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So it wasn’t even my father who wanted me informed. Why would he? He doesn’t care one whit about me. And I don’t care one whit about him.
I nod. “Tell Maurice that if he survives the surgery, I’ll send him a bottle of whiskey. If he doesn’t, I’ll send flowers.”
“Dax!” Jenna scolds me. “How can you say that?”
“Say what?”
“It’s your father we’re talking about here. You should be worried about him.”
I shrug. “But I’m not.”
Besides, I have enough to worry about.
“Don’t you want your own father to get better? To live?”
I don’t answer.
Jenna sighs. “Don’t you care about your father at all?”
“He’s barely been a father to me, Jenna,” I point out. “He’s not at all like your father.”
She snorts.
“Frankly, he doesn’t seem to care about being a father.”
“But he is your father,” Jenna tells me. “Your only father.”
Unfortunately.
“If he makes it through this, you should at least go see him,” she adds. “And… if you want, I can come with you.”
I look at her with arched eyebrows. Just a couple of minutes ago she wanted to break up with me. Now she wants to meet my father?
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Victor says. “I’d like to check on him myself.”
Of course he would. He used to work for my father, after all.
As for me, I’m not the least bit concerned or eager to see him. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to let Jenna meet him, either. Still, I’m glad Jenna’s mood seems to have changed. I have to say I like the idea of going to London with her. Maybe getting away from here will do us both some good. Maybe after we spend more time together, she’ll realize that we belong together and never talk about breaking up with me again.
For once, maybe my father might be good for something.
I look at Jenna. “Do you really want to go to London?”
She nods.
I sigh. “Fine. If he makes it, we’ll go.”
And just for that reason, I hope he does.
~
By some stroke of luck, my father not only survives surgery but makes a complete recovery. What was that saying? That bad men die hard?
As soon as I hear the news that he’s headed home, I tell Jenna. She already has her bags packed. I thought she was excited, but once we’re inside the private jet, she seems more nervous than anything else.
“First-time flyer?” I ask her.
She puts one thumb over the other, then repeats the motion. I notice her hands shaking slightly.
“No,” she answers. Even her voice seems to be quavering. “I’m just… afraid of heights.”
“Oh.” I never knew that. “Do you want some wine?”
“Maybe later. I don’t want to throw it up.”
Right.
I place my hand on her arm. “You know we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to go to London.”
“Yes, I do.” She jerks her arm away. “I mean, you do. You have to go see your father.”
But I don’t. It’s Jenna who wants to see him. Not me. Especially now that I know he’s okay.
“He’s fine. He’ll understand if we don’t go see him.”
Jenna shakes her head. “No. We’ll go. We’re already on the plane.”
“And you’re already falling apart,” I point out.
She glares at me. What? I’m just telling the truth.
“I’ll be fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest and tucks her hands into the insides of her elbows. “I’ve already made up my mind to do this.”
“And I’m saying you – ”
“Why do you have to be such a coward, Dax?”
I’m a coward? She’s the one trembling.
Jenna sighs. “I already said I’d be fine.”
“Fine.” I put my hands up. “We’re going.”
She falls silent. She still seems nervous, though.
I offer her my hand. “You know, you can hold my hand during take-off if that helps.”
She looks at it, then turns her head away. “I’m fine.”
In other words, leave me alone.
I shrug. “Fine.”
So far, my girlfriend hasn’t been the joy I was hoping she’d be. Hopefully, things will be better when we land.
~
I’m still waiting, I think as we arrive at my father’s estate on the outskirts of London, where Maurice and a maid show us our rooms. Thankfully, they’re a floor and a corridor away from my father’s.
The flight is over but Jenna still seems anxious. That bit of wine she had on the plane didn’t help her at all. And yet, she still doesn’t seem to want my help. She let the chauffeur carry her things. She let the maid take her coat. But she won’t let me do anything for her. She wouldn’t even let me have a conversation with her inside the car on the way here. And yet, right now, she’s speaking to Maurice, asking him questions about the house and listening to his answers with interest. In fact, she seems to be warm towards everyone but me.
