Love Emerged (13 page)

Damn it. Nope. This time will be different, I’ll make sure of it.

Bea

I’M BACK IN THE ELEVATOR
after dropping my bags off in my room. My stomach churns with the thought of what’s waiting for me in a limo downstairs. As I said good-bye to Dylan at the elevator, I almost asked him to come with me to my father’s. Somehow, he could be a buffer to the drama that will be waiting for me. But how do you ask someone that you’ve really only slept with, to hold your hand? I could barely tell him about my family without tears spilling down my face.

The elevator doors open, and I step through the unimpressive lobby and out the doors to the streets of Chicago.

“Cab, ma’am?” The doorman approaches me.

I smile, waving him off. “No, thank you. That’s mine.” I point to the stretch limousine as dread washes over me.

“Let me get your door.” He steps over, his gloved hand on the door handle.

I dig into my coat pocket to tip him before I slide into the car. “Thank you,” I say.

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

The door shuts, and the pleasant exchange I had with the doorman ends with a bang.

“Why the hell would you stay here? I told you I’d book you a room at The Drake.” My mom’s drink tips over the edge, spilling to the carpeted floor.

“Nice to see you, too.” I shoot her a tight smile, not that she sees it with her hand reaching for the bottle already.

“Hi, honey.” She gives me a fake smile and then concentrates on the glass in front of her.

“I told
you
, I’m here with a coworker because I’m working on an important campaign. He suggested this hotel, so I agreed.”

She acts like the Hilton is a shabby motel with vibrating beds.

“Oh, that’s right, my so, so busy daughter.” She leans back, crossing her legs, and I realize they’re bare.

My eyes drift up, and I find she’s dressed in a red dress with black heels. Her makeup has been professionally done as well as her curled hair.

Oh God, she’s trying to impress my father. The twisting in my stomach worsens.

“Well, I do have a career I’m striving for,” I remark.

She narrows her eyes at me.

“You know, if you want Dad to notice you, then maybe you should refrain from drinking so much.”

“I definitely don’t need your advice on men, Miss Spinster.”

“I’m twenty-five, not fifty,” I come back at her insult. “Just because I’m more interested in my career doesn’t mean I don’t have boyfriends.”

“Who is your man then? I introduced you to William’s son, and you gave him a bloody nose. Something about distance,” she continues.

I’m thinking about paying Dylan to portray my boyfriend for the rest of this weekend. At least then, she’d leave this subject matter alone.

“First of all, I don’t have a man right now. Second, Cory, William’s son, tried to lead me into the coatroom to have sex. I refused, and he got angry.”

I fail to disclose that he was actually forcing himself on me. She doesn’t need to know that, especially since she’s divorcing William.

“That’s no reason to punch him.”

With my blood boiling in my veins, I sit back and stare out the window, hoping she sees that I’m not in the mood for this conversation.

Luckily, she can still read my moods with the nonverbal signs and sits there, drinking her half bottle of vodka. Within minutes, we’re outside my dad’s condo building. This is one of seven houses he has, most being in tropical settings that people dream to visit, let alone live. I’ve only ever seen this house and his LA one, not that I hold it against him in any way.

His doorman opens the door for my mom and me. We step out, and my mom waits for him to walk back to the door before going in. Like her hands are unusable. If they can lift a fifth of vodka, they can open a door.

“Please,” I sigh, reaching across her to open it up.

The door handle is in my hand when the doorman approaches.

“I’ll get that, ma’am.”

I step away, and my mother walks in as soon as the door is opened. She breezes to the elevator, as though she’s a resident.

“May I ask who you are here to see?” a lady behind the desk asks.

My mother continues to face the elevator doors. So indignant to be asked.

“Mom,” I say.

She turns to me and rolls her eyes. “Tell them, Beatrice.”

I walk over to the reception desk. The girl’s doe eyes look up at me. If I wasn’t here, I’m not sure anyone would have stopped my mother.

“Hi, I’m Beatrice Zanders, and I’m here to see Hugh Vitron in the penthouse.” My fingers tap on the counter as I wait for her to check the list of visitors.

“Great. I have you.” She writes something down. “And this is?” She points to my mom.

“Caroline Vitron,” my mother answers, still facing the doors.

I shoot the girl a tight smile.
She’s lying. Call her out on it.

“I need to ring up because you aren’t on the list.”

Maybe I was wrong about this girl. My lips curl into a smile.

“Do what you must.” My mother waves her hand in the air.

The elevator doors open, and the man smiles at my mother, ushering her in.

The receptionist holds her hand up in the air while the phone is lodged in her neck, and the bellman halts my mother to a stop, both showing my mother that she’s not all she believes she is. I’m liking this place more and more.

“Hi, Gretchen. This is Kyleigh downstairs. There’s a Caroline Vitron here with Bea Zanders to see Mr. Vitron.”

There’s a long enough pause for me to think about who Gretchen is. Is this some surprise who will slide in and marry my dad before he kicks the bucket? Probably some chick younger than me.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll send them up.” The receptionist picks up her hand again.

The bellman slides out of the way. He should be happy that he still has his hand. My mother has the patience of a lion.

“Sorry, but I don’t want to lose my job,” Kyleigh says.

“It’s completely understandable. Thank you,” I remark.

“Bea!” my mom yells.

I shake my head. “I’m coming,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Penthouse, Carl,” Kyleigh calls over.

“Yes, penthouse, Carl,” my mom repeats.

I wonder why she has to act so justified. She left this man eons ago without a look back.

As the elevator moves up the floors, I hope Gretchen is the girl who he’ll marry because if he marries my mother, I’m not sure I could handle it.

The elevator dings, and Carl holds the doors open for us to file out. My mom walks straight ahead, so I dig into my coat pocket, handing him a tip.

He bows. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Just Bea, and you’re welcome.”

I catch up to my mom down the hallway, and there in the plaque is written
Penthouse A
. Immediately, my stomach is in knots. I haven’t seen my father in five years, and I’m not sure how today will play out.

My mom’s wastes no time pressing her finger to the buzzer. We wait in silence because I’m already nervous to see him.

What shape will he be in? Sick and fragile? Or will he still be the lively man he’s always been? Will the suited tall male with a scotch in his hand I remember open the door?

The doorknob circles, and the knots tighten from the anticipation of who is on the other side of the door. The door opens, and there’s a young woman with a short dark bob. She’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot.

“Hi, Mrs. Zanders, Mrs. Vitron. I’m Gretchen, Hugh’s caregiver,” she introduces herself.

I could facepalm myself for not thinking about a caregiver. Of course, my dad picked a sweet young girl who he probably regularly feels up. Might as well see the eye-candy while he can.

“You can call me Bea.” I breeze by her in the doorway, entering my father’s plush penthouse.

“You can call me Mrs. Vitron,” my mom says from behind me.

I roll my eyes from her absurdity.

The door shuts, and Gretchen meets my mother and me at the round table with numerous flower arrangements on it. “He’s sleeping, but he should be up soon.”

“Thank you, Gretchen,” my dad says, walking into the foyer.

“Sir, you shouldn’t be up.” Gretchen practically knocks my mom into the table, rushing over to my dad. She grabs his elbow to hold him up, and they disappear through the archway to the family room.

My mom stands there in awe of the absence of the vibrant man she once knew, maybe even loved.

“Come on.” I wave my hand in the air for her to follow me, but she stands there, her long, thin fingers gripping the round maple table in the foyer. “Mom?”

Her eyes reach mine, but her face has paled. I understand what she’s thinking. My dad’s rosy cheeks have been replaced with a yellow tint. His once muscular build with tight skin is now saggy skin hanging off his thin frame.

“I should go,” she says softly. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Her hands let go of her anchor, and she backs up toward the door.

I grab ahold of her hand to stop her, but her eyes are fixated with fear at the archway, like a monster is lurking nearby.

“Mom, let’s go.” I pull harder to bring her back down to Earth with me, but she’s somewhere far, far away.

“Mr. Vitron would like tea. Would either of you?” Gretchen’s voice says from behind me.

I drop my mom’s hand to give Gretchen my attention. “Yes, please. We’ll both have tea. Just give us a minute.”

She smiles and leaves us alone once again.

“Mom, you are going to go in there. What did you expect a dying man to look like?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

She wiggles her wrist out of my grip, and before I can stop her, she’s at the door. The door clicks shut, and my eyes close as I try to calm my anger. I should have known that she wouldn’t be able to handle anything serious.

Pushing my issues with my mother off, I straighten my shoulders, plaster on that fake smile, and walk through the archway to my sick father.

My dad is sitting in an oversize chair, looking out his span of windows to downtown. His back is to me, and his thinning hair is what I notice first. My hand grips my purse strap, and I break the distance between us.

“Hi, Dad.” I sit down on the matching leather couch.

“Hi, Bea.” He smiles, shifting in his seat to straighten his back. “How was your trip?”

“It was good. I came with a coworker, so it wasn’t a dull drive.”

He glances over to me from the corners of his eyes. “What’s the coworker’s name?”

I should have known to zip my lips. He’s going to make more of an extensive issue of this than he should. “We have a campaign to work on, and he agreed to drive me out here, so I would be able to come. My boss is an asshole who didn’t want to give me the time off.”

I lean back into the couch, wondering why I was so scared of coming. Although it’s a rarity to see my father, when I’m in his presence, it’s always effortless conversation.

“Even with your ailing father?” He props his slippered feet onto the ottoman.

“I know. He’s just a dick. A complete woman-hating dick.” I place my purse on the couch, swinging my legs under me.

My dad might look like a much older self, but his personality is still alive and vibrant.

“Let me pull some strings, and get you out here. There are top agencies in Chicago.”

I roll my eyes at his classic fix-it obsession. “Eventually, I’ll earn it, but not before.”

I remember the last time he tried to fix it, and my own grandmother turned me down for the Vitron’s advertising account. Never again, I swore to myself.

“I love your drive and independence. Wish I had more of it.”

Gretchen comes in, placing the tray on the side table. She glances over to me and then back to her three steaming cups of water. “I brought a variety for you to select from.” She hands me a box while she prepares my dad’s cup.

“Can you believe how beautiful my daughter is, Gretch?”

She glances over to me with a soft smile. “She is gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” I say, my cheeks heating with their compliments.

Gretchen moves to put the tea bag I selected in the cup, but I stop her, insisting that I can do it myself. Truth be told, I should be doing my father’s, too.

She slowly nods and then exits the room.

“What were we talking about?” My dad stares at me longer than usual, and I shift in my seat. “Oh, yes, that I’ll put you in business.”

“No, Dad. I have a good job at Deacon, and I have a feeling I’ll become senior exec soon.” Just saying it aloud shoots tingles through my body. After all this time, I’ll finally be senior exec.

“If only I had paid attention to you sooner.”

My brows crinkle as I wonder exactly what he means.

He must sense it because he holds his hand up in the air. “I mean, if I wasn’t so self-absorbed, maybe I’d have seen your dreams and aspirations before now.”

I shake my head because I wouldn’t want those things anyway. “I’m happy where I am, but thank you.”

I fail to mention that I’d have loved to have more of a relationship with him, but I won’t kick a horse when he’s down, and that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I told him how much I craved a normal father/daughter relationship. He’s in the final chapter of his life, and reflection can strip you down. Not that I know what it’s like to be knocking on death’s door, but I’m best friends with reflection and regret.