Page 43 of Losing Hope

Chapter Sixteen

What do you do when you feel like you’ve lost something that you only just found?That was the thought going through her head as she sat at her desk for the first time in a week. She wasn’t sure why she even bothered coming in. It was after four in the afternoon, and she hadn’t made it through a set of manuscript notes or sent a single email.

If nothing else, it did get her out of the pajamas she’d been wearing for days and into a shower and clean clothing. Not that it made her feel any better. She was meeting her father for dinner this evening and hoped that she might finally have some answers. She’d texted Gage several more times but still hadn’t heard anything fromhim.

Was she mistaken in what they had felt for each other? Was it only one-sided?She didn’t believe that. She knew without a doubt that he had fallen just as hard for her as she had for him. She stared at the screen in front of her and read her mother’s obituary again.

Elizabeth Ann Yorke, of Manhattan, New York, passed away unexpectedly on Sunday, February 21, 2010, due to injuries sustained in a motor vehicle accident.

Mrs. Yorke was the wife of prominent business man Robert Yorke, owner and CEO of Yorke Publishing House. She was the mother to two beloved children; son, Thomas Robert, and daughter, Hope Elizabeth, both residents of Manhattan.

Mrs. Yorke was born in Burlington, Vermont, on January 25, 1962, the daughter and only child of the late William and Margaret Erickson. She was educated in the Burlington school system and met her husband while attending college at New York State University. Mrs. Yorke supported many charitable organizations throughout the city and will be greatly missed.

Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend her calling hours on Thursday, February 25th, from 4 to 8 p.m. at the Paul Webster Funeral Home on West 73rd Street. Funeral and Burial services will be private.

In lieu of flowers, donations in her memory may be made to the Robin Hood Foundation, an organization Mrs. Yorke supported throughout her residence here in Manhattan.

There wasn’ta single unusual thing in it. It was much simpler than she would have expected, given her mother’s extensive involvement in charities and foundations throughout the city, but she was certain her father was dealing with more emotional things then. There wasn’t much more she could seem to glean from staring at the obituary, so she closed it and her laptop and decided to leave the office early.

Three hours later, she walked through the front entrance of her father’s building and, after a welcoming nod from the doorman, made her way to the elevator. She pressed the button for the penthouse floor and grabbed onto the handrail as the elevator began its quick climb to the sixtieth floor. Her father kept a house out on the Island but generally spent most of his time in the city forwork.

The elevator slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open to a marbled entryway. She stepped out, turned right, and proceeded to his door. There were two penthouse units housed on the top floor, but, of course, her father’s faced the Hudson and all its beautiful views. She used her key to open the front door and stepped inside to another beautifully marbled foyer.

“Hello? Anybody here?” she called out as she walked toward the kitchen. When she was almost there, the door swung open and her father stepped through, a wide smile on hisface.

“Hope! Hello, dearest.” He reached her and placed a dry kiss on her cheek, enfolding her in a brief hug, before pulling away but keeping her at arm’s length as he inspected her. “You look tired. I thought the time away at the lake house would be good foryou.”

“Hello, Daddy.” She shrugged and turned out of his grasp then walked to the sideboard against the far dining room wall. It was lined with top shelf scotch, vodka, gin, and red wine. “I need a drink. Do you want something?”

“I’ll take a scotch neat. You didn’t answer my question.” He walked up behind her, took the bottle of wine she had in her hands, and moved to open it for her. She switched tasks and poured a glass of the Glenmorangie she knew he preferred. She passed him the glass as he handed her the opened bottle. After pouring herself a glass, she took a long sip and turned tohim.

“The lake house was perfect, exactly what I needed.” She sighed deeply and looked past him to the view beyond. The sun had set thirty minutes ago, and the city lights were twinkling in the darkening sky. “Can wesit?”

“Of course.” He started toward the living room area beyond the dining room. “Meghan will have dinner ready for us at eight.”

“I’m not very hungry. I really just wanted to talk to you about Gage Flynn.” She caught the grimace that turned his mouth down for just a moment before he corrected it and nodded. He took a seat in one of the easy chairs as she lowered herself onto the couch across fromhim.

He took a sip, his eyes peering at hers over his glass as he did, and shook his head as he began to speak. “I didn’t think I’d have to hear or say the name Flynn again.”

Her heartbeat accelerated, and her posture stiffened at his admission. “So, you know Gage?” She was sure her voice had come out as shaky as her nerves.

He shook his head. “No, I’ve never met him, but I know the family.”

“Yes, he said to ask you how mother really died. What was that supposed to mean? How is that connected to him?” She watched as her father drained the remainder of the liquid in his tumbler and set it gently on the side table.

When he looked up at her, his eyes were somber and his brows drawn. “This was something I had hoped to never have to share or burden you with, but I suppose there’s no choice in the matternow.”

He stopped then and turned as Meghan came through the kitchen door with plates and silverware in hand. “Meg, you can set those up in the kitchen if you like. We may be a little while.”

“Of course, Mr. Yorke. No problem.” She smiled, turned, and went back the way shecame.

“Your mother wasn’t alone in the car when she had her accident. She had given one of the interns a ride home from the office that day. As you know, the weather was bad, and the student was going home on her own. She was close to your age, I believe. I think your mother felt protective ofher.”

He lookedat her with a sad smile before continuing. “Anyway, she was also in the car when it crashed, and she died, as well. Although, it wasn’t right away. It was a day or two later. Her family blamed your mother for the accident and tried to sue us but lost.” He paused and looked at her, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Her name was Faith Flynn. I have to assume that Gage is related toher.”

Her mouth fell open in small O as her mind tried to process the information her father had just told her, her hand clutching the material above her shattered heart as she nodded her head before answering in a whisper, “Gage is her brother. I met him up in Vermont, and we spent the weekend together.”

Her father’s frown deepened as he shook his head and moved to stand and grab his empty glass. “I need anotherone.”

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