Life and Other Inconveniences(130)

I jumped off the bed, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the hall. “She’s dying,” I said without preamble. “She had one wish—to see Sheppard again.”

My father rolled his eyes. He wore a cashmere sweater and smelled like cologne, and his nose and cheeks bore the signs of a life of hard drinking. Only the best liquor, of course, and all funded by Genevieve.

“Clark,” I hissed, “you have never in your life done something for someone else. That changes right now. If you don’t go in there and pretend to be your brother, I’ll contest the will, and I have a pretty good feeling that I’ll win.”

“I’m supposed to be a boy who died more than fifty years ago?”

“Yes.” It was amazing how little I felt seeing him. In fact, the only thing I did feel was a fierce sense of protectiveness for Gigi. Mac growled, and I knew exactly how he felt.

“Will you do it?” I asked.

He sighed. “Sure. Whatever. She always loved him best, anyway.”

It was good enough. I led my father back into her room, and patted Genevieve’s shoulder. “Gigi, wake up. Guess who made it? It’s Sheppard. Your son is here.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “He’s right here, Gigi,” I said, pointing to my father. “Sheppard’s here.” I pushed him in the chair next to her bed.

She struggled to sit up, so I boosted her up on the pillows. She reached for his hand, but she was too weak.

Clark took it. “Hello, Mother,” he said.

“Sheppard?”

“Yep. It’s me. Sheppard. Your favorite son.” His tone dripped with derision, and I wanted to kick him.

“You . . . safe?”

My eyes filled with tears. All these decades, and all she wanted to know was that her boy was safe.

My father’s voice changed a little. “Yes. I’m safe. And I’m right here. With you.”

“Missed . . . you.” Her voice was so weak, her breathing fast and shallow. “Love. Love.”

He swallowed. “I missed you, too. I . . . I love you, too, Mother.” At least he was playing his part.

Her eyes kept trying to close, but as always, her sheer force of will kept them open. “Tell Clark . . . I . . . sorry. Bad . . . mother.”

My father looked at me, then at her, and something in his face fell. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“Tell Clark . . . sorry.”

“We’ll tell him, Genevieve,” I said, wiping my eyes. “We’ll tell him you’re sorry.”

“Clark is sorry, too, Mom,” my father said. “I know he is.”

She sank back against the pillows and fell asleep once more.

My father kept holding her hand for a long, long time.

When Riley, Donelle and Pop came up, my father stood. My grandfather made a disgusted sound and looked out the window. If Clark was surprised to see him, he didn’t show it. Then again, he might not have recognized his former father-in-law.

“Good to see you, honey,” Donelle said, the only one who spoke.

“Hey, Donelle,” he said. “Well. I guess I’ll stay in a hotel tonight.”

“Stay here,” I said.

“No, I uh . . . I’ll stay in town. I have a meeting tomorrow, but I can come back in the afternoon, maybe, or Sunday.”

I got it. He was leaving again, and he wouldn’t be back.

“Come with me, Clark,” I said, and we left the room and went downstairs to his father’s office. “Before you go, you need to sign this.” I pushed the papers Brooklyn had drawn up across the desk.

“What is it?”

“It terminates your parental rights to Hope.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I’m her guardian now. I don’t want you involved.”

He didn’t move. “Is she . . . okay?” Something flickered across his face, and for a second, I felt pity for him.

Not everyone was strong. Not everyone rose to the occasion. Not everyone could carry the burdens of life. And weakness was a burden unto itself. Gigi, though imperfect herself, had done me a favor by paying my father to stay away. She’d been strong. Every damn day. And no matter what I’d been through in life, here I was, strong, too, and filled with love for the people around me. Even this pathetic man here.

“Hope is doing really well,” I said. “She’s happy and safe, and I’ll be living in Connecticut now, so I’ll take really good care of her.”

Still, he hesitated.

“We both know you’re not really father material, Dad,” I said.

He looked down. “No. I guess I’m not.” He leaned forward and signed the papers where Brooklyn had marked.

“Thank you,” I said.

He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I did my best.”

“You did nothing, Clark,” I said. “Let’s at least be truthful, shall we?”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Thank you. By the way,” I added, “there’s no inheritance. Genevieve’s broke, the house is reverse-mortgaged, as are all its contents.”

He closed his eyes. “Shit. I wondered if I was out of the will, but I didn’t think the money was all gone.”

“It is.”