Page 167 of False God

“Ah. You’re worried you’re repeating your father’s mistakes?”

“Not exactly. Lili’s nothing like my mother. Our relationship is completely different from my parents’. But I do … I don’t think I can be the son my father raised and the person I want to be around her. It feels like I have to decide between them.”

Louis leans forward. “James raised a son who makes his own choices, not a man who always does what others expect. By choosing your own path, you’re honoring that. I know you’re angry about the burden he left you with, and you have every right to be. But don’t let that convince you he didn’t love you or wasn’t proud of you.” He pushes his glass away, closer to me, then reaches down and returns with a rectangular black box. “Iwas waiting to give this to you, but now feels like the appropriate moment.”

I reach for it, opening the zipper that runs the perimeter and flipping the lid off.

It’s a stethoscope. Black rubber and shiny silver aluminum.

I lift it out of the box.

“Your father ordered that three years ago, when you told him you were enrolling in medical school.”

There’s engraving around the curve of the diaphragm.Dr. Charles Marlborough, it reads.

“I knew where he’d kept it, so I grabbed it when I was at Newcastle last week. I had a feeling, after our conversation then, that there were a few things you were struggling with.”

“Thank you,” I say, still staring at it.

My father didn’t raise any objections about my choice of career path, but I never got the impression he was particularly pleased with it. He would rather I went into banking or law. Some more distinguished profession.

I didn’t realize how much that bothered me until now, as I’m faced with some proof of his support. Medicine wasn’t what he would have chosen for me, but he was planning to give this to me at my graduation. He intended to support my choice.

“Thank you,” I repeat. It comes out as more of a croak.

“He didn’t want you to be the same as him, Charles. He wanted you to be better.”

I nod, not able to come up with any words of response. I’m swamped with emotion, and it’s not all negative. None of it is actually.

For the first time since he died, I’m grieving my father without any animosity.

I’ve been so furious with him. For driving recklessly. For his careless financial choices. Even for marrying Georgia and for letting their relationship fall entirely apart so that Blythe and Ihad no contact with our mother. Divorcing her didn’t have to result in a total estrangement.

Right now, all that anger is absent. I’m remembering the happy moments. The rides across the moor and the trips to Villa Park for football matches and the talks in his study when he’d ask about my life and not just my grades.

Imissmy father—and not just because of what his death left me with.

Louis seems to sense I’m overwhelmed. He pats my hand, then changes the subject to an upcoming trip to Edinburgh he and his wife are planning. Asks about Blythe. Inquires about Gran’s health. And, with a cheeky smile, requests I tell him more about Lili.

I’ve avoided my godfather since Papa’s death because I was worried about what I would say. Business strategy aside, I was concerned what Louis would think about my father after learning the truth.

But Louis doesn’t seem to see him any differently. He was already acquainted with my father’s flaws.

And talking with someone who knew my father—really knew him—is the closest I’ve felt to Papa since I got the call about the accident.

When I leave The Ivy House an hour later to pick up Lili, I feel a lot lighter than when I arrived.

40

The lawn party is held at an estate outside of London. It’s similar to events I’ve attended before—beautiful floral arrangements, uniformed staff, polite conversation—but feels distinctly British. The food being passed around on silver trays are finger sandwiches, filled with different combinations of sliced cucumber, cream cheese, and smoked salmon. Most guests are sipping on Pimm’s, a fizzy cocktail that tastes like ginger and lemon. Suits are paired with top hats, dresses matched with fascinators. The other big difference is … Charlie.

Because he’s notCharliehere. He’s the Duke of Manchester, and he’s treated like it. From the moment we arrived, he’s been fawned over. Deferred to.

Men give him respectful nods. Women give him admiring glances.

He’s the main attraction. The guest of honor.

I’ve experienced attention by proxy before.

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