Chapter 1
Back Then
Savannah
Asense of familiarity hits me when I spot the “Welcome to Ravenshoe” sign on the horizon. When you grow up in the same town your entire life, you usually run for the hills the instant you reach adulthood. I had considered doing that many times during middle school. It wasn’t because I hated my life; I just wanted to save Ryan from his.
My plans changed when Ryan and I lost contact, then they were blasted to the next stratosphere a little over two years ago. My dad is a brilliant man who is fighting an unimaginable disease. I thought his forgetfulness was from a broken heart. I had no clue it was something so mammoth.
Alzheimer’s. My father—the light of my life—has Alzheimer’s.
Now he’s half the man he used to be. This cruel and debilitating disease is taking him away from me more quickly than I would like. I went from curing his broken heart to healing his head within weeks. It is quite dramatic how swiftly his disease has progressed. Within weeks of my mom leaving, little signs appeared. He’d forget his keys or his beloved cell phone. Once he even drove to Hopeton instead of his new office in Ravenshoe. For an ordinary person, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But for an extraordinary man like my dad, I knew it was more than a broken heart.
I don’t care how old I become, I’ll never look at my dad as anything less than a superhero. No matter what my mom and I wanted, he provided. He gave us the world, only to have it brutally stripped away from him. My father adored my mother. Their story is remarkably similar to Ryan’s and mine. They were friends until their final year at Ravenshoe High saw them taking a route neither saw coming.
My father has never handled jealousy well.
When his best friend—who just happened to be a girl—gained the attention of his male friends, things progressed between them very quickly. Although I don’t know the full details of their transition from friends to lovers, the general gist is that they attended a friend’s eighteenth birthday with dates in tow, then left with each other. The stuff in the middle is a little blurry. Not just for me, but my parents as well.
I want to act surprised by the last confession, but I’m not. My parents were born during the Vietnam era. “Haze” is a good word to describe the majority of their senior year.
They had the ideal relationship—well, so it seemed on paper. They married within weeks of their graduation from Ithaca University. They founded their financial conglomerate within months of their return to Ravenshoe, and I joined the ranks a few years after that. Financially, things were bumpy the first few years. . .until my dad struck gold.
Against my mom’s wishes, he invested every dime he had in a little unknown computer company. The return from his investment was astronomical. The figures cited on business records the past ten years would blow your mind. But do you know what? My dad remained humble. The fancy house he has lived in the past eleven years wasn't for him. It was for his queen—my mother. She wanted their living conditions to reflect the princely funds in their bank account. She desired eight bedrooms no one would use and a six-car garage when we only owned two vehicles.
She wanted the world, and my father gave it to her.
And what did he get in return for his provision? She cheated on him.
That day—god, I’ll never forget it. Little girls always favor their fathers over their mothers, but I worshipped my mother just as much as my dad. I wanted to be her when I grew up. . . Until I heard her shouting Ryan's dad’s name at the top of her lungs.
My first thought was fear; Ted is a violent man. It was only when I walked into the laundry room mere feet from the back patio where Ryan and his friends were mingling did I realize my worry was unfounded. She wasn't screaming in distress. She was shouting in ecstasy.
I froze, a better reaction beyond me. I was confident what I was witnessing couldn’t be true. Don't get me wrong, I was nearly thirteen and knew the vile act they were committing without experiencing it firsthand; I just didn't want to believe it.
My father could have picked any woman to stand by his side; he chose my mom because he worshipped the ground she walked on. He would have never selected an adulterer.
The trip back from Ryan's house that afternoon was awkward, to say the least. My mom was quieter than usual. I guess having your twelve-year-old daughter walk in on you in a compromising position with a man who isn’t your husband would be traumatizing for any woman.
She knew me so well, she could tell I knew about her affair without me speaking a word.
“It willneverhappen again,” she promised.
Her voice was so raw, I believed her in an instant. She wasn’t just my mom; she was a woman I had admired for years, so how else was I supposed to react?
I soon discovered not only is my mom a cheat, she is also a liar. I'm unaware of how long their affair had gone on before I busted them, but I do know it continued weeks after she promised it would stop.
Every time I smelled Ted’s aftershave on her skin, I threatened to tell my father about her cheating ways. I cautioned my mother on numerous occasions that I wasn’t going to let her destroy a man as admirable as my father. She never heeded my warnings. She knew I didn’t want to be the one to break my father’s heart, so she had no reason to fear.
She was right. I was a coward.
Perhaps if I had told my dad earlier, he wouldn’t have walked in on them the afternoon he arrived home early to surprise my mom on their anniversary. Then maybe—just maybe—he’d still be the man he once was.
It is silly for me to believe a broken heart was the origin of my dad’s disease, but it’s hard denying the facts. He never forgot a single thing in the weeks leading up to my mom leaving. Not one. I don’t care what the doctors say; that is not a coincidence. My mother’s deceit didn’t just break my father’s heart; it destroyed his brilliant brain as well.
I scrape my hand across my face to gather a handful of tears that fell during reminiscing before snagging my cell off the passenger seat of my car. After checking that no wetness is visible on my inflamed cheeks, I flip open my phone and snap a quick picture of me cruising past the “Welcome to Ravenshoe” sign to send to Ryan.
I loathe people seeing me cry. It isn't just because I feel weak, but I also hate how people respond to it. One tear and forgiveness that should never be issued is given. How is that logical? Having a hormonal bitch rampage that scorned every person you've ever known excused in an instant with a quick sob is bullshit. If anything, you should take their rant as gospel, because it is usually in these situations that people show their true selves. If you want to know someone's real colors, watch them during a crisis. You'll see everything you want to know.
