Holiday In the Hamptons (From Manhattan with Love 5)

“How else?” Of course her mother had loved her father. Otherwise why would she have tried so hard to please him? “She was always trying to keep him happy. She had this voice that she only ever used around him, like a cross between melted honey and sugar syrup. And it annoyed him. He used to say ‘stop trying to placate me,’ and she’d say, ‘I just want you to be happy, Robert.’ But he was never happy. Didn’t matter what she did, he was never happy.” And she’d often wondered whether he’d always been like that. Had he been an angry child? Difficult? His parents had died when he was in his teens, so she’d never had anyone she could ask. “You spent time with them. You must have seen that, too.”

Her grandmother picked up her glasses. “Yes. I saw that.”

Then why was her grandmother giving her that strange look?

Fliss had the distinct feeling she was missing something.

“I know they got married quickly because Mom was pregnant with Daniel.” Was that what her grandmother was hinting at? Her mother had always been quite open about it. “I know it was a whole whirlwind thing. Romantic and a little crazy.”

Her grandmother gave her a long look and then gave her a smile that was more than a little strained. “Yes, it was all very quick.”

“Maybe my dad thought she trapped him or something. Maybe that was why he was always so angry with us. Me in particular. I always assumed he didn’t want kids.”

“That wasn’t the case at all.”

Fliss shrugged. “That was how he acted.”

“Fliss—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re not even in touch. He made it clear he didn’t want to see me anymore.”

What she didn’t tell her grandmother was how he’d made it clear. She’d never told anyone about that time, after his first heart attack a few years ago, that she’d visited him in the hospital.

She’d gone on her own, lied to everyone, even her twin. Taken a train and a bus and arrived at the hospital soaked through because it had been raining so hard. It was as if the weather had been mirroring her mood.

She’d pushed open the door of her father’s room, seen beeping machines and her father, frail and vulnerable in the bed. Her coat had clung to her, the rain dripping onto the floor like tears.

He’d turned his head and for a moment they’d just stared at each other. And then he’d said four words. Not, “I love you, Fliss,” or “Good to see you,” but “What do you want?”

That had been it.

What do you want?

And she hadn’t been able to tell him what she wanted because she hadn’t known. She hadn’t understood why she’d come in the first place, to visit a man who had always seemed to find her existence close to intolerable. And she hadn’t understood how his indifference could still crush her after all this time.

What had she wanted?

Had she honestly thought he’d open his arms and embrace her? When had he ever done that?

She’d retreated from the room without saying anything at all and returned home quietly, relieved she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Because of her secrecy, she’d been spared uncomfortable questions. Like the ones her grandmother was asking now.

“I really need to make these cookies. And I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

Her grandmother rose to her feet, her hands closing over the edge of the table as she steadied herself. “I always find a problem is halved when it’s shared.”

Was her grandmother making a point? If so, Fliss chose to ignore it.

“Depends on who you’re sharing it with and what the problem is. If you tried to share a cooking problem with me, it would be doubled, not halved.”

“In this case you’re the one sharing the cooking problem with me. We’ll do it together.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You think a few bruises are going to stop me from baking?”

“If I thought that, I would have bashed myself on the skull a few hundred times with a wooden spoon.”

Her grandmother laughed. “You’re not getting away with it that easily. Move over. You can follow instructions, can’t you?”