River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(11)

Becca searched Jackie’s worried face.

“Let’s give him a few minutes to rest,” Jackie said and motioned for Becca to follow her out of the room to where Romy was waiting. But before Becca stepped into the hall, she heard her father say, “John.”

She turned back around and stared at him. His eyes were closed, his head tilted to the side. It had been years since she’d heard him say John’s name. Maybe she’d imagined it. She must have. And still she paused before closing the bedroom door behind her.



“Please, sit.” Jackie pulled a chair from the kitchen table, the same kitchen table Becca’s parents had bought when Becca had been in her junior year of high school. It had been the last big purchase her parents had made the year before they’d split. Becca had said to her mother, “You can’t buy furniture together and then just up and leave.”

In her sixteen-year-old mind, buying furniture had meant that her parents had been trying to work it out, because no matter how bad things had gotten, Becca had wanted her parents to stay together. Thinking back, she understood that her reasons may have been based on some primal childhood need for security, even if it had meant them staying together had been pretty messed up.

Jackie held on to the back of the chair, waiting for Becca to sit. Becca found it insulting to be treated like a guest by this woman in the place Becca had once called home.

She sat in the chair, folded her arms. “How long has he been like this?”

“Like this?” Jackie pointed upstairs. “Not long.” She sat in the chair across from Becca. “I’ve talked to hospice. I have someone that will be coming in when I can no longer manage him on my own.” She paused. “I should say if I can no longer manage him on my own.”

Jackie touched her neck, and Becca’s eyes were drawn to Jackie’s ample cleavage. She forced herself to look someplace else, but everything in the room was filled with so many memories, she couldn’t find a safe place to set her gaze. Romy dropped her head in Becca’s lap, and she focused on her furry friend, scratching behind her ears.

“How much longer do you think he has?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s hard to say. Your father is a fighter. It could be another week or two. But my guess is it’ll be sooner.” She sounded like a woman who had accepted what was coming. “Would you like some tea?” She sprung from her chair and put a pot on the stove.

Becca found it charming to have tea brewed the old-fashioned way. More often than not, she’d heat up a cup in the microwave.

Jackie stood by the stove; perhaps the distance made it easier for her to say what she’d planned all along. “I know you and your dad have had your differences.”

“To put it mildly,” Becca said.

Jackie didn’t continue right away but let Becca’s comment settle before she started again. “I don’t know all the details of what went wrong between you two. And honestly, I don’t care. I don’t think it matters. What matters now is that your dad needs you. And maybe I don’t know you well enough to ask this of you, but I’m going to ask anyway. I’m asking because I care about what he wants and needs. And right now, he wants his daughter with him. He needs you here.”

Becca was shaking her head. Who did this woman think she was? She knew nothing about Becca or her relationship with her father. “I have the clinic, appointments, surgeries scheduled . . .” Her voice trailed off. It was a weak excuse. Her colleagues could certainly handle the workload. They were all equipped with the same surgical skills if needed.

But no. She couldn’t stay here with him. Why would she? He had sent her away. And he didn’t deserve her company now. He didn’t deserve her. The only woman he deserved was the tart in front of her, although Becca immediately felt bad for thinking of Jackie in that way. After all, Jackie had stuck by her father all through his illness, and she didn’t have to. She was fifteen years younger than he was. She could’ve packed her bags and walked out on him the second his health had faltered to the point where he could no longer care for himself. And the strange part about it was that Becca might’ve had more respect for her if she had. But of course, Jackie hadn’t. She’d stayed. Becca’s father had some kind of hold on certain women, a certain flaw in their character surely, but damned if Becca could figure out what it was.

“Well, what do you think?” Jackie asked. “Can you find it in your heart to stick around?” The teapot whistled. She turned to remove it from the burner.

“I don’t know,” Becca said. “I don’t think so. I need to think about it.”

Jackie poured a cup of tea and set it on the table in front of her. “Well, don’t take too long. He doesn’t have much time left.”

Becca no longer wanted tea. She wanted to get away from this woman who asked too much of her. She wanted to tell her it was more complicated than simply agreeing to say yes, she would stay. Did she even have a choice?

“I need some air,” Becca said. She needed space to think. But what she needed most was to get away from the stench of sickness, a mixture of alcohol and bodily fluids that permeated the walls and saturated the stagnant air.

Outside, she took a deep breath, stared at her father’s lawn that was no longer manicured to perfection. Crabgrass and weeds had taken hold of the yard, choking out the plush, green blades of grass. The sight was at once heart-wrenching and disturbing. If she’d had any doubt, any buried hope that his condition wasn’t as serious as she’d been led to believe, the state of his yard had quashed it. She looked up at his bedroom window. What had been the point of all the mowing and fertilizing, the tending, the caring, when in the end, all that was left was weeds?