leaves, brilliant with color, from my father’s grave.
“Hi, Daddy.”
The only answer was the whisper of the breeze.
I didn’t really expect an answer, though.
How could it have been ten years?
In my pocket was a letter from the prosecutor. One of them was up for parole. Next week. I’d go to the hearing, of course. There really wasn’t a question of that. As long as I had a chance in stopping his release, I’d go. I’d say my part. I’d hope to keep him in jail for every second of his sentence.
I could remember that son of a bitch in court, tearfully staring out at the jury. None of this was supposed to happen. We didn’t plan to hurt anybody. We just wanted the money. He made it out like it was right there, but we kept having to change up the plan and it got so messed up. I’m so sorry. I ruined people’s lives. I’m so sorry.
He ruined people’s lives.
And he was sorry.
I thought of his words, so empty and meaningless, a thousand times.
They’d wanted the money—the money my parents had recently received from Gallagher Enterprises. My father, the foolish, hopeful, optimistic dreamer, had been sitting in a bar in Destin, Florida. We were there on a vacation , as my parents had put it, but they were talking about moving there. Someplace warm and sunny. Wouldn’t that be nice, Shan ?
Sniffling, I brushed away the tears and focused on the bright spray of flowers that decorated his grave. “It looks like Mom beat me here. I need to get down there more. I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll head to Virginia for a few days when I leave here. I don’t really have any place to go right now. No goals. No plans.”
Not a single goal. Not a single plan.
Most of my adult life had been goals and plans. College, which I hadn’t started until I was nineteen; I had intended to find a job that would fill the void inside me, but nothing did it.
Then, I focused on Drake Gallagher.
I was convinced that just getting him out of my system would do something.
Sitting on the grass, I curled my hand into a fist and pressed it to my forehead. “Daddy, I’m an idiot, you know that?”
My free hand, I sank into the grass on top of his grave. When I’d been a child, after a bad dream, I’d sit on his lap and fist my hand in his shirt and he’d tell me a story to make the fear go away.
Nothing could do that now.
Sometimes, I’d sit with him after dinner and he’d talk about the hotel. It would be mine one day, and the idea had fascinated me. He’d tell me about the dreams he had for the place and somewhere along the way, his dreams had become mine as well.
It would be the biggest, the grandest place north of Boston. Just wait and see, Shan. Just wait and see.
Losing the hotel had been a blow.
Then two months later, I lost him.
And me. The obsession that had pushed me for so long had blinded me to everything.
I don’t even know who I am now. Who I want to be. The false confidence that had pushed me through life the past few years was gone.
Sighing, I smoothed my hand down the soft, rich grass that blanketed the grave. “Dad, I wish you were here. I’m so confused. I’m tired. I wish I hadn’t been such a brat to you before you died. I wish…” I stopped, thinking about how useless wishes were.
If I could change how I’d treated my father, maybe I could change his death. Change how I’d treated Drake. My heart lurched in my chest and a hollowness spread through me as I thought about how much I wished I could undo the past few months.
“If only I could undo it,” I murmured. “Undo a lot of things.”
Tipping my head back, I stared at the sky, leaden clouds gathering overhead. The breeze had a cool bite to it while vivid leaves – shades of red and yellow - whipped through the cemetery. “There’s no undoing anything, though. Is there?”
I found myself thinking about Drake. Not my father, but Drake. The way I’d felt almost happy, for the first time in ten years. If I’d let myself, maybe
“Hi, Daddy.”
The only answer was the whisper of the breeze.
I didn’t really expect an answer, though.
How could it have been ten years?
In my pocket was a letter from the prosecutor. One of them was up for parole. Next week. I’d go to the hearing, of course. There really wasn’t a question of that. As long as I had a chance in stopping his release, I’d go. I’d say my part. I’d hope to keep him in jail for every second of his sentence.
I could remember that son of a bitch in court, tearfully staring out at the jury. None of this was supposed to happen. We didn’t plan to hurt anybody. We just wanted the money. He made it out like it was right there, but we kept having to change up the plan and it got so messed up. I’m so sorry. I ruined people’s lives. I’m so sorry.
He ruined people’s lives.
And he was sorry.
I thought of his words, so empty and meaningless, a thousand times.
They’d wanted the money—the money my parents had recently received from Gallagher Enterprises. My father, the foolish, hopeful, optimistic dreamer, had been sitting in a bar in Destin, Florida. We were there on a vacation , as my parents had put it, but they were talking about moving there. Someplace warm and sunny. Wouldn’t that be nice, Shan ?
Sniffling, I brushed away the tears and focused on the bright spray of flowers that decorated his grave. “It looks like Mom beat me here. I need to get down there more. I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll head to Virginia for a few days when I leave here. I don’t really have any place to go right now. No goals. No plans.”
Not a single goal. Not a single plan.
Most of my adult life had been goals and plans. College, which I hadn’t started until I was nineteen; I had intended to find a job that would fill the void inside me, but nothing did it.
Then, I focused on Drake Gallagher.
I was convinced that just getting him out of my system would do something.
Sitting on the grass, I curled my hand into a fist and pressed it to my forehead. “Daddy, I’m an idiot, you know that?”
My free hand, I sank into the grass on top of his grave. When I’d been a child, after a bad dream, I’d sit on his lap and fist my hand in his shirt and he’d tell me a story to make the fear go away.
Nothing could do that now.
Sometimes, I’d sit with him after dinner and he’d talk about the hotel. It would be mine one day, and the idea had fascinated me. He’d tell me about the dreams he had for the place and somewhere along the way, his dreams had become mine as well.
It would be the biggest, the grandest place north of Boston. Just wait and see, Shan. Just wait and see.
Losing the hotel had been a blow.
Then two months later, I lost him.
And me. The obsession that had pushed me for so long had blinded me to everything.
I don’t even know who I am now. Who I want to be. The false confidence that had pushed me through life the past few years was gone.
Sighing, I smoothed my hand down the soft, rich grass that blanketed the grave. “Dad, I wish you were here. I’m so confused. I’m tired. I wish I hadn’t been such a brat to you before you died. I wish…” I stopped, thinking about how useless wishes were.
If I could change how I’d treated my father, maybe I could change his death. Change how I’d treated Drake. My heart lurched in my chest and a hollowness spread through me as I thought about how much I wished I could undo the past few months.
“If only I could undo it,” I murmured. “Undo a lot of things.”
Tipping my head back, I stared at the sky, leaden clouds gathering overhead. The breeze had a cool bite to it while vivid leaves – shades of red and yellow - whipped through the cemetery. “There’s no undoing anything, though. Is there?”
I found myself thinking about Drake. Not my father, but Drake. The way I’d felt almost happy, for the first time in ten years. If I’d let myself, maybe
Similar Books
