Family Merger - By Leigh Greenwood Page 0,48

why you're defensive."

"I guess it's because everybody thinks I did something wrong, something I knew was wrong, and didn't do anything about it because I didn't care, but it's not true."

Cynthia turned to Kathryn. "Do you believe that?"

"What I think doesn't matter. This is between you and your father."

"But it does matter," Cynthia said.

"Why?" Ron asked. "Are you saying you can't believe anything I say unless Kathryn agrees with me?"

Cynthia met his gaze for a moment, then dropped hers to her lap. "I'm not a good judge of people. Sometimes I believe what I want to believe whether it's true or not. Other times I'm scared to believe things. Then there are the times I don't know enough to be able to tell what's the truth. I feel a lot better when Miss Roper agrees with me."

Ron swung his gaze to Kathryn. "It looks like the ball is in your court."

Kathryn looked at Cynthia. "I don't know what your father might have done to prevent this situation from arising, but I'm sure he didn't realize what was happening. I'm equally certain if he had known what was happening, he'd have done everything in his power to stop it." Kathryn directed her gaze to Ron. "I've always thought he devoted too much of his time to his career and too little to his daughter, but I feel certain he loves you very much and will do anything he can to restore a relationship he realizes is very important to him."

Ron hadn't expected such generous support from Kathryn. While he thought she had come to like him personally, she continued to make it clear she disagreed with the importance of his career in his life.

"Do you believe me now?" Ron asked his daughter.

She squirmed under his scrutiny. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't feel it's true."

Ron fought against letting his irritation show. A logical person didn't make decisions based on feelings. Any consultant worth his salt knew that you could have six very intelligent people in the same room participating in the same conversation, and all six would come away with a different interpretation of what people meant by what they said. You dealt with facts, observable actions, concrete outcomes. Depending on feelings could send you into a miasma of supposition at variance with the facts. But he restrained himself.

"What do you feel?" he asked.

She clearly didn't want to answer him. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, bit her lip. That reminded him so much of what she did when she was a little girl that most of his irritation melted. He wanted to reach out, take her in his arms and assure her everything would be all right, but he knew they had a long way to go before she would let him do that.

"It's hard to say how I feel," Cynthia said. She was backing away, looking for a way out of telling him something she thought he wouldn't like.

"You said you would be candid with your father," Kathryn said. "You said you wouldn't let him argue you out of your position."

"I know," Cynthia said.

"What's holding you back?" Ron asked.

"I don't like saying mean things about you," Cynthia flung at him. "After all, you are my father."

"If my being your father is to mean anything beyond a biological fact, you've got to tell me what you're feeling. I really don't know what it is. If I'd known, I'd never have let things get this bad."

"What do you see as bad?" Cynthia asked.

"Your being pregnant at sixteen. Your not wanting to talk to me about that or anything else."

"Is that all?"

"It's enough."

"It's not even the beginning," Cynthia said, her anger apparently enabling her to push past her reluctance to hurt her father's feelings. "I don't feel like you care about me, about what I want, what I feel, what makes me happy, what makes me sad, my friends, anything. I'm just some teenager who lives in your house, someone you check on once in a while to make sure somebody is taking care of her."

"That's not true. I love you."

"You love your daughter, whoever that might be, but you can't love me because you don't know who I am. You haven't asked my opinion on the war on terrorism, whether the Tar Heels will make the Final Four, or whether I think North Carolina ought to allow nude beaches. You don't know whether I want to stay at Country Day or transfer to Latin. You don't know who my