Every Breath(43)

Tru gave her a quick tour of the house while Scottie explored on his own, and she had to admit it was more tasteful than she’d imagined it would be. Despite her initial prejudice, she could imagine renting the place with her friends for a week and having a fantastic time. When they got to the master bathroom, Hope gestured at the huge whirlpool tub.

“Shall we?” she suggested. The next thing she knew, they’d disrobed, tossing their clothes and jackets in the dryer. Once submerged in the foaming water, she leaned back against Tru, sighing as he gently moved the washcloth over her breasts and belly, her arms and legs.

They had an early lunch in bathrobes while their clothes continued to dry. Afterward, Hope slipped back into her dryer-warmed outfit, and the two of them sat at the table talking until it was time for her to return to the cottage and start getting ready.

Like the day before, he watched from his spot on the bed as she styled her hair and put on her makeup. The bridesmaid dress and new shoes came next, and when she was finished she did a quick pirouette for him.

“Okay?”

“Stunning,” he said, his admiring gaze underscoring his sincerity. “I’m sorely tempted to kiss you, but I don’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

“I’ll risk it,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “If you weren’t supposed to meet your father today, I’d ask you to join me.”

“I would have had to purchase appropriate attire.”

“I’ll bet you’re incredibly handsome in a suit.” She patted his chest and perched next to him on the bed. “Are you nervous about meeting your father?”

“Not really.”

“What if he doesn’t remember much about your mom?”

“Then I imagine our meeting will be a short one.”

“You’re really not interested in who he is? What he’s like? Where he’s been all these years?”

“Not particularly.”

“I don’t know how you can remain so detached about all this. It seems to me that he might want a relationship of some sort with you. Even a minor one.”

“I’ve considered that, but I doubt that’s true.”

“But he flew you out here.”

“And at the same time, I’ve yet to see him. If he wanted a relationship, I suspect he would have come by earlier in the week.”

“Then why do you think he wanted you to come?”

“I think,” Tru finally answered, “he wants to tell me why he left my mother.”



A few minutes later, Tru walked Hope to her car, holding two umbrellas so that she wouldn’t get wet.

“I know it sounds silly, but I think I’m going to miss you,” she said.

“Me too,” he responded.

“Will you tell me what happens with your father?”

“Of course. And I’ll make sure to get Scottie out for a walk, too.”

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back. It might be late. You’re welcome to wait at the cottage for me. I won’t be hurt if you’re already asleep when I get in.”

“Have a good time.”

“Thank you,” she said, slipping behind the wheel.

Though she gave him a cheery wave as she backed out, for some reason he felt a touch of foreboding as she vanished from sight, making him wonder why the feeling had arisen in the first place.





FATHER TIME




Deciding it was probably best to leave Scottie at the cottage, Tru gathered his sketchbook and pencils and went back to the house, awaiting the visit from his father.

He continued with the drawing of him and Hope, the work coming easily. Soon, he progressed to the point where he began focusing on the finer details, an unconscious signal that the sketch was approaching completion. Lost in his work, it took him a moment to realize that someone was knocking.

His father.

Rising from the table, he crossed through the living room. He paused when he grasped the knob, readying himself. Upon opening the door, he saw the face of his father for the very first time. To his surprise, he recognized some of his own features in the old man who stood before him, the same dark blue eyes and a small dimple in the chin. His father’s hair was thinning and what little remained had turned white, with only faint streaks of gray. He was stooped slightly, pale, and on the frail side; the jacket he was wearing seemed to envelop him, as though it had been purchased for someone much larger. Over the sound of the storm, Tru could hear him wheezing.

“Hello, Tru,” he finally said, the words labored. In one hand he held an umbrella, and Tru noticed a briefcase on the porch.

“Hello, Harry.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.”

His father bent to pick up his briefcase and froze, wincing. Tru reached for it.

“Can I get that for you?”

“Please,” Harry answered. “The older I get, the farther away the ground seems.”

“Come in.”

Tru retrieved the briefcase as his father stepped past him, slowly shuffling into the living room and toward the windows. Tru joined him, standing by his side, watching his father in his peripheral vision.

“It’s quite a storm here,” Harry said, “but it’s even worse inland. It took forever to get here because there was so much water on the highway. My driver had to make more than a few detours.”