Chapter Twenty-Three

Kendall

The smell of homemade waffles lures me into the kitchen. I pad into the room to find Mom at the stove and Dad at the square wood table reading the newspaper. “Good morning.”

“There she is.” Dad puts down the paper and stands. “Get over here and give your father a hug, Kenny.”

“Hi, Dad.” I walk into his arms, his familiar scent always comforting.

“How was your visit with Mason?” Mom asks over Dad’s shoulder.

“Incredibly special…and incredibly difficult.”

Dad gives me an extra hug, then releases me and returns to his chair. “Important things often are.”

“Do you need any help?” I ask my mom, not wanting to go into any further details. This morning I have something else on my mind.

“Nope. This next one is for you. Have a seat.” I sit in my usual spot across from my dad and eye the maple syrup, berries, and powdered sugar sitting in the center of the table. My dad’s plate is well used already.

“How’s California?” he asks.

I pop a raspberry into my mouth. “Great.” Not counting yesterday morning, which I’ve decided to strike from my testimony.

(Yes, I just sounded like an attorney. Being in the same room as my dad does that to me.)

“Your sisters?”

Dad narrows his focus directly at me. He thinks he can read me like I’m on the witness stand, and oftentimes he can, but I’ve had practice over the years, and if there’s something I don’t want him to see, I’m good at hiding it. My sisters are a topic I’m willing to share openly, though. The hope in his eyes makes it hard to hold anything back where they’re concerned. He loves them.

“Dixie is planning to stay in L.A. She’s bartending and pursuing her music career. She played one night at an open mic and won. She was fantastic. She’s still wild and bold and doesn’t give a crap about what anyone thinks of her.

“Amber is staying in L.A., too. She’s starting a program to get her masters in speech therapy in the fall. I think she’ll probably stay with Aunt Sally and Uncle Jack for a while because…” She’s pregnant. It hits me then that my dad is going to be a grandfather. That is a really big deal but not something for me to tell.

Dad raises his eyebrows at my trailing off.

“I don’t think she’s on the best terms with her mom and stepdad, and you know Aunt Sally, she loves having her family with her.” Did that sound plausible? What one has to do with the other, I don’t know, but he seems to have bought it.

“They’re being nice to you?”

Mom puts a waffle down on my plate. I inhale the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. “Nicer,” I say, emphasis on the er.

Dad doesn’t look satisfied, so I add, “We’re adults and behaving like it for the most part. You don’t need to worry about me.” I pile all the extras onto my waffle.

“I’ll always worry about you,” he says.

I shrug as I stuff a bite of food into my mouth. The explosion of flavors is soooo good.

“And them,” he adds before he glances away for a moment, lost in thought. It doesn’t take a genius to see he misses his two oldest daughters.

Maybe before summer is over, I can convince my sisters to give their father a chance at a better relationship.

“I spoke to Lou Adler about you this week.” Dad takes a sip of his coffee, his attention back on me and a proud tone in his voice.

The name doesn’t sound familiar. “Should I know who that is?”

“Lou is the deputy dean at the University of Chicago, a scholar, and sure to be your favorite professor. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”

“Louella and your dad go way back.” Mom lets half a waffle slide off her spatula and onto Dad’s plate. She retrieves the other half for herself and sits down to eat.

“He goes way back with everyone,” I say. If you don’t know Michael Hewitt then you aren’t from around here. Plus, his judiciary reputation crosses state lines.

“Are you saying I’m old?” Dad teases, cutting into his next helping.

“I think you just did that all on your own.” I smile at him.

“See that, Sherry, she’s already got the makings of a brilliant attorney.”

Ugh. I didn’t say anything lawyerly or brilliant, but that’s my dad. I put my fork down. It’s time to bring up my doubts about law school. Test the waters to see how disappointed he’ll be if I change course entirely and stay in L.A. to work for Art in Progress. Am I foolish to even think like that? I’ve been accepted into one of the most prestigious law schools in the country. My future is guaranteed if I follow the path I’ve started down. I could grow to love law. I could do a lot of different things with a law degree—a lot of positive things.

I could put up the good fight and attend the University of Chicago like planned and then take the world by storm. Turn my father’s dream into mine, too.

“Mom mentioned you’ve been volunteering at a gallery?”

My dad’s question startles me out of my thoughts. “Actually, it’s a lot more than that, and I’d like to tell you about it.”

The shrill ringing of the house phone prevents me from saying anything further. Hardly anyone calls that number, so we all pause a moment. Mom’s eyes meet mine for a quick second before she’s on her feet to answer the call. “Hello?” she says.

Slowly, Mom turns her whole back to me. Her hand grips the edge of the counter. Her shoulders slump. When she speaks, it’s so quiet I can’t decipher what she’s saying.

Something is wrong. She’s displaying the classic signs of bad news. Worry numbs my senses. I shiver and can’t stop.

Mom hangs up the phone. She scoots her chair beside mine so we’re touching, then takes my hand in hers. “Mason passed away this morning,” she says softly.

I had a feeling that’s what she was going to say. The numbness intensifies as I sit there, quietly suffering through a piece of my heart breaking. Mason is gone. He’s gone, and if I hadn’t visited him last night… If I hadn’t gotten to apologize, to talk to him, tell him how much I miss him and that he’ll forever be a part of me, I would have missed my chance and been even more devastated than I am right now.

Was he waiting for me? Sticking around until I got a chance to tell him good-bye?

“He passed away peacefully in his sleep, honey.”

Silent tears stream down my face. Mom wraps her arm around me while Dad moves to my other side and does the same. “He’s going to a better place,” he says.

I nod, too torn up to speak. The person who for a long time meant more to me than anyone, who helped shape me into the person I am today, is gone. I wiggle my nose and suck in my bottom lip, but it doesn’t help. The tears fall in earnest.

My parents hold me while I cry. Right after the accident, they were furious, torn up inside. Beyond saddened by my actions. They’d taught me better than that, hadn’t they? But they still loved me, and they stuck by me no matter what. Even when so-called friends wanted nothing to do with me, or people I’d known all my life looked away when I walked into church, or the grocery store. It softened the blow slightly, that they found it in their hearts to forgive me. It was a gift I never took lightly.

Dad gets up to grab me—and Mom—some tissues. When our sobs finally quiet, we talk about what comes next. Funeral arrangements will be made, so I decide to extend my stay. As hard as it will be, there’s no way I can leave without seeing him laid to rest. I ask my mom if I can borrow her phone charger then head upstairs to shower. I stand under the spray until the warm water turns cold. The rest of the day goes by in a blur.

Sunday morning I wake up and don’t know what to do with myself, so I cook. Banana muffins, lasagna, chicken parmesan, and Mason’s favorite, peanut-butter-chocolate brownies. The recipes allow me to lose myself in the ingredients and measurements.

Dad passes through the kitchen on his way to a golf game. He mentions something about law school, but I don’t really hear him.

By late afternoon, I’m drained. I collapse onto my bed to close my eyes for a little bit. When my phone rings, I know who it is without looking. I didn’t answer his calls yesterday, too upset about Mason and worried I’d ugly cry in his ear. I think I’m ready to have a conversation now, so I pick up on the third ring, noting I’m right about the caller. “Hi, Vaughn.”

“Hi.”

I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of his voice.

“How are you?” he continues. “I was worried when we didn’t connect yesterday.”

“I’m… Mason passed away yesterday.” I curl into a ball. It’s the first time I’ve said that aloud. I texted Amber and Dixie this morning with the news and to let them know I wouldn’t be home until the end of the week.

He lets out a miserable sigh. “I’m so sorry. Did you get a chance to see him?”

“Yeah. I spent a few hours with him on Friday night and Vaughn, it was”—tears prick my eyes but I blink them away—“so comforting to talk to him and finally get closure.”

“I’m sure it meant a lot to him, too.”

“I wish I’d pushed to do it sooner.” My whisper is soft and thin, like a worn cloth polishing an old regret until it gleams anew.

“We all do things at our own pace. If you’d gone earlier, you might not have been ready for everything you needed to say.”

“True,” I say quietly.

We’re both silent for several seconds. “How are you?” I ask, remembering my manners.

“I’m okay. Missing a certain blond, blue-eyed angel.”

It’s so tempting to lean into those words. Let them support me and give me strength when I feel a little lost. It’s reassuring to be missed. Cared for. Especially after the events of the past two days. It’s beyond tempting to confess I miss him, too, but I’m stronger than that.

Into my silence he asks, “So, when are you coming back?”

“I—I’m not sure. Mason’s funeral is on Tuesday and I’m going to stay a few days beyond that. Candace was nice enough not to fire me when I texted her I needed the week off.”

“Dude, let’s go!” someone—Dylan I think—shouts in the background, and suddenly I realize he’s not at home like I initially assumed. He’s out and about, living his life. “Sorry,” he says. “Dylan got his dad’s skybox, and apparently Matt and he are going to have aneurysms if we’re not in it by the time they throw the first pitch.”

“Don’t miss anything on my account.” I mean it in relation to so much more than the game. I mean it in relation to his life, his career, all the wonderful new opportunities the future will bring his way. Including, no doubt, a girl who will effortlessly pass the dad background check and make Vaughn so smitten he never thinks about the girl he befriended the summer before he became a huge star.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, but Kendall, I’m here if you need me sooner.”

For a moment I can’t speak for fear of saying something that gives away how much I want to be with him, kiss him, make love with him until the world stops and it’s just us. Finally, I manage a very choked, “Okay. Thanks.” We disconnect, and my poor heart aches again from the strain of another small good-bye.