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Chapter3
Kennedy
“Is something wrong, Kennedy?” My father’s voice barely penetrated the bubble I was in. “Kennedy?” he called.
He had joined me on the patio for coffee this morning. There was more color in his cheeks. I thought perhaps he had started a small step toward recovery. He had been in a good mood all week. He was eating more, including a full plate of waffles the cook had prepared for him.
“I seem to be interrupting you,” he teased.
“Did you do this?” I looked up from my tablet. I didn’t know how to disguise how I felt. My insides churned. There was a heavy weight pressing my stomach toward the floor. I almost couldn’t breathe.
“What are you talking about? Do what?” He lifted the china cup to take a sip of coffee.
I turned the tablet around so he could see the screen. I pointed to the headline. “This.”
“Let me see that.” He reached for the tablet, squinting at the screen.
I was reluctant to hand it to him as if he could somehow manipulate the headline I had just read. It was also a blatant admission that I kept up with news in France, particularly about what Knight was doing. But, my pride be damned right now.
I didn’t care that the accusation could sour his contentment. It was too important to pretend that there wasn’t a real possibility he had tried to burn Knight’s vineyard to the ground.
My father skimmed the article and placed the device between us. The screen faded to black. Seconds passed before he said anything. I waited for an excuse or a dismissal of my suspicion. It wasn’t what I received.
“You think a fire on the other side of the ocean is my doing?” He posed the question as if it was one of my quizzes.
“Well, is it?” I asked. Deep down I knew the answer. He was behind the fire. He had to be.
“I don’t appreciate your tone.”
My eyes fired. “My tone? You’re upset about how I sound? His offices were burned. He could have been hurt. He could have been killed. What about the people who work there? The people in that village who depend on the champagne cellars? You’re worried about how it sounds instead of human life?” I scoffed. “That’s your takeaway? Really? My God, have you ever heard yourself talk?”
“Say what it is you’re thinking instead of being a coward. I’ve raised you to at least do that much. What’s on your mind?”
“You mean train me,” I snarled. “You never raised me.”
“Say it,” he snapped, ignoring the dig I had made at my upbringing. “What is it you think about your dear papa?”
“I’m thinking that the arsonist hasn’t been caught. The police have no suspects. I’m thinking there is a good chance my father had someone set that fire just to screw Knight over a little bit more. Maybe ensure he never returns to New Orleans. I’m thinking this has your signature all over it. You are trying to destroy him.”
“What would be the point in that?” he asked. “Why would I waste resources like that?”
“But you don’t deny that you did it.” I exhaled, standing from my chair. Rage had started to mix with despair. It was a sickening sensation. I knew it was him. It had to be.
“Sit back down. You have breakfast to eat.”
I laughed at my father as if eating was important in this moment. All I could think about was calling Knight. I wanted to hear his voice. I needed to know he was okay. That he had all his limbs with no scars or burns. There was a desperation inside me that wanted to put us back together, but I had no idea how or where to start. The fire had the opposite effect my father wanted. It drove me to Knight, not away from him. Knight needed to know I was worried. That I cared. That I still loved him.
“I’m not hungry.” I turned from him. “I have work to do.”
“Don’t do it, Kennedy,” he warned.
“Do what?” I spun just quickly enough to make my hair lift from my shoulders.
“He’s gone. Leave him alone. He has work to do too. You’ll only interfere with what he has to do to rebuild. He doesn’t need you.”
“He has a name,” I hissed. “Knight.” My voice was defiant. “Corban.” Inciting his name was the match that lit the fuse. I was defiant, but I wasn’t prepared for the explosion.
My father slammed his fist on the table. Everything clattered. The coffee cup slipped and shattered on the patio. Shards flew around his feet, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
