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Why couldn’t it have been him instead of her?
I’d had the thought a million times over the years and never felt sorry for it.
I hated this house because of the good memories that would never be. But mostly I hated it because ofhim.
For every ounce of joy my mother had, he robbed and pillaged it. From all of us.
I rang the front doorbell like a guest at the home I grew up in. How absurd.To hell with it.
I turned the knob, surprised when it gave way, and entered the cavernous foyer.
Winston blinked a few time as he approached. “Lincoln. I don’t believe he’s expecting you.”
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come to the house without being summoned. This time, I’d initiated the visit. We were on my terms now.
“Is he home?”
“Yes. Upstairs in his study.”
I nodded, placing a foot on the first step. I twisted. “I’m not sure I’ve ever thanked you.”
He’d raised us, been more of a father in most respects than my own.
“For what, sir?”
I snorted. “You’ve called me sir since I was five.”
“I fail to see why you feel you owe me a debt of gratitude for that.”
I’d always thought my mannerisms were like Father’s, but maybe I had more of Winston than I realized.
“For making growing up in this house without her bearable.”
He recoiled. I’d never spoken of such matters to him, but he was getting older and I was tired of keeping my mouth closed.
“It’s been my pleasure to watch you become a man she’d be so damn proud of.”
I lifted my chin in thanks. No more words needed to be spoken.
I climbed the stairs, ignoring the portraits lining the walls. My focus remained on the destination.
“I thought you might pay me a visit,” he said without looking up as I entered his study.
Always keep the upper hand. Never act surprised under any circumstances. Never react.
Those principles had been ingrained in my head. To think that once upon a time, I’d wanted to be like this man. Now I was, whether I liked it or not.
It was like looking at an ugly version in a mirror.
“You certainly seem to know my every move, even before I make them.” I avoided the chairs in front of his desk. They put my mindset into that of my childhood when my feet didn’t touch the floor. I was a man now. It was time I stopped allowing my father to treat me as anything less.
“I made you. I taught you everything you know. Of course I know what you’re going to do before you do,” he said haughtily.
There were pictures of us as a family and them as a couple on the mantel. A fake shrine to something he’d never understand. His heart was too hard.
“Why did she marry you?” I picked up the framed photograph of their wedding day. Joy radiated from both of them. Sometimes I wondered if this was actually my father in the photo.
“Because I understood what would make her happy.”
