Page 100 of A Chance for Us
Twenty-Five
MAREN
Ishould not be this excited about him being here, but I am. I feel like a sixteen-year-old girl who just had her first date. Butterflies are swarming in my belly each time I look at him, which is crazy, but it’s how I feel.
Daddy woke for a few minutes when Oliver came in. He smiled, gripped his hand, and then fell back asleep. Oliver agreed to stay in the room while I started dinner before Aunt Eileen got here for the night shift.
“What are you making?” Linda asks as she enters.
“Roast beef, potatoes, and corn.”
All three of my father’s favorites.
She scoffs. “He can’t eat this.”
“I know that.”
“He’s dying, Maren. He can’t eat steak.”
I bite back the sarcastic response that wants to come out and focus on cutting the potatoes. I’m well aware he can’t eat it. I know that he’s dying, and her pointing it out every fucking minute of the day is wearing me down. My heart is breaking into a million pieces because I can’t help him. There’s no amount of planning that will change the outcome, and I don’t really know how to live with that.
So instead, I’m cooking his favorite dish, hoping that just maybe the smell of it will make him feel comfort.
“He can’t, but we can, and it makes me feel a little bit of peace.”
Linda pours herself some coffee. “I’m not trying to be cruel.”
It just comes so naturally.
I put the knife down—no one needs me to kill her if she says something stupid—and take this opening as a chance to make her understand that I love my father.
“I don’t believe that’s your intention. I don’t think you purposely set out to make me feel bad, but sometimes, it’s the outcome regardless. There is nothing in the world I want more than for him to get better. My father is all I have left, and I’m trying to do whatever I can, but it’s as though nothing I do is ever good enough.”
She places the mug down. “He loves you more than you will ever know, and there were so many nights he would tell me how he wished you’d come.”
“I came when I could.”Or when you allowed it is more accurate.
“I was here always,” she says.
Yes, because she is his wife and because they moved here. The fact that it was her choice to move them from Virginia to Georgia, which is the whole reason I can’t be here as often as either of us wish I were, isn’t something she will ever admit. She refuses to admit fault in herself. No, she just plays the victim in the tragedy she created.
“Do you think that makes his love for you different?”
Linda scoffs. “I know he loves me. More than he will ever love anyone else. Our love was for the ages.”
“Then why would you not embrace me? Love me the way he did? I had no mother. I had only him, and I wanted so badly for you to fill that role for me.”
“I can’t have children. Did you know that?” I shake my head. “I wanted them more than anything. Your father didn’t want another kid, but I thought he might change his mind after we got married. Then he got sick.” I’m not sure what this has to do with me, but I stay quiet because she’s never said anything like this to me before. “All I wanted was for you to be my daughter, but you couldn’t be. Your father reminded me often that you were Abigail’s. You looked like her too, the spitting image. But your father didn’t want me to be your mother. He wanted me to be something else, something he couldn’t name. So, I stood back, trying to see what my role was. When he got sick, it was clear you hated me, as did the rest of your family. So, yes, I push you away because everyone vilifies me, never understanding what I gave up for your father. The trips I didn’t take, kids I never had, jobs I couldn’t keep because of your father’s health.”
Leaning against the counter, I let the words settle around us.
After a few seconds, I say, “I am truly sorry for the things you had to give up to care for him. It couldn’t have been easy. When you decided to move here, it broke my heart because I knew I couldn’t be there for him—or you—the way you’d want. Daddy knew that travel was difficult when I was with the agency, which is why I left. I came when I could, but I wasn’t really welcome to just pop in.”
“He would never complain to you. He is so proud of you, and all he wants is for you to be happy. I was the one who was made to suffer.”
“You could’ve asked for help.”
She shakes her head. “No, I couldn’t. Patrick is my husband, and it is my job to be there for him.”
