond.”