Cynda and the City Doctor - Theodora Taylor Page 0,34

patient he had in the world when you were in his office. Who wouldn’t want that kind of attention 24/7?

But her behavior had been hard to take since I arrived back in Guadalajara. And even more so as she became drunker and drunker at the reception after their vow renewal. I’d found myself yet again wondering how Dad could have married her. She was absolutely nothing like the woman he claimed to adore. I couldn’t stand it.

And that was part of the reason I’d ended up here in the alcove debating whether or not to send Rhys an “I miss you too” text.

But I put the phone aside when I noticed my dad was still sweating and after taking a seat. And breathing a little too heavily.

That was the first thing I would regret when remembering that night later on. Seeing the signs and not doing anything about them other than asking again, “You alright, Dad?”

“I’m fine. That Rachel sure can cut a rug though. If I hadn’t come to find you, she would have had me dancing all night. Just give me a minute or two to get myself right.”

That was my second regret. Doctors are terrible at diagnosing themselves. Everybody knows that. They either think their symptoms are fatal or nothing at all. No in-between.

But that night, I’d been so caught up in my should I or shouldn’t I loop, I’d let him distract me away from my worry when he asked, “You texting that guy you’ve been seeing for serious?”

My eyes widened at his guess.

And Dad answered my unspoken question with, “Usually your thumbs fly when you’re talking to your girlfriends. Never seen anybody else text so fast. Before she died, I told your mother, you should switch from piano to texting for your Beauty Queen of America talent.”

“I probably would have won if I had,” I agreed with a laugh.

“Oh, you won. Those judges just didn’t know it. But I do. Bet.”

He patted his heart. The one neither of us knew at that moment was about to give out on him.

I shook my head with a little laugh. My dad got even sweeter than usual when he was drunk. And way more St. Louis. Usually, he sounded like Billy Dee Williams, sophisticated and smooth with perfect enunciation on top. But when he had a few too many, he sounded exactly like where he was from. Kinloch, Missouri.

“We should get you home,” I told him.

“Nah, I promised Rachel one more dance.”

Third regret. I should have insisted on him leaving with me. But instead, I rolled my eyes and answered, “And if Rachel wants it, you should do it, right? Dance and drink too much even if it’s bad for your health.”

I must have had a few too many too. I couldn’t keep my true feelings from tumbling out.

“You don’t like Rachel much, do you?” Dad easily guessed.

“She could treat her kids better,” I answered, trying to keep my tone as judicious as mom’s whenever she had something negative to say. “You know, like they’re her children and not her competition.”

“She just likes attention is all,” Dad said with a wry chuckle. “And as for the twins, they’ve got me now. They’re bright kids, but they’re lacking stability and love. And I’m just glad it’s not too late to give it to them. Rachel is fun, but I wouldn’t have married her if not for them. I tell you it feels like God let me live after your mama died so that I could be the father they deserve.”

So that was why he’d married her….

My many reservations about Dad’s new set up melted away in that moment. I should have known that it wasn’t just Rachel he’d fallen in love with but her wonderful kids. Of course, they were the reason he put up with his fun, but horrible mother of a wife.

“This is why you’re my hero and everybody else’s, too,” I told him.

Dad waved me off. “I ain’t nobody special. Now tell me about this man you texting slow.”

“It’s…I don’t know. I mean, maybe it’s something. But I don’t know what.”

My father raised his eyebrows. “You bringing Mr. I Don’t Know home to meet me? You can sleep in your old room and we can put him in the back house.”

Dad was making the same request as Rhys. And something rippled in my stomach at the thought of bringing The Fine Prince home to meet my father. Fear? Excitement? I couldn’t figure out which.

“He’s White by