After an hour of thumbing through my mother’s mail and snooping in every closet downstairs, I headed to Jack’s office. It was the most obvious place to look, so I assumed I wouldn’t find anything that would be of help. I took my hand off the knob and had almost convinced myself to look elsewhere, but I wheeled around and shoved myself through the door.
It hadn’t changed.
His mahogany desk and swivel chair sat commandingly in the center of the room. Hundreds of books including tax law, encyclopedias, poetry, the classics and Dr. Seuss lined the back wal .
I crossed his plush, imported rug and planted myself in the desk chair. The last papers he had looked over before his accident lay strewn on one side, and unopened envelopes on the other. I started with those. Opening one after another, I sifted through statements, invitations, requests and letters. Seeing nothing of interest, I pitched them into the wastebasket under the desk.
Just as I was about to put the letter opener back inside the drawer, the inscription caught my eye. My mother had purchased it for me so I could give it to Jack for his birthday. The inscription read simply, “To Daddy Love, Nina”. I ran my finger over the words affectionately and shoved it into my back pocket. My mother wouldn’t miss it.
My eyes flitted to a two-inch stack of papers with sign here stickers poking out in various bright colors. I thumbed through them, but didn’t see anything about properties.
I pul ed his lower desk drawer open and thumbed through every file, but I saw nothing of importance. Searching the remaining drawers, I rifled through old photos, envelopes, paperwork from the last ten years of tax filings, and a set of car keys. I slammed the last drawer shut and puffed.
My eyes wandered over to the file cabinets along the left wal . I started with the highest drawer in the cabinet closest to the back wal and searched for anything pertaining to properties, commercial or otherwise. I began to feel possessed. Every time I shut a drawer, I stifled a sob. Each drawer was slammed harder and harder. Only one cabinet wouldn’t open.
While searching through the last drawer my hands began to shake. Upon finding no suspicious evidence or anything related to Mr. Dawson I kicked the drawer shut, causing the cabinet to rock back and forth.
“AGH!” I stomped, bal ing my hands into fists at my sides.
I paced in a smal circle for a minute, and then made my way to the desk chair and col apsed. A smal bronze frame sat to my left. It was of me and Jack when I was about four years old. We had gone on vacation to the Grand Canyon and I had fal en. I looked closer to verify my bandaged knee and smiled. I was sitting on my father’s lap; he had just finished cleaning up the dirt and blood and used a colorful bandage from my mother’s purse.
He kissed my knee and told me that it was al better, and even though the sting remained, I nodded my head in belief.
The colors were al so vivid, as was my memory. My eyes fil ed with tears and I looked around, horrified that I was in Jack’s office and at what I was doing there. Mr. Dawson, a complete stranger, had made me doubt my father. I wiped my face and quickly straightened his desk. The door slammed behind me as I quickly descended the stairs.
“Miss Nina?” Agatha cal ed after me, but I raced past her, too intent on escaping the shame that I felt.
I yanked my BMW into gear and flew down the driveway into the street. Tears streamed down my face and I felt my body shudder in the same sobs I had worked so hard to rid myself of. Too many questions and no answers, everything that had made sense died with my father.
The flickering street lamps flew by as I sped down the road. As I passed the bus stop where I’d first met Jared. I noticed someone sitting on the bench and slammed on my brakes. I jerked the gear into reverse and my car made a grievous whirring noise as I back-tracked. My tires screeched to a halt straight across from where Jared sat.
Shoving my way out of the car, I stomped to the middle of the street. “Are you fol owing me?”
“Are you al right?” he asked, concern overshadowing his flawless features.
“What are you doing here, damn it?” I yel ed.
He stood up and held his arms out to me, but I shook my head. He stopped and furrowed his brow. “Nina, come here.”
“I want answers, Jared. You show up in my life, tel me you have these feelings for me. You won’t give me your number, and you al but refused mine.” I took a step toward him, and he a step toward me.
“Nina, I know you’re upset, but it’s going to be okay.” His voice was calm and soothing, almost too much so, as if he was trying to talk me down from a ledge.
“I’m standing in the middle of the street bawling my eyes out and yel ing at you, Jared! Why aren’t you asking me what’s wrong? Why don’t you ever ask me questions?” Jared thought for a moment, seeming surprised at my observation. He took another step toward me with outstretched arms, begging to hold me.
“Is it feelings you have for me? Or are you just fol owing me around because you feel sorry for me? Is it because I’m some tragic, fatherless basket case that you’ve decided to make a charity project out of?”
His eyes turned angry and his arms lowered. “You know that’s not true.”
As he took another step, his face for once didn’t try to hide emotion. His eyes ached for me to come to him; I could see that my tears caused him pain. I leaned into his arms and he wrapped them around me without hesitation.
I relaxed in his embrace for a moment, the warmth of his arms provided instant comfort.
He leaned down to press his cheek against my temple. “It’s more than just feelings, Nina. You have to know that.”