“So much madder.”
He patted my head with his other hand, sighing. “We can’t have that then.” He kept petting my hair, humming softly. It took me a moment to recognize it as the tune to a Somali song my mom used to sing to me when I was little. Dad never knew the words, but he had the tune down. “Thanks for bringing her, Wainwright. Adam. Thank you for taking care of her when I failed.”
I raised my head. “We don’t need to do this now. Just rest. We’ll be here.”
His eyes were heavy lidded, fatigue weighing him down. “You’re staying?”
“Yeah. We’re not going anywhere. Sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
Adam and I curled up as best we could on the visitor’s couch, and eventually, all three of us drifted off.
A few hours later, Saul’s doctor came in with the results of the MRI. There was no bleeding in his brain and no damage from the stroke. He diagnosed a TIA—which he explained was like a ministroke. It was the best news possible, given the circumstances. Saul would have to stay in the hospital another day to be monitored, since full strokes sometimes followed TIAs, but he was in the right place should that happen.
Adam ran down to the cafeteria to grab us something to eat while Saul ate the hospital-provided breakfast.
Saul nodded toward the door Adam had just exited. “He’s a good man.”
“He is. The best man I know.”
It wasn’t a dig, but Saul winced nonetheless. He didn’t argue, though. There wasn’t really any room for that, not after what he’d done—again.
“I didn’t know she took the watch. I would have never given it to her. I treasure that watch.”
I nodded slowly. “Does it matter, though? The watch is the only thing of Mom you treasured. You started disparaging her memory when you brought another woman into our home while I was still deep in grief, and you haven’t stopped.”
His brow dipped so low, his eyes were barely visible. “I have never loved anyone else. Aminah’s is the face I see when I dream. When you lose a love like ours, it’s almost impossible to keep going.”
I scoffed. In the past, I’d bitten my tongue when this topic arose, but I refused to do that anymore. “I know you loved her, but you barely paused when she died. Don’t tell me you couldn’t keep going.”
“Try to imagine what it was like for me, Adelaide. I was lost. Sometimes I wish I never had her so I wouldn’t know what I’m missing. I lived and breathed that woman.”
“I know you did. I once told Adam she was your sun and moon and you were her sky. He asked me what I was to you, and I told him I was your stars.”
His breathing shuddered. “That’s true.”
I leveled him with my gaze. “Try to imagine what it was like for me, Dad. I lost my sun and moonandmy sky. My mother was gone, and instead of helping me through, instead of doubling up on the love you gave me, you clenched me in an iron fist while you went looking for someone to fillyouup. I lost you when she died, and I guess I’ve been clinging to your shadow, hoping you’d come back. Youwerea good dad, and I still love you, but the fact is, you abandoned me eleven years ago, and you haven’t come back.”
I didn’t cry. I was all out of tears. But a weight lifted, telling him all I’d kept inside since I was a despondent thirteen-year-old girl.
His deep inhale was shaky. “You never told me you felt that way.”
“You never listened to me. You never saw me. I was there, begging for you to see. I’ve sat across from you every week at lunch, telling you my dreams, and you closed your ears. Itoldyou Natalie was a terrible person, yet you plan to marry her and give herbabies. I told you. You chose not to hear me. If Mom would be ashamed of anyone, it would be you, Saul.”
He turned his head, and I slumped back in my chair. Silence stretched between us, so thick and cloying, it was difficult to take a full breath.
Just when I thought we’d reached a stalemate, Dad spoke.
“Natalie is gone. I moved her out the day of the brunch. I knew she was a mistake from the beginning. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I see you now, and the change in you makes me wonder why I ever tried to hold you back from anything. You’ve changed in a way that reminds me so much of Aminah. Iamproud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“I can’t promise I’ll be alone forever, Adelaide. I’ll most likely marry again.”
I shrugged. “I would be surprised if you didn’t. You’re searching for something.”
He would never find it, and that made me incredibly sad for him. At least he was being honest and not making false promises.
“I do love you, and I think your man will be good to you. I believe that,” he said.