Penance (Devout Trilogy #3) - Lesli Richardson Page 0,20

and caring but he’s boosting my spirits with every word he says and I don’t want to look like a total psychopath by grinning.

“I appreciate you taking such good care of him. I know he isn’t always the easiest patient to deal with.”

He softly laughs. “We’ve had worse, believe me. But if you have any questions about this process, please, just ask.”

“Do you have any idea how…long?”

“We can never predict this, of course. I will be shocked if he’s still alive in the morning. I’m sorry.”

I cover my face with my hand and my laugh somehow comes out sounding like a choked sob. He rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” Yes, time alone to laugh my ass off. “I’ll wash my face in the bathroom first before I go in.”

“Of course. And please, take as much time as you want. You can come and go at any time without restrictions on visiting hours. If you have any other family or friends who want to say good-bye, I recommend having them come as soon as possible, while he’s still lucid.”

“There’s no one else. Just me. He never wanted anyone to see him like this.” At least that last part’s true. His vanity would never allow him to have someone else see him so weak and broken.

We leave the consultation room and I head to the bathroom down the hall. It’s a single bathroom, so I can lock the door and then do my silent touchdown dance.

Fucking sue me. You weren’t raised by the motherfucker. You didn’t waste most of your life in fear.

Your mother wasn’t murdered by him.

Until you’ve put on my shoes, laced those bitches up, and walked a few decades in them, shut the Hell up and let me enjoy my moment.

Those kinds of moments were damned sure few and far between from my birth until right now.

I emerge from the bathroom, check in with his nurse, and go to his room. I think he’s asleep, at first, because his eyes are closed. But when I sit down, he opens them and slowly looks at me.

“Bet you’re enjoying this.”

I sit back and shrug. His door is closed, the monitors documenting his decline stand silent sentinel in the background. A nurse at the front desk can remotely monitor him from there. I learned they silence the ones in the room at this stage so as not to disturb the family or patient.

“I don’t know what you mean, Dad.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Seeing me like this.”

Well, fucking duh, asshole.

No, I don’t say that. “You’re on morphine for your pain, Dad.”

His eyes close again and I amuse myself by scrolling through my phone. I brought my charger cord just in case. I mute the ringer and play a couple of games I haven’t had time to enjoy in a while.

Part of me wants to monologue and tell him off, but if he is asleep I really don’t want to wake him up.

Especially if waking him up might interrupt or prolong his dying.

Unfortunately, he does awaken about two hours later and looks at me.

“You’re never having kids. Are you?” His voice sounds weak, barely a whisper. His paper-thin skin appears nearly translucent over hollowed, sunken cheekbones. I can see the veins under his skin in his arms. He’s on oxygen, a cannula, not a mask. They’re trying to keep him comfortable but won’t go much farther than that.

I take a deep breath. He’s literally dying. For the last hour, his heart monitor has displayed erratic readings, so it can’t be much longer.

Hours, if not minutes left.

I hope.

Isn’t it time I show a little backbone?

“No, Dad. I’m not ever having kids. Oh, and FYI, I lied when I said I’d run again in six years—I’m not running for office ever again. I never wanted to run for office in the first place.” I smile. “The GOP primary contenders for my Senate seat are already ripping each other to shreds, by the way. The guy I’ve talked to about endorsing to run as my replacement, a Democrat, is young, smart, and good-looking. He’ll wipe the floor with them. His poll number are off the charts, and the DNC is already pouring a fuckton of money into ads.”

Dad studies me for a long moment. “Is that why you’re divorcing her? Or is she divorcing you?” I guess he’s either ignoring or not processing the political news.

Pity.

“It’s mutual, even though I let her file. Mostly, I’m divorcing her, because