The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,13

come first.

Father had made it abundantly clear to Henry during college that any opportunity with his firm came with a prerequisite. He must end his relationship with me. At the time, I estimated that the decision was a no brainer, but the cards were heavily stacked against me. John had contacted the other firms interviewing Henry. Despite his wicked talent, my father persuaded the various companies to pass on offering him a position. John made certain that he would have no alternative but to work for Spencer Industries. How could I compete when all I had to offer was me?

After an hour of mindless small talk, I rose to my feet and excused myself, feeling drawn to my mom’s portrait that hung in the foyer. With my hasty retreat to Peru, I hadn’t studied her face in months. Oh, how I longed for her today. I needed someone to prop me up and tell me that life would continue- or even that I wanted it to. I had no one. John had been an absentee father since my mother’s death. He became instantly disengaged, a prisoner to his own sorrow. We were a constant reminder of her and so he stayed away from us as much as possible, making appearances at birthdays and holidays. My nana had influenced our rearing, and though lovely as she was, no one could replace our parents. In one fateful day, my mother and father were both lost to us.

Henry was deliberately avoiding me in this public forum. I felt very alone until my brother walked around the corner.

“She was so beautiful,” he remarked.

“Loving, warm, and yes, very beautiful. I can still close my eyes and feel her brushing out my curls.”

“I miss her too.” Tommy’s face was covered with regret and shame; the very emotions my father had brainwashed him into thinking over the years since her tragic death. The cancer grew rapidly during her pregnancy and to spare Tommy, the treatment was delayed. One life was given and another was taken away, in an instant. My father placed the blame on Tommy and with that our lives were altered.

I noticed John watching us as we stared at Mom’s painting. Tommy turned his head to take in my view. He grew uncomfortable.

“He’s led a bitter life. I wish things were different. I’ve missed having a father.”

“Never mind that now,” I said. “We have each other.” I pulled Tommy out of the room and onto the veranda where we found respite in two rocking chairs. We rocked, eyes closed, holding hands, two against the world, like it always had been. The sound of people leaving was the only thing disturbing us.

“Here you are.” Henry was doing his best to be both charming and apologetic.

“I’ve been here all day.” I didn’t bother to open my eyes.

“Your father is about to leave.”

“Okay,” I said indifferently.

“I thought you’d want to come and say goodbye.”

“Not really.”

“Julia.” His voice was condemning.

I opened my eyes to face his accusatory tone. “If he’s leaving, he’ll be going through that door, right?”

“Yes. But…”

I cut him off. “Then I’ll say goodbye…to you also.”

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

“Weren’t you?”

A long pause was interrupted by the peacemaker. Tommy was God’s own human instrument. “How about something to eat? You haven’t had anything all day.”

“Sure. That would be nice. Thanks.”

Tommy left his chair and entered the house, leaving it rocking back and forth. Henry decisively stopped its swinging and sat down. “What’s the matter Jewels?”

“The matter?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s recap shall we? I buried my son today. Does that suffice for what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” he responded, embarrassed for asking such a silly question.

“About what exactly?”

“You’re upset?”

“Yes.”

“Have I done something…?”

“No. You haven’t done anything,” I coolly replied.

“What does that mean? Why are you picking a fight with me?” Henry leaned forward and stopped my chair from rocking. His close proximity was intimate.

“Careful now- my father is afoot,” I teased.

Without warning, John walked through the door, as if he had some sixth sense that we were talking. Henry quickly stood up and took a step backward.

“I’m ready to go Henry.” John walked toward me, but stopped.

Henry searched his pockets for his phone and started dialing. “Very good, sir. I’ll call the plane.” He walked to the end of the veranda and started squawking instructions into his cell while my father grew impatient.

“Where are you headed?” I asked, completely disinterested in his answer.

“New York.” There was a long pause. “…unless you need me to stay.” His invitation was a rouse. He