My first instinct was to go to Caleb. Stepping toward him, I froze when I saw Beatrice-Rose run to him.
Something inside me cracked. I looked away.
“You okay, Angel Face?” Damon asked from behind me. I should be the one asking him that. He got into this because of me. I turned to face him. He rose, still massaging his jaw.
“Damon, I’m so sorry.”
“Red.”
Caleb. My back was to him, but I could just picture the pleading look on his handsome face by the sound of his voice. I closed my eyes tightly, blocking the image. I had to walk away.
“Let’s go,” I told Damon.
Caleb didn’t follow me this time.
Chapter Thirty-four
Beatrice-Rose
“Dad?”
He sat in his wheelchair, staring through his window at a spot in the garden. Dazed with drugs, he didn’t hear me. His eyes were glassy, his skin dry and pale. The nurse had tried to comb his hair, but it was all wrong. My dad never combed his hair to the side. It was always combed back.
Stupid nurses. We paid them so well, and yet they couldn’t do their work properly.
I pushed myself up from kneeling in front of him and opened the drawer in his nightstand. He always loved his things in order. When I found his comb, I smiled and walked back to him.
“I’m just going to fix your hair, okay, Dad?”
I squeezed his hand, then I started combing his hair back. He used to have thick, dark hair, but it was now thin and graying. It terrified me how the people you love get old.
I didn’t like old people. They scared me.
“Dad? Do you remember the pet rabbit you gave me when I was four? His name was Atlas, after that Titan you told me about who carried the world on his shoulders.” I paused, feeling tears prick my eyes but held them back. “I miss your stories. You used to tell me all these fascinating stories, and I think Mom was jealous of me. Maybe that’s why she always hated me, do you think?”
When I smoothed his hair back with my hand, his eyes fell closed. I kept at it until he relaxed.
“I know what you did, Dad. I never told you, but I saw you that day.”
I studied his face for any sign that he understood what I was telling him, but his eyes were closed, his face calm and expressionless.
“I heard your car outside, and I was so excited to see you. But Mom was home and she hated it when I interrupted your time with her, so I stayed inside my room for a bit. I knew you’d come knock on my door soon anyway, bringing a present.”
My dad always had big hands, but the ones in his lap now were thin and old, with spidery veins popping out under his skin.
“But I waited, and you didn’t come. So I went looking for you. I went in your room. Mom told me I wasn’t allowed there, but I really missed you. You’d been gone for so long. You were gone all the time.”
I tried to keep the resentment out of my voice. I was an expert at hiding my real feelings, but sometimes I couldn’t help something slipping through the cracks. My mom never loved me, but my dad did very much. I was his spoiled little girl. The only problem was that he was always away for business, for a party, for something. That was a long time ago and I had forgiven him for it, but the feelings of abandonment remained.
“When I saw your suit on the floor, I picked it up. There was a hole on the sleeve, and I knew, Dad. I knew Atlas had chewed it. I was so scared. So I went to search for him. He loved to hide in your garage. Did you know that? So I went there. And I saw it. I saw the blood and white fur on your worktable. I saw the hammer you used to kill him… It was still bloody. I knew you did it because I hid under the table when I heard you come in and I saw you clean it up and I saw your face. You were upset.”
I was scratching my arms and I knew I was bleeding from them, but I didn’t feel anything.
“That night during supper, when you told me you had bad news to tell me, I wanted you to confess. But instead, you lied to me and told me Atlas ran away. You lied to me, Dad.”
My knees felt weak, and I squatted in front of him, holding on to the armrests of his wheelchair for support. I was shaking. I had kept this inside for so long, and I had never forgotten about it. Why did I decide to tell him now? Maybe because I was afraid he would leave me soon. He would die, and he would leave me. Again.
“But I want you to know that I forgive you. I understand why you lied to me. You wanted to protect me. You didn’t want me to get hurt. You didn’t want me to hate you. You didn’t want me to see what you really were. Because we all have roles to play, right, Dad?”