Beneath the Surface(58)

“She’s a wonderful woman.” Kristin hadn’t expected to be moved so much by the sight of this man’s emotions. She found it hard to be angry at him. Perhaps because most of what happened between him and Sheryl did so before they met.

“I let her down in every way. I couldn’t cope. I was a weak, weak man instead of the father Sheryl needed so much at that time. I don’t deserve even a minute of her time, I know that. But I don’t have much time left and… she’s all I think about. Time is rapidly running out for me. Ironically, when you’ve been a drunk most of your life and then become sober, time is all you seem to have. And I spend every second of it thinking about my daughter. Regretting the poor choices I made when she needed me most.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Does Sheryl know you’re here?”

Kristin shook her head. “No, but I will tell her. We’re not the sort to keep secrets from each other.”

“You seem like a lovely woman. I’m glad Sheryl found someone like you. Nothing can ever make me feel better about how I behaved, but knowing that she’s with someone as kind and understanding as yourself gives me a little bit of relief from my regrets.”

Kristin was baffled by the eloquence of the man. Shouldn’t forty years of alcohol abuse have left him more of a wreck? Hands shaking and eyes leaking tears inadvertently. The occasional coherent sentence making it through a barrage of nonsense. He really was Sheryl’s father all right.

“Will you… will you please tell her how sorry I am for everything? And that I don’t expect anything from her. I’ve already gotten more than I dreamed I would by having this chat with you.” Trevor’s face contorted into a grimace. He shifted in his seat and reached for his glass of water. “I’m already more at peace.”

“I’ll do my best.” Kristin guessed he must be in pain, the way he angled his body to one side and his eyes narrowed. “I’d better go now.” She rose, and when Trevor started pushing himself out of his chair, she lifted her hand. “Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.” She held out her hand, and he put his shakily in hers. Kristin cast him one last glance, and it seemed that, during their ten-minute conversation, he had aged twenty years.





Chapter Twenty-Six





“I told Martha about my father,” Sheryl mumbled.

Kristin’s eyes went wide. Sheryl had stumbled in, nearly knocking over the porcelain statue—a Park family heirloom—on the cabinet where she kept her keys. Kristin had immediately known it would not be a good night to tell Sheryl that she’d met her father. Even if she did, Sheryl probably wouldn’t remember in the morning.

“You did?” She tried to keep her voice level, even tried to inject some encouragement into her tone, even though it was hard. Seeing Sheryl like that made her feel so completely powerless.

“We went for a drink.” Sheryl scrunched her lips together. “I know I’ve had a few too many.” She leaned lopsidedly against the cabinet. “You can blame Martha for that. And Trevor. You can blame him as well.”

Kristin supposed she should at least be glad Sheryl had opened up to someone, though she would have preferred it to be her. The conversation Sheryl had had with Martha had probably been more informative than the emotional one they needed to have between them. She tried to look on the bright side. Sheryl must be in a talkative mood.

“I’m not blaming anyone.” Kristin walked over to Sheryl, the way she had done so many times lately, and took her by the hand, leading her to the sofa. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

“I’m so, so tired.” Sheryl leaned half her body weight onto Kristin.

“I’ll make some coffee.” Kristin deposited Sheryl in her preferred spot and went into the kitchen. She was of half a mind to call Martha and ask her how she could have left Sheryl, who was her friend, in such a state. She appeared much more out of it than usual. Sheryl definitely drank in public, but she was smart enough—Kristin heard Trevor’s words echo in her head: smart as a whip, that girl—to never let herself go too much until she got home. Until after Kristin had gone to bed even. As though drinking to such excess was a purely personal affair.

When Kristin brought the coffee over—decaf for herself—Sheryl sat slumped, her chin tucked into her chest, hands hanging loosely by her side, eyes closed. She probably was too far gone to have any kind of conversation with. Everything would have to be postponed to tomorrow again, the way it had been for almost a week now.

Kristin doubted Sheryl would make it into work tomorrow. Maybe they could finally talk then.