Meg O'Brien - Crimson Rain

“You’ve told me all about that before, Dad,” Rachel interrupted. “Must we go through it again?”

Paul felt hurt at her flippant tone, but answered, “I was only going to say that I thought you’d want something a bit…oh, fancier, when you came home.”

“The setting doesn’t matter, Dad. Not for what we have to talk about.”

Paul turned his attention to the napkin that was still in his hand. If he could remember how to do it just right, he might be able to make the figure of a bird out of it, the way he had when Rachel was a child. Maybe that would somehow help to make this day right.

The napkin, however, was too flimsy, falling apart in his hands. It seemed a metaphor for this place, this day, and the way his relationship with Rachel was going.

The bartender brought their food and Rachel devoured her chili dog in record time, washing it down with the Pepsi. Paul toyed with his chips, but drank the full mug of beer, wishing he’d ordered whiskey or almost anything that would kick in fast. The beer didn’t at all help the nervousness that was growing as he waited for Rachel to speak her peace.

It finally came.

“So, Dad…what’s on your mind these days? Or should I say who?”

Paul thought he had braced himself for whatever was coming, but even so, he was shocked by the frontal attack. He set down the empty mug and tried to keep his expression bland. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please. Mom may be too busy to see it, but when you’ve been away, like I have, it’s plain as the nose on your face. You haven’t been spending all those hours at night at Soleil, have you? You’ve been…shall we say, with someone else?”

His mouth was suddenly so dry he could barely speak. Taking a sip of water, he managed, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Her voice became icy. “You must think I’m really dumb. Mom, too.”

“Rachel, I have no idea—”

“Oh, come off it, Dad. You’ve been paying good money to send me to college. Give me some credit for not being stupid.”

“I have never once thought of you as stupid, Rachel.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me how long this has been going on?”

He couldn’t answer. That Rachel knew about Lacey was bad enough. That she expected him to talk about it was worse. Casting that much light on his affair—his betrayal of Gina, and yes, Rachel, too—made it impossible for him to think of it as anything but sordid.

Rachel gave a snort that broke the silence. “I know she was always your favorite, but I never thought you’d let her back into your life. Or ours.”

“Favorite—?” Paul began, confused. Then it dawned on him, and he felt as if his entire body, having prepared for a long-term, drawn-out war, had suddenly ceased fire.

“You’re talking about Angela?” he said, relaxing back against the booth. “Rachel, what on earth ever gave you an idea like that? I haven’t seen Angela since she was six years old!” Paul half laughed, the idea was so preposterous.

“You lie pretty good now, too,” Rachel said with a strange smile that gave him chills. “Nice going, Dad. I’m almost proud of the way you’ve grown.”

Paul shook his head, so bewildered he couldn’t speak. What had become of his daughter? Why was she saying these things?

“I don’t know why you would think I’ve seen Angela,” he said in as steady a tone as he could manage, “but even if I had, I’m your father, Rachel. I don’t have to report to you.”

“Obviously not,” she said, “given the number of times I’ve heard from you since summer.”

He stared. “Is that what’s really bothering you? Rach, I thought you were just as busy as I’ve been. I didn’t think you’d miss hearing from me. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Rachel said. “It’s not about the e-mail, Dad. It’s about all those years when you didn’t have time for me because you were so busy missing Angela. You think that didn’t hurt? You think kids don’t see those things, no matter how young they are?”

Paul, who at first was too thrown to stand up for himself, began to get angry. “Rachel, that was years ago. Why are you bringing it up now? I thought—God, all that time working with Victoria, and you’re still hurting about those things? What does it take for you to get over it?”

“Maybe not having it start up all over again,” she snapped. “Maybe getting her out of our lives once and for all!”

“But she isn’t in our lives,” he argued. “I’m telling you, I have not seen Angela since she was six years old.”

Rachel studied him. “You really haven’t?”

“No. I swear to you. I have not seen or heard from Angela since the last time your mother and I went to Minnesota to see her. That was fifteen years ago.”

“So you haven’t had a phone call from her, or a letter, or anything?”

“No, Rachel. Not a thing. If I had, I wouldn’t have kept it from you.”

“Ha,” she said scornfully.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means you never wanted me to know anything. You took her away and you never even let me go visit her.”

Paul sighed. “We thought that was best. We’ve always just tried to do the best for you, Rachel. Your mother and I love you. We really do. I wish you could believe that.”

Rachel fell silent. He thought she was going to argue the point, but she shrugged back into her coat and said, “Let’s blow this place. Mom’ll be waiting to get a tree.”

Paul didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He half wanted to continue the conversation, while the other half didn’t want to go near it.

He put enough money on the table to cover the food and a tip. Again he found himself following his daughter as she breezed out the door. The door came swinging back and almost struck him in the face.

It was as if she were deliberately erecting a wall between them. I can’t let that wall get too high, he thought miserably as they walked back to the Four Seasons, where they had both parked. If she makes it any higher, I might never be able to breach it.

At home, Gina was already cleaning out the trunk of the Crown Vic, which was big enough to put a tree in with a bungee cord holding the lid down.

“Let me help you with that,” Paul said, taking a heavy flat of bottled water from her.

She threw him a grateful look and pulled her red scarf closer around her throat. She looks like she did in college, Paul thought. The cold, misty air had softened the few lines around her eyes, which were bright with anticipation. She’s like a kid about Christmas. How could I have forgotten that?

They began the rounds of the tree farms in Snohomish, where the traffic was thinner and they could enjoy the drive. Since it was two days before Christmas, a lot of the better trees had been taken long ago. Gina insisted they make the tree shopping spree as much fun as possible, singing songs in the car as they always had, to pass the time. She seemed not to notice that Paul and Rachel were more quiet than usual. Their search spread farther and farther away from the city, until, finally, they came across a farm that hadn’t been too stripped. It was their fourth try, and Gina and Rachel stood together in the mud amongst rows of Douglas firs, shivering.

“What do you think of this one?” Gina asked.

“Too skinny,” Rachel complained. “I like this one better.” She stood holding a branch of a wide nine-footer.

“That won’t even fit through the door!” Gina said, smiling.

Paul was three rows over when he called out, “Hey, look at this!” They trudged valiantly over the rutted ground, expecting to reject this one as they had the past five.

“I love it!” Rachel said when she saw the tall, perfectly shaped fir. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “No holes, no broken limbs. You always were the best at picking them out, Dad.”