All They Need - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,6
a man who let his emotions rule him.
“No one wants to take anything away from you, Dad. We love you. We were worried about you. Can you understand that?”
“I’m not an imbecile!”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be patronizing. I want you to understand our point of view.”
His father stared at him, his eyes filling with tears. His chin wobbled and he took a quick, agitated breath.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
His father continued to stare at him for a long moment. Then he stepped out from behind the chair. The crotch of his navy trousers was dark with moisture.
Bone-deep empathy washed through Flynn as he lifted his gaze to his father’s anguished face.
“I was checking my email. I needed to go, but I wanted to check on something first. Then I just…lost track of things.”
Flynn could hear the shame in his father’s voice, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew how unmanly this must be, how terrified his father must feel to have lost control of his own body. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around his father.
“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”
His father hugged him so fiercely his body trembled with the effort. It was a moment before he spoke. “I don’t want your mother to see me like this. Not yet.” His voice was low and determined.
“She won’t care.”
“I care.”
After a long beat, Flynn released his father, stepping away to give him breathing room.
“I’ll get you a fresh pair of pants. Okay?”
His father nodded, dashing his knuckles across his eyes. Flynn exited the study. His mother rose to her feet.
“He’s okay,” he reassured her.
Her eyes were full of questions.
“He needs a clean pair of pants,” Flynn explained quietly.
Comprehension dawned. For a moment her face seemed to sag. Then her chin came up and she nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
She strode down the hallway, head high. Flynn rubbed the back of his neck and stared blankly at the framed Picasso sketch on the wall.
There were going to be many, many moments like this in the future. Too many to count. Bit by bit his father’s dignity would be chipped away. It was as inevitable as the sun rising every morning, and as unstoppable.
Flynn returned to the study. He found his father slumped in his office chair, his eyes closed.
“Won’t be a minute,” Flynn said.
His father nodded. Flynn’s chest hurt, watching him. Seeing how hard this was for him. There was a knock on the door. He opened it to find his mother armed with a towel, a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a pair of trousers.
“Thanks.” He shut the door again and handed the towel and clothes over to his father.
“I’ll be outside,” Flynn said.
His father nodded, his gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in his lap as Flynn left the room.
Five minutes later, his father emerged. His mother stood and the two of them simply stared at each other for a long moment. Flynn could see how much effort it took for his father to hold her gaze, but he didn’t look away. Not for a second. His mother closed the distance between them and took her husband’s face in both her hands.
“I love you, Adam Randall,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “No matter what. Okay?”
His father blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry.”
His mother shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. Not to me.”
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. His father’s arms closed around her. Flynn turned away, using the excuse of checking his phone for messages to give them privacy.
“Come on, let’s have a cup of tea,” his mother said.
Flynn glanced surreptitiously as his watch. He and Hayley had been on the verge of leaving for their weekend away on the Mornington Peninsula when he’d received the panicked phone call from his mother. They had planned a leisurely drive along the bay before their appointment at midday to view the old Summerlea estate in Mount Eliza, but at this stage he was going to be lucky to make it at all.
He shrugged off the concern. His parents were more important than the opportunity to tour a piece of real estate, even if that piece of real estate was one of a kind. It was just a house and a garden at the end of the day.
He followed his parents into the conservatory and sank into one of the wicker chairs around the rustic table. Rosina appeared almost immediately, a tray of tea and banana