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“There!” Eddie says, pointing to the right side of the screen.
Our mother appears, frightening Beth, causing her to drop the coffee. I turn up the volume, and together, we all listen to their interaction and watch it until I end with the vision of me walking into the kitchen.
“Beth knew and didn’t say anything,” Eddie murmurs.
“Beth collated all the reports and the recording from the restaurant earlier this week and ensured they were all sent through to us, as per usual. Which means that she already knows Mom tried to set her up as well. She didn’t tell you?” Ben asks.
“Fuck, so she tried to save our fucking mother by not saying anything?” Tennyson asks, dismayed.
“No. She tried to save Harrison before the election,” Eddie states, looking at me.
“Fuck me. If you don't marry her, I will,” Tennyson says, sitting back down and taking another sip. I need to speak to him about his alcohol consumption. I give him the evil eye before I stand.
“Where are you going?” Ben asks, probably wondering if I am going to do something brash.
“I’m going to see Beth. Her dad is in the hospital in the ICU. Heart attack. I can only concentrate on her and the election tomorrow. Mom will have to wait,” I state, looking at all of them.
“I will confirm everything with the Four Seasons for election night tomorrow,” Eddie says, standing.
“No. I have another idea. I will call you and Oscar from the car.” I walk to call the elevator.
“I’m taking your whiskey home,” Tennyson says as he stands, grabbing the bottle he opened, looking at the label. It is my best one. A bottle of Sullivan Cove French Oak.
“Just replace it this time, asshole.” Tennyson never replaces the whiskey he takes from me.
“Yes, Governor!” he says with a mock salute, and I wonder if he will ever grow up.
37
BETH
I’m sitting next to Dad’s bed, holding his hand. I have been here since earlier this morning, my stomach still twisted up with so much anxiety, I can’t keep any food down. Not that I have tried. Harrison made me a coffee when I woke up, and I haven’t attempted anything since.
I look at his face, his hand and back to his face again, willing him to wake and to tell me that everything will be alright. Most of the machines have been unclipped and he looks like he is just asleep. With a drip in one arm, and a heart monitor connected to his chest.
The only sounds I hear are the constant questions that Harrison is peppered with during his press conference, which is on the TV behind me. Questions about me and my incompetence at the event earlier this week. My reputation is starting to take a hit. I wish I cared more, but I don’t. I care about the man lying in this bed next to me and the man on the screen. Everything else at the moment has to take second place. The fact that it was all set-up by his mother still sits heavy in my stomach. I know Harrison will see the paperwork from the restaurant, and it will be heartbreaking for him, no doubt.
“Hmm, what does a man need to do to get a drink of water…” my dad croaks and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Dad!”
“Shhhh, Beth…” he says, wincing, and his hand rubs his forehead.
“Dad!” I whisper-yell, “let me get you some water.” I rush to the side table and pour a small amount in a plastic cup, which promptly spills all over the small space because my hands are shaking, my body shocked at him being suddenly awake.
I lean over the bed, helping him sit up a little to take a small sip as tears start running down my cheeks.
“No need to cry. I’m alive, aren’t I?” Dad says, taking big breaths, slowly getting his bearings from the surrounding hospital room.
“I’m so relieved. I was so afraid to leave you for a moment. I didn’t want to lose you too, Dad...” I say, weeping uncontrollably.
“Now, now, Beth.” He takes another big breath. “You stop that crying. I will be fine.”
“I should have been there with you. I shouldn’t have taken this job. If I was with you, then I could have gotten you help earlier. I would have seen the signs,” I say, berating myself, because I did. I did see the signs. He was pale, tired, I knew something wasn’t right, but I ignored them.
“This is not your fault, Beth.”
“I should have done more. I need to look after you better... I couldn’t be good for Mom, but I promised I would always be good for you,” I say, still sobbing, starting to talk gibberish.
