Page 134 of Twist of Fate
“See, this is why you and that girl are perfect for each other. That’s exactly what she said. She should consider a career as a therapist if her history aspirations don’t pan out.”
“She spoke to you about that?”
“Oh, love, she speaks to me about everything.” She gives me a wink. Oh, that’s all sorts of fucked up. Adding that to the list of things I will be discussing with Ash when I get home.We do not overshare with my mother.
“I’m glad she has had the chance to visit and get to know you.”
“Me too, Finney. She’s a special girl.”
“She is.” I nod. “She really is.”
“She told me how you two met,” she goes on. “On one of your tours?”
“Practically love at first sight.”
“And you still let her go? I thought you were a smart fella.” She gives me a soft smile. “A girl like that doesn’t come around every day, you know?”
“I know, Ma.” I lean back on the sofa, dragging my hand along my dress pants. “I thought I was doing the right thing by letting her go like that.”
“And now? What’s the right thing to do now?” There’s a protective tone in her voice as she interrogates me about my intentions for my girlfriend. It’s oddly endearing.
“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “I came to a decision tonight.”
“Okay, and what’s that?”
“Effective tomorrow, I will step down as CEO and president of O’Connell Tours.”
* * *
I still fucking hate this room.
The sharp scent of antiseptic and the cold air make me want to turn back and bolt for the door, but I came here for a reason.
After I dropped the bomb on my mam and told her I was stepping down tomorrow, she had a few things to say.
I expected that.
What I didn’t expect was to be shaken to my core by the words that emerged from her lips.
Knowing what I know now may actually make me hate this room a little more—or at least the man lying in it.
The walls are still a stately blue. The ornate crown molding stands in stark contrast to the industrial hospital bed, making the comparison almost laughable.
I take a seat in the high-backed chair in the corner, probably as old as the house. The heavy brocade upholstery is worn and desperately needs replacing, but that’s likely why it’s in here—lots of foot traffic and all.
“Hi, Da,” I say, unsure if he can hear me. His last stroke took nearly everything from him. His doctors say he’s lucky to be alive.
Lucky.
He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling with a feeding tube shoved up his nose. I doubt anyone would consider this lucky. But I didn’t come here to ponder his quality of life. Coming here and saying my piece. It’s all for me.
“You know, one of the first things I did after I took over was a full remodel,” I begin. I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and gaze at the floor instead of his soulless eyes. “Some might say it was strategic. The young son swoops in and wants everyone to know he’s in charge. But really, it was just a necessity. The place desperately needed an upgrade. The wiring was shoddy, there were carpet stains older than me, and it was so dark that the overall mood felt dismal.”
I remember walking in there for the first time after my father’s stroke and questioning whether the place was truly as bad as it seemed or if it just felt that way because I was so depressed.
Turns out it was just that bad.
“So, I had the whole place renovated. The lobby, every conference room, even the loos. Everywhere except your office.”
