Masquerades and Charades, page 13
Connor cleared his throat right behind her, jolting her out of her paralysis.
"Uh…Mom, this is Connor. He owns a club I work at on weekends now. Connor, this is my mom, Jane." She stepped to the side so Connor could reach up the two stairs and offer her mother his hand for a shake.
Mom smiled at him. "It's wonderful to meet you. I'm so glad Madison brought friends with her for a visit. We never get to meet her friends."
Madison resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark about that. She'd tried too many times over the years unsuccessfully to talk to her mother about leaving her father or finding a way to make him stop the verbal abuse. All the talks ever did was make her mother sad and tired and force her to defend her father to Madison.
Jamie was slower to join them at the porch. His smile was tight as he raised a hand for her mother to shake in greeting.
"And this is Jamie. He works with me at the club," Madison murmured. "You'll have to excuse him. He got into a little…accident that ripped him up pretty good a couple days ago, and he's still recovering."
"Oh no! That's terrible," her mother said, stepping aside towards the house's front door to usher them in. "We'll get you set up with some extra pillows or something. Where are you hurt? How did it happen?"
Madison cleared her throat. This was hopefully the only outright lie she'd have to tell during this visit. "Um, he fell off the back of a friend's motorcycle. No sissy bar to save him, and the idiot friend took off way too fast."
She'd worked out the story on the way here, figuring a motorcycle accident would make the most immediate sense to her motorcycle-loving parents. They'd seen a ton of friends get hurt on them over the years. So they'd be less apt to ask questions. And making it a friend's motorcycle instead of Jamie's should prevent her parents from pelting him with questions about what motorcycles he owned or liked to ride.
As Madison led the way inside the house while her mother was still clucking and tsking over Jamie and he was telling her all the places he'd gotten injured, Madison's gaze shot right over to her father's brown, overstuffed armchair where he was seated waiting.
He looked awful, at least twenty pounds heavier around the middle. And while not skinny, her dad had also never really been overweight before. He'd apparently decided to grow out his goatee into one of those awful styles that made men look like gold diggers from the California Gold Rush era. But Mom had obviously made him take a shower and had braided his long, thin brown hair into a braid, so from the front he looked like he had short hair.
He managed to get up from his chair, heavily relying on its arms for balance while he pushed himself up onto his feet. "Hey there, kiddo. Good to see you—" He burst into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with one of the many red shop rags he'd always kept around for working on his motorcycles for as long as Madison could remember.
When he was done coughing, he gestured for her to come in for a hug. It was all she could do not to burst into tears right then and there.
Thankfully she had the distraction of introducing Connor and Jamie to him, which was so nerve wracking that her eyes dried right up again. She'd never brought a male to meet her parents. Ever.
"Sir," Connor said as he offered her father a hand to shake. Jamie followed suit.
She gave her father the same spiel that she'd given her mother, introducing them as just friends and her boss and coworker at a club.
"A club?" Her father's eyebrows shot up as he sank back down into his chair.
Her mother returned to the living room with armfuls of pillows for Jamie, and there was a flurry of activity as her mother helped Jamie get situated on the couch. Her mother took a seat in a brown armchair to match Madison's father's. Connor sat at the opposite end of the couch from Jamie, leaving Madison to sit in the middle between them. Thankfully they made sure to leave several inches between their legs and hers for the sake of her father's eagle eyes.
But the distance made her feel weird and realize how much they actually touched each other when not at the club. She'd gotten so used to curling up with both of them on the couch at Connor's apartment.
"Yes, sir," Connor said, pulling Madison from her distracted thoughts. "It's just a little business I operate. Nothing too big or impressive."
"I just started there recently," Madison said. "Serving drinks." She worked to keep her face blank. She never lied to her father. Never.
Thankfully he was distracted by another coughing fit, and Madison had to fight not to stare. Her father had been coughing for years. But usually when it got this bad, he was in a hospital with pneumonia.
Finally, she had to say something. "So…no hospital time this year?" Her father preferred it when they kept all talk about his illness as light as possible.
He made a face like he'd sucked on a lemon as he wiped his mouth. "Not going to help this time. Doctors say the lung tissue's dying."
"He's down to just part of one lung functionally," Mom murmured.
Madison's throat knotted tight again. She had to swallow hard several times before she could speak again. "Can't they do a lung transplant or something?"
Mom shook her head. "They only do those for patients who they consider to be compliant lifestyle wise. You know how your father used to like to drink and chew on cigars."
"And they still won't try to do an operation to remove the growth?" Madison couldn't help but ask.
Mom shook her head again. "They said the tumor's pressing on his heart too much now. They're afraid he wouldn't wake up from the general anesthesia."
Her father reached over and grabbed a clear plastic face mask attached to a tube and lifted it to his face. He used his free hand to push a button on the small machine by his chair, and a loud whirring began as he took several puffs of oxygen from the mask. When he was a little less pale, he turned off the machine again and dropped the mask on the arm of his chair like it annoyed him.
"So tell me how you've been, Madison. How's school?"
She managed to force a smile that felt wobbly while she said something about how it was all fine and she was looking forward to graduating in the spring and being done with it all finally. But her throat kept getting tighter and tighter until she could hardly breathe at the end. She mumbled some excuse about using the bathroom after the long drive, then jumped up and hurried down the hall to the bathroom.
She locked the door, turned on both sink faucet handles for noise coverage, then burst into tears.
After several minutes of stifling her sobs behind her hands, she managed to get control of herself. She splashed her face with cold water, used toilet paper to wipe away the mascara smudges, looked at her reflection in the mirror, and realized she wished she'd brought her makeup inside. She had no way to cover up the redness beneath her eyes or her red nose.
She blew her nose as carefully as she could, flushed the toilet to keep up the pretense, and was just heading for the door when someone knocked on it.
"Sweetie, you okay in there?" her mother murmured.
Madison opened the door and tried to smile. "I'm fine. Just…didn't know…" Her stupid throat closed up again, and she had to settle for waving a hand in the general direction of the living room where her father was talking with her lovers.
"You thought I was exaggerating about your dad's illness?" She didn't look angry, just all-knowing and sympathetic.
"You know how Dad is," Madison whispered. "On the phone he always acts like he's fine and you're just being melodramatic."
"That's why I kept nagging at you to come home for a visit." Mom put an arm around her and rubbed circles on her back. "I knew it was the only way he couldn't cover it up in front of you."
"How long as it been this bad?"
"Since last spring. He got pneumonia again, but that time it was really, really bad. They told us then that his lung tissue was dying. I told him he needed to let me tell you. But he refused. You know how stubborn he is." She sighed heavily.
Madison pressed her lips together hard, trying to stay in control. But it was no use. The tears started flooding all over again.
"Oh baby. Come here." Her mother led her deeper down the hall and into the guest room, softly closing its door behind them. They sat on the edge of the bed, and Madison turned and buried her face in her mother's shoulder while her body was wracked with sobs.
She knew better than to ask how long her dad had to live. The doctors were always wrong. But to hear that his lungs were actually dying, that he was down to just a part of one lung to breathe on now, was terrifying. And they'd never had to even discuss lung transplants before.
Mom just rubbed her back until she was cried out again for the moment. Madison fervently hoped it was the last time she'd lose control during this visit. Her guys were not going to be happy seeing her face all red and tear stained, especially with them not being allowed to physically comfort her or even hold her hands. She knew this because they'd once watched a tearjerker romance on TV together and gotten really upset to see her crying when the hero died at the end of the movie.
Seeing Madison try to dry her eyes on her sweater's sleeve cuffs, Mom hopped up and found a box of tissues in the closet to give her. Madison tried to dab at her eyes and nose to minimize adding to the redness on her face. But she knew it was pretty much useless. Her fair skin would show it all, and probably upset her father too.
"Want some makeup?" Mom asked sympathetically.
"Yeah, but I left it in the car," Madison said with a helpless laugh and eye roll. "Didn't know I'd need it."
"I can get it for you, if you want to stay here till you're calmer?"
Madison nodded gratefully, and her mother left the room. She heard her quietly ask Connor for the car keys, then the front door open and shut.
A burst of embarrassment shot through Madison, and she winced. She should have fought harder to control her tears. Barring that, she should have gone outside to cry instead of the bathroom so she could have immediately gotten into the car and used her makeup to hide it all.
Mom returned a minute later with Madison's purse.
Madison made a face while murmuring thanks. "What did you tell them?"
"Just that we were talking and you forgot your phone in your purse and wanted to show me some pictures you took." She gave Madison a smile that hinted at mischievous. "Your father's not the only one who can come up with a cover story when needed, you know."
"Thank you. I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, dear."
Madison's hands shook as she dabbed on foundation around her eyes and over her nose to lessen their redness. She opted not to reapply mascara in case the waterworks insisted on turning on again later in the day. Two quick swipes of lip gloss and a deep breath in and out, and she felt reasonably ready to face her father again.
But it felt like marching into battle as her mother led her back down the hall towards that living room.
She couldn't meet anyone's eyes as she took her spot in the middle of the couch again. Kicking off her flats, she tucked her right foot under her left thigh and pasted on a smile. "So…did you show the guys your guns yet?"
"No, just talking about them so far," Dad said, and she could feel three pairs of male eyes scrutinizing her face. God, males were such a pain in the ass. Cry in front of them and they freaked out. Try to hide that you'd been crying, and they turned into detectives scrutinizing your every little move and word.
She cleared her throat then forced herself to meet her father's gaze with her own, reminding herself over and over that he was far too stubborn to die anytime soon.
He was the first to look away, turning his focus onto her friends, especially poor Connor. "So, how'd you become a club owner, Connor? You're Madison's age, right?" He started coughing again, but Madison knew he was waiting for a reply anyway.
"He's actually six years older," Madison explained. "So is Jamie."
Both her parents' eyebrows rose. "Then how'd you meet Madison?" Mom asked.
"At the club," Madison said. It was sort of the truth, at least as far as how she'd met Connor. Her parents didn't need to know that she'd briefly dated Jamie before then.
Her dad grunted then turned his head in her mother's direction and mumbled, "You checked the pot roast, right?"
Mom nodded. "Ten minutes ago."
Her dad frowned. "You should check it again. Don't want it to burn."
Sighing, Mom got up and headed for the kitchen, which was visible through a large archway from the living room.
"Don't forget the—" Dad burst into another coughing fit.
"The gravy. I know, dear." Mom removed the crockpot's lid on the counter by the sink. Using a ladle resting on a ceramic spoon rest nearby, she stirred the pot roast a few times.
Madison fought to keep her face impassive and stared at a spot on the laminate wood flooring in between the living room and kitchen as the roiling in her stomach ratcheted up another notch from her father's tone of voice. He spoke to Mom like she was an idiot who couldn't be trusted to figure out how to work a crockpot.
Dad told them in halting sentences broken by the occasional coughing fit about how they'd discovered which local grocery store had the best cuts of meat for pot roasts.
Madison pasted on a polite smile and nodded at the appropriate times while her arms crossed to hug her midsection. She saw Connor's hand twitch on his thigh, but he kept his gaze on her father, pretending to be interested in cuts of meat instead of holding her hand.
Jamie, on the other hand, was having a much tougher time of it. His fingers were drumming on his thigh, and his gaze kept dropping low and sideways, as if he really wanted to visually examine her face but knew he wasn't supposed to.
It was amazing, how well she'd learned to read the cues in each of their subtle body behaviors.
Mom returned to the living room with a smile. "The roast is ready, if you guys are hungry." She looked to Dad. "Did you want to eat in here or—"
He shook his head. "The table." His voice was gruff, his face a scowl as he reached for his mask. "You three can go on in. I'll be there in a minute." He turned on his oxygen machine.
Madison stood up, and Jamie and Connor followed her and her mother through the archway and over to a small round table in the eat-in dining area.
"Get the extra chair—" Dad tried to say through his oxygen mask.
"I already did, dear," Mom said her in always patient voice as she pulled a metal folding chair from where it leaned against the wall by the table. She unfolded it and set it at the table.
Her guys looked a little awkward, hesitating by the chairs as if unsure where to sit. Remembering her parents' usual seats, Madison gestured for the guys to sit with her in the corner and along the wall so her mother could be on the outside where she preferred. It made for easier jumping up and running to fetch things.
Dad joined them a minute later and took his seat.
Madison hopped back up to help her mother move the pot roast onto a serving tray.
"Just fix the plates," Dad said, watching them.
Madison sighed as she and her mother carefully put the pot roast back into the crockpot, then retrieved everyone's plates to fill up at the counter instead.
"Anyone want cornbread or crescent rolls? I made both," Mom called out over her shoulder.
"A roll would be great, thank you, ma'am," Jamie replied.
"Cornbread for me, please," Connor said.
Madison worked on her guys' plates so her mother could serve Dad first like he preferred. Madison brought her guys' full plates to them, returning their smiles of thanks with a tight smile of her own without meeting their eyes, afraid of what her father might see flash between them through the eye contact.
Finally, everyone had plates and were seated. Only then did her father begin eating. Thankfully her guys had taken their cue to start from her father. She'd forgotten to warn them to do this beforehand. Her father had just too many little rules and hair triggers to remember them all ahead of time.
For the first time, she was incredibly grateful for her guys' BDSM training. It had clearly taught them to be cautious, patient, observant, to wait for subtle cues before taking any action.
A surprisingly comfortable silence fell as they all ate. Until halfway through when her father had to get up and get another few puffs of oxygen from his machine in the living room. Madison also couldn't help but notice how slowly and hesitantly her father moved now, so unlike the confident, determined way he always used to move. Almost as if he was afraid of losing his balance and falling over at any second.
Madison stared at her plate, suddenly no longer hungry. She fiddled with her crescent roll, blinking rapidly and secretly trying to get her tight throat to loosen up. She took a long drink of her iced tea, which helped a little.
After her father returned, she found herself torn, wanting to ask him questions about anything, just wanting that connection through listening to him talk. Although her dad had always been naturally reticent, she'd always managed to find things to ask him about that would get him to talk. How motorcycle engines and throttles and brakes worked was usually a good topic to get him going. Or she used to be able to ask him about his job at a local automotive repair shop, until he'd had to retire because of his health.
But now she was scared to make him talk, afraid it would make him feel forced to use up more precious oxygen and wear him out faster.
When her father was done, he got up from the table, leaving his plate behind, and returned to his armchair. With a minute, he began to snore.
Madison looked to her mother with raised eyebrows. Her father had never left the table during a meal for a nap before.
"Lack of oxygen," Mom murmured. "He gets tired really easily these days."
But he was only fifty-one years old. She'd heard of seventy and eighty-year-olds who had more energy.
Madison slowly leaned back in her chair and pressed a hand over her mouth, fighting to absorb the awful truth that just kept hitting her over and over. Her father was dying. Really dying this time.
