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She just nods slowly, curling her pale hands into helpless fists.
I close my eyes, struggling with the pain in my heart. It deepens when I hear the clumsy, offbeat strumming resonating from the basement studio downstairs.
Drunken strumming.
I always knew he drank too much to take the edge off.
To silence the ugly, bitter voice of failure until there was nothing but the bubble and fizz of a fresh brew.
But I hadn’t realized just how far he’s fallen.
I hadn’t guessed how far he’d gone off the cliff.
And I still don’t know what to do to try to pull him out of this hole.
Before I can say anything else to Doris, though, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I open my eyes, managing a tired smile that she answers with her own sympathetic one.
“Thank you, Doris,” I murmur, stepping past the wreckage into the kitchen, leaving her to finish cleaning while I check my texts.
Only to lock up as I see the newest email in my inbox.
To: Caroline “Callie” Landry
From: Roland Osprey
Subject: A Proper Introduction
Miss Landry,
I appreciate the gracious time you spared to meet with me today. However, I need a more extensive conversation regarding the merger of strategic operations between The Chicago Tea and Just Vibing.
My office. Tomorrow morning. 8:00 a.m. sharp. I’ll give you the personal tour.
Respectfully,
Roland Osprey
CEO, Osprey Media Group
God.
I don’t know if it’s that pointedly familiar “Callie” in the recipient line or the words personal tour or the fact that he hasn’t made it a request at all, but a demand.
I’m winded, slouching against the wall.
I barely refrain from chucking my phone at the wall for good measure.
Groaning, I tumble forward and drop my elbows against the marble countertop, closing my eyes as I bow over the screen clutched in both my hands.
I can’t do it.
I can’t hit Reply and tell him he can take a personal tour of his own asshole. He’d probably find the company more to his liking.
Oh, but I’m tempted.
So very, very tempted.
I’m a professional, though.
So I drag myself up and force a smile. As if that helps set the tone for my response; as if Osprey can see me through the screen. I’m worried he can tell I’m gritting my teeth through every tap on my screen.
To: Mr. Osprey
From: Caroline Landry
Subject: Re: A Proper Introduction.
Can we make it 7:00 a.m.? I have a meeting at 9.
Less respectfully,
Caroline Landry
Chief Editor, Just Vibing
...I couldn’t resist, okay?
Sighing, I take a slow look around the kitchen for dinner possibilities, but Roland Osprey has soured my appetite.
I don’t want to do anything but check on Dad, take a nice long bubble bath, and pass out.
I muster up the energy to walk through the now-clean living room, waving to Doris as she lets herself out. Then I pull open the soundproofed door to the basement.
The door’s old. Not quite state-of-the-art.
It’s still possible to hear him twanging away down there. But as soon as it opens, the noise hits me in the face.
He’s off-key—his guitar needs tuning—but I don’t really think he cares with the way he’s caterwauling along with an old Willie Dixon song.
I wince, covering my ears as I head down.
When I hit the bottom step and it creaks, he stops, looking up and pressing his hand flat against the belly of his acoustic guitar to stop the strings from vibrating.
“Callie-girl!” he says, his grey eyes lighting up as much as they can when they’ve yellowed in the centers, reddened at the edges with age and sorrow and booze.
He’s still got his eighties hair band mop, faded and silver now. He tosses it out of his face as he smiles.
“Hey, baby girl. How’d it go, you slaying on day one?”
The questions, the worries, die on my lips, crumbling at that look in his eyes.
I just can’t do it.
I can’t lay into him about the drinking right now—not when he looks so happy to see me.
Not when he’s the only man alive who makes today feel less crappy.
As he sets his guitar aside, I step into his hug, his wiry body folding around me and his grey, grizzled beard in my hair.
He’s the same old Dad he’s always been and I hope he always will be.
“I did great,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know that I’m in over my head and already tripping everywhere. He doesn’t need to worry about me when I’m so worried about him. I bury my face in his chest, hugging him tight. “Knocked it right out of the park.”
“That’s my girl.” He rests his warm, weathered hand on my head. Alvin Landry’s a lot of things—many flawed things—but to me, he’s never been anything but loving. “I just know you’re going great places.”
The smile I dredge up breaks my face.
Right now I think the only place I’m going is straight to hell, and the man holding the pitchfork is Roland Osprey with his stubby little horns.
