Page 3 of Troubled Water
They left together ridiculously in love, but only a shell of my father returned, carried off by the Navy SEALs who rescued himand few others who weren’t murdered in an attempt to rob theSea Force, a luxury cruise liner.
Dad regains his composure as much as he can before he whispers, “But if I’d given in to those terrors, what would have happened to Libby?”
Dr. Bern Powell, a well recognized television interviewer, gives him a chance to regroup by lobbing him a softball of a question. “You’re referring to Elizabeth Akin Sullivan?”
Dad nods. “From the start of our voyage, she was all alone. It wasn’t until later, after we all returned to land, that I understood why.” His face twists. “She lost so much to save so few of us.”
Dr. Powell checks his notes. “She credits you, Linc.”
He scoffs, “For what?”
“For being alive today.”
My father visibly jolts. Hearing Dr. Powell say that makes me want to meet Elizabeth Sullivan even more than I did after hearing my father laud her strength. Before the trip, my father’s love and devotion was to my mother, his family, and the business he built up from the back of a pickup truck to a multi-million-dollar enterprise. Since the time he was tortured on theSea Force, and losing Mama to the attack that took place, the only thing that sparks that note of admiration is talk of Elizabeth Akin. She’s replaced all of us.
I don’t know whether to thank her or hate her.
Dr. Powell tips the scales—at least for today—when he reads aloud, “Elizabeth Sullivan unequivocally states, ‘Were it not for Linc McCallister, there is no way I would have endured those hours. His bravery, in spite of his personal devastation, was my touchstone. In rare moments of lucidity, I was heartbroken for Linc about losing his wife, Camille. Twenty-five years of devotion lost because of someone else’s greed. He helped me wage a war I wasn’t certain I had the strength left to fight, yet what did I offer him?’”
“A path home to my family,” my father returns immediately before he physically deflates and mutters, “What was left of it after Camille was murdered.”
Did you really come home, Dad?I wonder silently as I take in the closed off expressions of my siblings.
We’re all gathered around as Dr. Powell interviews our father for the five-year anniversary special for the events he endured aboard theSea Force. Dredging up memories we work every day to help our father put behind him.
Fortunately, Dr. Powell asks him to expand upon his response, leaving us stunned by our father’s words. “I’m not certain I wouldn’t have committed suicide aboard that ship if it wasn’t for Libby.” My father’s lips curve. “Knowing her briefly, Cam remarked she felt like she’d known Libby forever. Forever was just cut too short.”
I surge to my feet, unable to listen to another word of how my father was willing to abandon us because he just didn’t love us enough. It’s Dr. Powell who questions my palpitating anger and queries, “Bethany? Do you have something to add?”
With a quick jerk of my head, I storm to the doors leading to the wraparound porch. I need to be far away from the tumultuous emotions my father has stirred up. Once I suck in some fresh air and overlook a field of sunflowers—the natural border between our land and the town founder’s property, I feel the ache in between my breasts ease.God, Mama, I miss you too. I get what happened to you and Dad was beyond devastating. You were murdered. Dad was tortured. People died. But can’t the world see it’s the survivors who are still suffering? Why can’t anyone ask us how we’re doing?
Why can’t Dad?
There’s obviously no answer. Still, being away from the agony of remembrance gives me a moment’s peace. My head falls forward, my long blond hair covering my face. Since I havea modicum of privacy, I let the rare tears I’m allowed to shed drip down my cheeks and land on the plants just off the railing. I think of all the milestones I’ve given up—homecomings, proms, dates, hell, even walking at my fucking graduation ceremony just so I could take care of my siblings because my father was too lost in his memories to see his family falling apart in the present.
I never knew love could be selfish until then. That wasn’t what Camille and Lincoln McCallister taught their children, but Linc McCallister sure as hell taught us life is. Bitterness almost swallows me when I think about the number of college acceptances I received to some of the best architecture schools in the country—Cornell, Rice, MIT. Turning them all down last year was agony, knowing I was going to be needed right here to raise what’s left of his family and keep his company running as he continued to steep himself in mourning.
Long moments later, I hear footsteps on the deck. Judging by the cadence of the footfalls, I know it’s my father. Physical therapy made it so he can walk, but he’ll never be in the same physical condition he was before he and my mother went on that ill-fated vacation. I don’t bother to acknowledge him as he approaches. When he reaches my side, I catch through my curtain of hair he makes to lay a hand on my shoulder. “Bethany, I know it’s difficult to hear about how your mother died. I miss her too. Every damn day.”
I step back before his fingers touch me and face him head on. He flinches slightly, something he does every time he’s forced to look me directly in the face.It’s not my fault I look so much like my mother,I think resentfully. I’m certain I was told that by every single person who lived here in Kensington, Texas, the day of my mother’s funeral after they released her body to be buried.
Five years is an awful lot of time to resent your own face in the mirror.
“I’d like to have Dr. Bern film his wrap up.”
He sputters, “But we’re not even close to being done.”
My voice is flat when I say, “Ellie and Abe have a school presentation due today before their PSAT testing. Jordan has two AP tests.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I would have…”
I cut him off before he can insinuate he would have listened to me. “What? Listened?”
“Well…yes.”
I nod a couple of times before I ask, “Dad, when’s my graduation?”
The question takes him aback. “Your graduation?”
