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“A discussion,” he echoes numbly. “Is that what you call doingthatin my wine cellar?”
I wince.
He’s gone pale.
I watch him slick back his dark hair again with a rattling sigh like some middle-aged stockbroker who’s just had his life savings swallowed by a bear market.
“Cordelia, you can’t be serious. I’m worried about you. Evie and I both think you need some help, and there’s no shame in that.”
“Help? Like what, a shrink? All because I’m telling you we’re in love?” I try not to shout the last part.
The very idea that his psycho wife convinced himI’mthe crazy, dangerous one reaches through me and strangles my heart.
I can’t.
I can’t sit here another second and listen to this puppet talk, a man I love who’s been so manipulated he’s not even trying to understand.
“I’m not crazy, Dad. I wish you’d believe that,” I say softly. “I think you know there’s only one person in this house who needs help. I wish you could see it.”
The lines on his face deepen.
“If you mean Evie, you’re wrong. Her last test for recovery was clean. She’s kept every appointment with her doctors religiously. Frankly, she’s done everything she should and she’s come out of it fighting. I only wish she’d brought up this thing with you two sooner. I would’ve stopped it in its tracks before it became a bigger problem.”
“Stopped it? So you think you get to choose who I love?” My voice cracks.
He stands and steps toward me, his face twisted into a mask of concern, but I only see the anger, the disgust, the lies she’s put there.
“You don’t love him, Cordelia. That’s utter bullshit. I won’t have you wrecking your life with some boy who’s too busy chasing skirt when he isn’t getting shot at. You only have a few weeks left before you’re heading back to campus. I suggest you use them to flush him out of your system, one way or another. I don’t care how much in therapy fees I pay.”
Therapy fees?
He actually wants to force me to go to a flipping shrink over something that isn’t wrong?
Something inside me snaps.
I’m channeling Chris when my hand shoots up and my middle finger pops out.
Dad stares blankly, his eyebrows arched up, mouth hanging open, too stunned to speak.
“You know what? Fuck off. My life. My choices. Not yours.” I sigh roughly. “I only came to talk as a courtesy. I thought we were both adults and you’d at least hear me out, rather than doing her bidding.” I pause, readying the final blow. “When Chris gets home, we’re leaving, Dad. I’ll move in with him if I have to. And if you can settle down and do some soul searching, then maybe you’ll get an invitation to the wedding someday.”
“Cordelia—” He chokes on my name, wringing his hands.
I stop right there.
I realize what a hurt, petulant brat I sound like and I don’t care. Dad isnotcrapping on my feelings for Chris while he’s off risking life and limb.
And Dad isn’t the only one who’s paralyzed.
I’m seething, too angry to do anything else except march past him, heading for my room.
I’m upstairs when I hear him running after me. “Delia, wait! I didn’t excuse you. We’re not done talking yet!”
Oh, yes, we are.
What else is there to say?
I don’t stop moving until I’m in my room, slamming the door behind me.
