Page 86 of Thorns of Malice

Because Dax gave them to me.

They're still my dad's creation.

I swipe at my tears and rise. I pull the brilliant flowers out of the trash.

It's ironic. They match the whore-red lipstick and nail polish perfectly. I'd think it was something Dax did, but I know it's not. My father loved red flowers.

I put them back in the vase, one stem at a time, relieved I didn't destroy any. Then I lean down and smell them.

I can't deny the scent's beautiful. And while I smelled the same fragrance in Avery's perfume, it's clear she has other scents in it.

I may not like her creation, but the flowers are pure. There's nothing else in them. They're exactly what Dad created.

I convince myself it's okay to enjoy the aroma around me. Then I sit back down, and more grief hits.

Dad would've been so proud to know that the flowers are a huge success.

Dax's statement from last night interrupts the thoughts in my head."Your father would never have done anything with it. It sat there for years and years, and not once did he do anything with it."

I swallow hard, staring at the flowers, wondering why my dad didn't ever file for a patent.

Don't listen to Dax.

But why didn't he?

Besides the life insurance, I was shocked to learn my father had several retirement accounts from previous employers. They had over half a million dollars in them. I'm sure he just let this money sit and accumulate for years. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. My father was a talented botanist. Before my mother left, he had a high-paying job at a great corporation. But he never liked to spend money.

After my mom devastated us by running off with another man, my father didn't work for a few years until Dax's fatherhired him. Even after that ended in disaster, he never went without a job again. But the period he was between jobs was rough. Some nights, he barely scraped dinner together for us.

He always acted like we were poor, so I was shocked when his bank account alone had over $200,000 in cash sitting in it.

Why didn't he take ten grand out and file for the patent?

My stomach churns. His notebook sat there for years. I close my eyes, thinking of all the times I saw my father spend hours hovering over that notebook.

Did he not believe in himself?

Was he just too cheap to spend any money?

All the things Dax said to me ten years ago about my father not providing for me creep into my mind. I would stick up for my father, stating that he always gave me what I needed. But why did he act like we were living paycheck to paycheck if he had money?

Too many questions perplex me, things I'd never thought about until after his death. No matter how much I try to decipher it, I can't figure it out.

My father was always cautious with money, but I assumed it was because we had none. Now I don't know what to think.

I can't let Dax get into my head.

He stole Dad's patent.

My father did nothing with it. Years and years passed, and he didn't do anything.

He had the resources but still did nothing. Why?

Don't let Dax turn you. He stole from him,I remind myself again.

My stomach growls, tearing me out of my debate. I stare at the silver plates and slowly lift the lids, revealing scrambled eggs, poached eggs, eggs over easy, rye toast, wheat toast, white toast, pancakes, chocolate chip pancakes, pecan pancakes, andblueberry pancakes. There are duplicate choices of everything except the waffles.

"What the heck?" I mutter, then reveal more platters.

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