Chapter 2

I gripped my phone and went into the bedroom.

"All my friends and coworkers can see your comment," Yale said. "What are they supposed to think of Paige? We grew up together. Her mother is my godmother..."

I cut him off. "So you gave her the appointment Dad and I waited four hours for?"

The line went dead quiet, as if the words had caught in his throat.

"Dad was sitting there in a cold sweat, his legs shaking, just waiting for an endoscopy. You told us to wait our turn while those two sat around eating pretzels and drinking coffee. All they needed was a blood pressure check. Any nurse could have done it, so why did you give them our spot?"

My questions seemed to make him angry. His voice shot up. "Your dad stands for over ten hours a day at work. Why's he suddenly acting so fragile? You're picking a fight with me over one appointment? Are you really that petty?"

"Petty? If I were petty, I wouldn't have called to ask you home for dinner. Dad comes to visit, and you never take him anywhere.

"Instead, you'll fall all over yourself to play son to someone else. You book a private dining room and treat them to dinner—"

"Enough!" Yale shouted so hard his voice cracked. "Listen to yourself, Xandra Sutton. You disgust me. Keep making a scene, and we don't have to get married!"

I didn't speak for a long time. Then the bedroom door opened, and I saw the hurt in Dad's eyes. I hurriedly ended the call.

"Xan, don't fight with Yale. My stomach doesn't hurt anymore. I'm fine." As if to prove it, he thumped his stomach hard.

But I knew people in their sixties and seventies were at high risk for stomach cancer.

Just last month, when I'd brought Yale dinner at the hospital, I'd passed the body of a patient who had died of advanced stomach cancer. The shape beneath the white sheet had made me think of Dad, with his irregular meals and his aching stomach. My heart had nearly leapt out of my chest then.

Yale had laughed and said I was letting worry get the better of me.

I forced a smile for Dad and raised a hand in promise. "Okay. I won't fight with him."

"Good. When he gets home... talk to him nicely."

I saw the hope in his eyes. Digging my nails into my palm, I quietly said I would.

The front door opened just then. Yale came in with his arms full, followed by the mother and daughter from the hospital. He didn't spare Dad a glance. Instead, he bent to take two pairs of new padded slippers from the shoe cabinet and handed them to his guests.

Now I understood why he'd snatched those slippers from Dad the day before.

"Older people get athlete's foot," he'd said. "Give him the old pair. We can throw them out when he leaves."

Dad had barely stepped inside our home. Yale had already been thinking about getting him out of it.

I'd wanted to argue, but Dad tugged my sleeve to silence me. Then he rubbed his hands together, bent forward, and gave Yale an eager smile. "Yale's right. The old ones are better. They're comfortable. I like wearing them! Don't fight over something so small."

Remembering it made my whole body burn.

Dad caught my hand without warning and held it so tightly that I didn't have to look at him to know what he wanted.

He wanted me to put up with it.

Once Yale and his guests had changed their shoes, he straightened. "Xandra, have your dad stay at a motel tonight. There are too many people for everyone to stay here."

Your dad.

That was what he'd called him since yesterday. When he'd needed money for tuition, Dad had been "Uncle Sutton." Now that Yale had become a senior doctor, he was "your dad."

I said nothing, so Yale gestured toward the two women. "This is my godmother, Helen Grant, and this is her daughter, Paige Grant. She's like a little sister to me."

I held back my anger and greeted them both. Helen didn't answer. She hurried over and slapped me hard across the face.

"You little bitch! Have you no shame? You barely know my godson. What gives you the right to come into his home while he's away?"