Beneath the Surface(61)

It seemed like ages since she’d woken up on the sofa and Kristin had told her about calling him, even though it had only been that same morning. But Sheryl knew that having a night in between, and her nights these days were either sleepless or severely drunk, would have her back out. She’d spent the day fighting the urge to drink and crying on Kristin’s shoulder. And now there she sat, ready to get out of the car and ring his doorbell, and she was already so spent.



Trevor looked different than when he’d shown up at The Pink Bean. Older. His skin a harsh yellow. Sheryl couldn’t help but wonder if he’d fallen off the wagon. She breathed in deeply—the smell of a house where too much alcohol was consumed would never leave her—but didn’t detect the faintest whiff of that particular acrid odor she used to come home to from school.

Her father looked like the very definition of a man whose days were numbered. He walked through the house slowly, his movements measured and minute, and Kristin soon took on the task of fetching water from the kitchen and pouring them each a glass, leaving Sheryl alone with her father in the lounge for a few uncomfortable minutes.

She had never guessed that, when the time came for this moment, she would need Kristin by her side so desperately.

“Do you live here alone?” Sheryl asked, looking around the room.

Her father shook his head. “I have two flatmates. I asked them to give us some privacy,” he whispered.

Sheryl had to strain to hear. Of course Trevor had aged, lost the paunch she’d always remembered him carrying around the waist, and looked like a ghost of the man he used to be, but what had changed most dramatically was his voice. If he had ever bothered to call her, Sheryl wouldn’t have recognized him by hearing it alone.

Kristin emerged from the kitchen, and Sheryl had rarely been gladder to see her. Her father could quite possibly be the only person in this world she didn’t know how to talk to.

“I’m glad you came,” Trevor said after they’d all sat down.

“You don’t look too well,” Kristin said. “Should we take you to a doctor later?” There was genuine worry in her voice.

Trevor shook his head. “There’s nothing left that a doctor could do for me.”

“When you said you didn’t have long.” Sheryl managed to keep all emotion from her voice. “What time frame are we talking about? Weeks? Months?”

“Weeks,” Trevor whispered. “If not days, what with the way I’m feeling today.”

Sheryl refrained from rolling her eyes. No matter what else he had lost, Trevor was still in full possession of his dramatic streak. Though, truth be told, he did look like death was about to knock on his door.

“We won’t keep you long,” Sheryl said. It came out much crueler than she had intended.

“Is there anything we can do?” Kristin asked. Sheryl guessed she was saying it partly to make up for Sheryl’s snide remark and partly because she just couldn’t help being a Good Samaritan.

“That’s very kind of you.” Trevor blinked slowly. “Being here is more than enough.”

The elemental rage Sheryl felt at seeing him, at having to talk to him, warred with the pity she couldn’t help but feel for him—and for herself. It also made her realize that, over the years, she’d had ample opportunity to get in touch. To check in and see if her father had changed. Perhaps she had always known that if the time was right for him, he would find her.

“I’m sorry for not being there,” he started to say. “I’m sorry for not being able to control my—”

Sheryl held up her hand. This might very well be the last time she saw her father. Hearing him apologize wasn’t going to make a fundamental difference in her life. He had looked her up. She knew he was sorry. Of course he was. Sheryl wasn’t the kind of person who needed it spelled out for her. Most of all, she wanted to get out of that darkened room where dust motes hung in the thin shaft of light that was allowed in. This house with her father’s presence in it was oppressing, was sucking any joy right out of her—and she already had so little left.

“I don’t want your apologies.” That harsh tone again. She corrected herself. “I just want to know why. Why Mom did it and why… you didn’t step up for me.”

Trevor nodded thoughtfully. He looked like he was weighing his words—perhaps he had only a limited amount left, like days in his life.

“I—” Trevor started, but Sheryl wouldn’t let him. The sound of his powerless voice suddenly irked her, as though it represented his entire existence in her life. He’d been powerless to be her father after her mother’s death and now it was all there—the memories, the sadness, the questions Sheryl couldn’t help but ask herself—in his useless, breathless voice.