Chapter Twenty-Two
My father pulledme into the house and back toward his living room. After he led me to the couch, he turned off the television and moved toward the liquor cabinet, pouring whiskey in a glass.
I dropped down on the sofa and took the glass when he offered it to me, draining it in one gulp. I gasped for air as the liquid burned going down my throat, settling like a fire in the pit of my stomach.
“What happened, Tanya?” he asked.
I looked up at him and any explanation I might have had died on my tongue. Finally, I stated, “I can’t talk about it now, Dad. Can I stay here tonight?”
He watched me for a moment, his eyes studying my face with concern. Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you need.”
I sniffed, the tears still trickling from my eyes, and held up the glass. “Can I have a double this time?”
Without another word, Dad took the glass and poured me another drink. When he returned to the couch, he brought the bottle with him.
A couple of hours later, he helped me up to my childhood room and into bed.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I whispered as he wrestled my shoes off. The room seemed to spin with each tug.
“For what, sweetheart?” he asked, dropping my shoes on the floor next to the bed and pulling the covers up over me.
“Everything.”
My last conscious thought was that it felt nice to have him stroking my hair just like he used to when I was little. It felt like home.
The next morningI woke up with a light head and a heavy heart. The magnitude of what I’d done crashed over me as soon as my eyes opened. I couldn’t believe I’d said the things I had or left Jordan like that.
It was as if an alien had taken over my body.
Unfortunately, my life wasn’t a sci-fi flick.
I turned my head to glance at the clock on my nightstand and saw a glass of water and a little dish that contained two ibuprofen tablets. Though I wouldn’t have believed it a moment before, I smiled.
Clearly, Jordan had more in common with my father than I realized.
Though I wasn’t hungover, my head felt heavy from all the tears I’d shed the night before. I popped the pills into my mouth and washed them down with the water.
I climbed out of bed and went into the attached bath. I winced when I saw my face. I hadn’t washed off my make-up the night before and the results weren’t pretty.
Taking my time, I washed my face with cool water and found myself smiling again when I saw the brand new toothbrush and travel tube of toothpaste my father must have set out for me. Then, I combed my fingers through my hair, pulling the messy strands up into a loose ponytail.
I headed downstairs and found my father sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee. Another cup sat in front of him, steaming hot, so I knew he must have heard me moving around and poured it for me.
“Morning, Dad,” I greeted him, surprised at the rusty sound of my voice.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” His eyes were concerned as he studied me. “Are you feeling better today?”
“Yes, I’m better.” I took a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth soothe my throat.
“Are you ready to talk about it yet?” he asked.
I sat on the stool next to my dad’s, wrapping my hands around my cup. “It was seeing Lucille at the funeral.” I paused because I wasn’t sure how to explain what happened to me last night.
“What was?”
I studied him, noting that he looked younger and more vibrant than his years. He’d only been forty when my mother passed away. “Why didn’t you get married again after Mom died?” I asked.
He frowned at my random question. “I never found the right woman,” he replied.
