It mirrors what happened when I pointed out to Landon that he'd be an uncle when his niece or nephew is born. He'd panicked enough to leave the room. "We haven't talked about it a lot."
He looks past me to where two young men are having a rousing conversation about the merits of running versus biking. "He's talked about it non-stop since I got back from Paris. He bought the baby some books. They're picture books about airplanes."
It's a glimpse into the man I've been sharing the most intimate parts of myself with. I smile at him. "It's good to hear that. He likes being a pilot. I know it's an important part of his life."
"It is," he acquiesces as he leans back in the chair, stretching his legs out. "Being a pilot is part of who he is but you're the most important part of his life, Tess. That's why I'm here."
Chapter 4
I drink the last of the lemon water as I try to focus on my smartphone. Dane had taken a call from his girlfriend and as he whispered that he loved her and would be home soon, I'd felt guilty for hearing the words and even guiltier for wishing that the phone hadn't rung in the first place. It had interrupted him just as he was talking about Landon.
"I'll need to get home soon." He rests his hands on the table next to his now empty coffee cup. "All of this has been hard on Bridget too. She's my fiancé."
I nod. I don't need him to give me a glimpse into the mind, and possibly, the heart of the man I've been seeing. He has his own growing family to worry about. I push my hands against the edge of the table. "I should get home too."
"Please stay just a little longer." He motions towards a barista. "I can get you more water."
I scrub my hand over my face. I'm past the point of exhaustion. It can't hurt to sit here for a few more minutes. "I don't need another drink. I'm not thirsty."
"I'm not either," he says before he pushes the paper cup away from him. "Landon's been worried about you. He called me a bunch of times today."
I glance at his smartphone on the table. The only call that has come in since we sat down was the one from his fiancé. Logically, I know it's the middle of the night in Athens. Landon must be fast asleep which explains why my phone has stopped ringing too.
"I couldn't talk to him," I admit. "I have a lot of questions and I need time to figure things out."
"I know that feeling." He cocks his head to the left. "Are they questions about our dad? Do you have questions about Frederick?"
I run the fingers of my right hand over my left palm. My eyes catch on the sight of the mole on my index finger. It's the very same mole my dad has on his thumb. "I'd rather talk to Landon about it when I'm ready."
"He's torn up." He rakes his hands through his messy brown hair. "He hasn't been this upset since our dad drowned. I mean since we thought he drowned."
"I'm sorry about your father," I mutter even though I'm not sorry. His father, and his need to save himself, upended my own life forever. "I don't know all the details about how our dads are connected. Does Landon know? Do you know?"
"No." His phone chimes to signal a new text message. His eyes briefly settle on the screen before he looks up again. "That's my mother. She's back in New York. She wants to see me."
Of course she does. The woman is dealing with the cold and brutal reality that a man she mourned for years is alive and well. The twisted web of pain that Frederick Beckett's actions have unleashed has not only hurt his sons, but it must have devastated his wife too.
Unfortunately, I can empathize with all of them. My father may not have taken the coward's way out by faking his own death, but the man I thought I knew yesterday has fallen off the face of the earth to be replaced with someone sitting in a jail cell waiting for his day in court.
"Landon was shocked that your father was arrested." He pulls the empty coffee cup into his hand. "I can tell that you were too."
I don't take that as an insult. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror when I used the washroom at Lilly's place. I look horrible.
Any trace of make-up I had on this morning has been washed away by the brush of my hand against my face to scoop away the tears that had fallen down my cheeks as I gazed out the window in the taxi earlier on my way to Times Square.
The dress I'm wearing is wrinkled and there's a stain on the skirt that I picked up when I sat in a pool of brown liquid at Penn Station. I'd tried desperately to wipe it off with a piece of paper I found crumbled at the bottom of my purse. What it lacked in absorbency, it made up for in mayhem. The ink from the paper mixed with the liquid to create a spot I doubt will ever come out. It was my own fault for sitting so close to the remnants of an overturned can of soda.
"I had no idea," I admit without any reservation. "I didn't know my father was capable of those things."
"You never really know someone." He taps his fingers on his knee. "I thought my dad was a stand-up guy until a month ago. Now, I hope I never see the bastard's face again."
***
I type out a quick text message on my phone to Ivy once I'm in bed. I tell her not to worry about me and that I'll call her in the morning. I had been tempted to dial her number after I said goodbye to Dane at the café, but talking about my father again today will take every ounce of strength I have left.
I feel completely spent after sitting with Dane. After he repeated that he never wanted to see his father again, he talked about Landon. He spoke of the pain that he had been in after his dad's drowning.
Landon had shouldered the blame for his father's death. He felt responsible because he'd let his hand go as they'd bobbed in the water. Their mother, Anja, had only added to the burden, Dane explained. She'd asked her oldest son repeatedly if he could go back to that day on the water if he would have held on longer.
It was her grief that fueled the questions, Dane said, but Landon absorbed the pain in his mother's voice the way any teenage boy would. He blamed himself solely for his father's death. He closed himself off from the world and his family. When he was finally able to leave home, he'd gone to college and then became a pilot, telling his brother that it provided an escape nothing else could. In the air, he needed such trained focus that everything else melted away and those memories of that day in the water didn't exist until he landed again.
I close the message app on my phone and scroll to the photos I've saved. I swipe my thumb across the screen as I glance through them quickly, searching for the one that I want to look at as I drift to sleep.
My eyes well with tears as my thumb stops and the picture I coerced my father into posing for comes into view. I took it when he was saying goodbye to me at LAX the last time I saw him. My hair is pulled tightly into a bun on my head. I look almost identical to the way I did when we took a picture together at my high school graduation.
I gaze at my father. He's beaming. His eyes lit with joy and his smile a reflection of the happiness he feels. I touch my fingers to my lips before I hold them to the screen, over his face.
My dad, the man proudly holding his arm around my shoulders in the picture, would never let me fight a battle alone. He'd push through his own pain to stand tall next to me. I owe him the same.