My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,34

clasping of Papa’s hand.

The reality and gravity of my words began to sink in. No one said a word. Dad’s face crumpled, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each deliberate gulp of air, his eyes filling with tears. I was stunned—I’d never seen him cry before. No matter what we’d gone through, he’d always been my rock. He released Papa’s hand and collapsed against me, sobbing. Suddenly he was the child, and I was the parent. He was shattered, and it was all I could do to remain strong—keeping my own breakdown at arm’s length—and hold him, afraid to let go and watch the pieces fall away.

Papa, on the other hand, was mad. Enraged, actually. His face was beet red, veins popping through his forehead. He knocked over his chair and stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard the kitchen cabinets rattled.

I released my trapped breath. My birthday wish had failed—Papa hated me.

“Dad?” I whispered. “Dad, talk to me.”

There was no change. The crying continued. The shoulder of my T-shirt grew wet with his tears.

“Dad,” I tried again. “Please. Stop crying.”

Still nothing. Did he even hear me?

“Dad, you’re really heavy. My arms are going numb.”

That got through to him. He weakly sat back in his own chair and blew his nose into a Happy Birthday napkin.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

It took a minute for him to find his voice. “How did this happen?” he said finally.

I sighed. “Does it really matter?”

“Lucy.” He met my gaze. “Of course it matters.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does.” I told him the whole story, not editing anything out; there was no point in lying now. As I spoke, I couldn’t help feeling that I was waiting on his verdict, like the emotional breakdown was just an initial gut reaction, but after he’d had time to digest all the facts then he’d decide how he really felt. So I didn’t mind that it took a long time to relay the whole wretched truth—I figured the longer I talked, the longer I could prolong his judgment.

When I finished, I hung my head and said, “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Dad was silent. He was staring down at his lap; I couldn’t read the thoughts behind his eyes.

This day’s black fate on more days doth depend.

This but begins the woe others must end.

When he did speak, his words surprised me. He reached over and squeezed my hand tightly and said, “No, Lucy, I’m sorry.”

I blinked. “For what?”

“For allowing Lisa to come back here…”

“Dad,” I cut him off, “this is not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Let me finish. I am sorry for letting Lisa come back. I should have known better. And I’m also sorry that you felt like you had to keep this from us. It’s been eating at you, and we should have known.”

“Dad, please, stop blam—”

“Lucy,” he continued, as though I hadn’t even spoken, “you deserve so much better than this life.” His voice broke and he paused to steady himself. “Things aren’t going to be easy for you. But your father and I love you so very much, and we are going to be there for you every step of the way. Do you understand?”

He knew the truth, and he still loved me. I believed him when he said he loved me and would be there for me, but I didn’t believe that Papa felt the same way.

“I don’t think Papa would agree with you,” I said flatly.

“He does,” Dad said. “He just needs some time.”

“I’ve never seen him that mad. He’s going to hate me forever.”

“Lucy, listen to me.” Dad grabbed my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. “I know Seth better than anyone. He doesn’t hate you—he’s mad at himself.”

“For what?”

“He thinks he’s failed you. And he’s right. It’s our job to protect you—from everything from monsters under the bed to…things like this.”

I noticed that he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual word.

“We tried,” he continued. “We did everything we could think of to keep you safe. I always thought, if anything, you’d get pregnant. But Papa—this was always his worst fear.”

“It was?”

Dad nodded.

“But why?” It wasn’t like this sort of thing happened all that often to girls like me.

“Do you remember Patrick?”

Patrick. Our old family friend. I hadn’t thought about him in years. All I really remembered about him was that he gave me my very first Broadway album—the original cast recording of Beauty and the Beast—and he spent Christmannukahs with us when I was young.

“Only a