Veiled Innocence

Chapter Twenty-One

Past…

I pulled into the parking lot of the hospice facility and sat silently, watching as a nurse wheeled an older lady through the front door.

People came here for one thing: to leave the world behind. Is that why I was here now? To leave my current world behind?

To lose myself in this emotional crisis where I had no control, so I wouldn’t have to face the horrible choices I was otherwise making?

Resting my head back on the seat, I closed my eyes. I told myself that an hour here wouldn’t make a difference in when I could see her, and then I remembered the way Addison had looked at me before she’d got into her car.

For the first time, she’d appeared defeated.

Climbing out of the truck, I slammed the door shut and stormed toward the entrance with misdirected anger. I was furious, and as I walked through the front doors, I felt my annoyance brewing.

If it hadn’t been for my father getting sick, I wouldn’t be back here in the first place. If he’d bothered to tell me earlier, I could have gotten to him sooner, had him cared for, and never…never what? Moved back to Denver? Gotten a job at the local high school?

Met Addison?

Stopping outside his room, I leaned against the wall and scrubbed a hand over my face.

Look at me, trying to find someone to blame. Way to man up.

It wasn’t my father’s fault I’d decided to fuck up my life. That was mine and mine alone. It was about time I owned it.

“Oh, Mr. McKendrick. Someone finally got ahold of you.”

Pushing off the wall, I turned to see my father’s nurse. I shook my head, uncomfortable that I’d been caught in a moment of disgusted self-reflection.

“No, I’m sorry. I just came by after work.”

“Oh,” she acknowledged.

As she touched my arm, her eyes conveyed a sympathy that was only ever borne from death. My stomach knotted, and I knew—he was gone.

“When?”

“Around ten minutes ago. We tried to reach you, but…”

But…I’d been lingering at the school, watching over Addison.

I’d missed him by minutes…mere minutes.

“Okay,” I mumbled, not able to say anything else.

“I’m sorry. I realize this must be a shock when you thought you were coming here to visit.”

It was a shock. I’d been furious at my father only seconds ago and now? Now he was dead.

“Yes,” I managed to utter. I still couldn’t wrap my brain around what she was telling me.

“It was peaceful. He was sleeping when he passed.”

Peaceful.

He was at peace, and me—I was in some kind of hell.

“Can I see him? Have you moved—?”

“No,” she interrupted gently. “He’s still in there.”

She turned the door handle to his room and pushed it open a crack.

“Is there someone I can call for you?”

Brushing past her, I saw the lone bed over by the window.

“No. There’s no one.”

“Okay. Then take your time and let me know when you’re ready.”

Without looking back, I walked over to where my father lay. The room was suffocating in its silence, and as I got closer, I noticed that someone had opened the window. I knew some believed that by opening the window, you freed the soul. I wondered if it had freed his.

I sat down beside the bed and took his hand. It was cool to the touch and when I leaned down over it, I felt a tear escape.

I’d come home to Denver to say good-bye and somehow managed to fuck that up too. Jesus, my sense of purpose had gone to shit.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized as my body shook. “God. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I’d let this man down in every way. Not only did I manage to break every moral rule he’d instilled in me, I’d let him down when he needed me the most.

Fuck, I don’t deserve any kind of happiness.

I raised my head to look out the window, searching for my own escape, but there was no escaping my terrible choices. They’d been made.

The only thing I could do was…unmake them? Was that even possible?

The sun had shifted and was slowly beginning to set. The rays now streaming into the room were hitting something shiny on the set of drawers by my father’s bed.

Releasing his hand, I stood and made my way over to see what it was. There, sitting on the flat surface, was a pen resting on a single sheet of paper. Scrawled across the middle was a quote.

Nietzsche.

My father had always been a fan of his work and passed the love of his writing on to me. I picked up the note and touched the words he’d written.

Gray,

‘What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.’

I understand.

Dad

I clenched the note in my fist and brought it to my mouth, trying to hold myself together.

He was still teaching me, and here I was, still trying to learn from his lessons.

As tears blurred my vision, I shoved the paper in my pocket and once again, the pen lying on the drawers caught my eye. Picking it up, I noticed it was his old faithful.

As a teacher, he’d always prided himself on having something nice to write with, and this was the pen I’d given him for his 50^th birthday.

It was black with a beautiful gold finish, and along the side his initials were engraved—G.M.—just like my own.

He’d never gone anywhere without it, and from now on, neither would I.

Present…

Tick, tick, tock.

I’ve been sitting in Doc’s office for the last thirty minutes, but he hasn’t said one word. Usually I’d enjoy the silence, but today it’s starting to worry me.

What is this? A new tactic?

If so, I’m surprised to admit that I enjoyed the old ones better. This silence is nerve-racking. After yesterday in the library, I was almost certain we’d be discussing the flora and fauna in Colorado, but so far—nothing.

Well, nothing except for the new habit of tapping his pen and my new preoccupation of focusing on it.

It was irritating. It was intrusive. It was…familiar.

“Can I see your pen?”

I’m the first to break the silence, and Doc’s smile is slow as it appears.

“Why? It’s just a pen.”

My eyes find his, and I call him out. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Shrugging, Doc holds the pen out and looks it over. I too let my eyes move over the black and gold casing. If only I could see the other side.

Tick, tick, tock.

“How do you know I’m lying?”

“Isn’t it unethical for you to lie to a patient?”

“How do you know I’m lying?”

Beginning to get annoyed, I roll my eyes at him and stand. “I just do.”

“How?”

I cross my arms and refuse to talk.

“Addison?”

“What?” I snap, anxious to know if this is what I think it is and more importantly, why Doc has it.

“You need to trust me.”

I watch Doc as he stands and holds the pen out to me. I reach for it, and it’s almost like he’s here in the room with me.

For the first time since I’ve been here, the loud ticking of the clock stops. Cautiously, I lift the pen and turn it to see G.M. engraved along the side—suddenly, the loudest thing in the room is my heart.

Past…

The sun had finally set when I made my way through the gates of the cemetery and stepped down onto the green grass. In one day, everything had become extremely complicated.

I walked briskly between the tombstones, careful not to tread on the flowers sprouting out around the edges.

Brandon had followed me…followed us. What if he hadn’t gone back for practice?

Not only were my actions reckless, they were putting Grayson’s freedom in jeopardy. One wrong move and his career would be over, not to mention he’d end up in jail. He could lose everything, all because of me.

What made me think I had the right to ask that of him?

Doc was always telling me, one choice can change the entire path you were once on. Is this the kind of thing he’d been talking about?

Maybe it was time for me to make the right choice—the one to say good-bye.

I could choose to be unselfish and allow Grayson to move on from what he surely now felt was an obligation.

“Addison?”

The deep voice that drifted through the night didn’t belong to the man I’d told to meet me here. No, the man standing in front of me was family.

“Dad…what are you doing here?” And when are you leaving?

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, his voice full of disgust as he looked away and faced the stone that marked his son’s resting place.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”

“Yes, it was,” he agreed and lifted his arm, bringing up the bottle.

Whiskey. His go-to when he needed to numb the pain. They sent me to a shrink, but he swore he didn’t need one.

Why see a doctor when liquor is cheaper?

“I’ll just leave then.”

“No,” he discouraged. “Stay. You should apologize every day.”

My head jerked back as if he’d slapped me. “I didn’t come here to apologize.”

He turned with a sway and spat at me with loathing. “Well you should.”

Those three little words shouldn’t have been able to cause such damage, but after Brandon and Jessica, they cut wide the wound that I usually held somewhat stitched together.

“I don’t have anything to apologize for,” I stressed, reminding myself what Doc always told me.

I turned to leave and had taken only two steps when I was pulled to a stop by a hand grabbing my wrist. He spun me around and yanked me in close before shoving his face close to mine.

I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath as he assured me, “You have everything to be sorry for. It’s your fault he’s even in the ground.”

I tried to pull my arm free, but my father’s grip was stronger. I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow.

“Yes, Addison. Because of you.”

I shook my head in denial. “Let me go!”

“It’s hard to hear the truth, isn’t it?”

“You’re hurting me!

“No. Noooo. I’m hurting!” he shouted and the torment in his voice was evident. That was quickly forgotten when his palm met my cheek, and the back of his hand caught my lip on the upswing. The reverberating crack that echoed through the night seemed to keep beat with the painful throbbing of my newly bloodied lip.

He’d hit me before but never where anyone could see it.

He hated me for what happened to Daniel, and I hated him for what he’d become.

Sobbing uncontrollably, I looked up into the face I once worshipped and managed to tell him, “I’m hurting too.”

I stumbled back as he released me with a hard shove and heard him hiss under his breath. “Leave me alone. You’re as poisonous as the fucking flowers that grow here.”

Present…

“My father,” I manage as I drag my eyes away from the engraving on the pen.

“What’s your father got to do with this? I don’t understand.”

Of course he doesn’t. It’s obvious he knows who this belongs to, and it’s not my father.

I take a step back and sit down in the chair, still clutching what’s in my hand tight—as if it will heal me.

Like the man who’d owned it had.

“The first night I saw this,” I hold up the object under discussion, “was because of my father. Remember the way he liked to drink?”

“Yes, I do,” Doc acknowledges and sits back down. “What happened? Tell me, Addy.”

I feel a small smile tug at my mouth. “You haven’t called me Addy for a long time.”

“Addy hasn’t been here for a long time.”

He’s right. I thought she was long gone. Turns out, she was just hiding.

“Right after what happened to Daniel, Dad started drinking. You know that, I told you in our sessions together.”

“Yes, I remember. He was never home. Stayed out late, would drink, and come back the next morning after you and your mother left. Easy way to avoid his issues and the people in his life.”

Pulling the pen to my chest, I hold it against my heart.

“He’s a monster.”

“He’s grieving.”

I can feel the anger inside of me as I spit the words “I don’t care” from my mouth as if they’re vile.

“Yes, you do,” Doc patiently points out. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so angry. It’s okay to admit that.”

“‘Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster’—I guess I missed the point of that lesson.”

Doc places an elbow on the chair and rubs his chin as if thinking over the statement.

“Nietzsche, that’s an interesting choice. You say you missed the point of the lesson. A lesson Grayson was teaching you?”

“How about a life lesson?”

“How about the truth?”

I lower the pen to my lap and twist the top between my fingers before answering.

“I fought with my father that night, and now I’m locked up in a fucking cage—guess I became the monster after all.”

Past…

Running as fast as I could, I made my way across the grass and up on to the road. I sprinted through the parking lot and was just about to make it past the gates when a truck pulled off the road. The headlights lit me up like the star of my own fucked up reality show.

Grayson.

I dashed to the side, out of the spotlight, and searched for a place to hide. I waited for him to pass, but he must have seen me because the engine rumbled to a stop, and the headlights switched off.

The next thing I heard was the truck door opening and then his booted feet hit the ground.

“Addison?”

I slipped into the small alcove in the stone pillars of the entry gates and tried to hold myself together. I was shaking and could feel my lip trembling, so I bit down on the cut, wincing at the pain as I tried to fight back the tears.

“Addison?” he called out into the night, much like the first time we were here.

He couldn’t see me like this, crushed—not again.

I wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed the other to my mouth. I couldn’t keep doing this to him. I couldn’t pull him into this disaster that was my life and expect him to heal me.

Doc couldn’t even do that, so to ask it of Grayson wasn’t fair.

It was time to stop being so selfish.

“We need to talk,” he whispered into the night. “Where did you go?”

I agreed, we did need to talk, but not now. As I stood there, hidden, I hoped for the first time that he would leave.

He must have understood my need because the next thing I heard was a curse and then his feet began moving. I heard the truck door open, and I waited until he backed out of the drive and pulled away before stepping out from where I’d been hiding.

I walked through the gates to make my way home when I saw something on the road.

Huh, it was a fancy-looking pen.

I picked it up and saw Mont Blanc written around the gold trimming of the cap. Down the side, engraved in cursive, were the letters G.M.—it must have fallen from his truck.

I stood up and tucked it into my jeans pocket, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. Even without him there and my lip pounding, the thought that I had a part of him with me soothed the pain.

I’d take comfort in that tonight and free him tomorrow—when I’d return this to him.