She leads Dawson and me through the maze of hallways and interconnected offices to Daddy’s expansive corner office. His door is closed, and Louise knocks once, perfunctorily, and then opens it. She pushes through, and I follow behind. What I see shocks me.
Daddy is sitting on the floor of his office, stacks of reference books piled around him between empty boxes. The built-in shelves are empty, and a carefully arranged pile of boxes sits in one corner, taped closed and labeled in Daddy’s neat script. He’s got four or five thick books on his lap, and he’s flipping through another, which he then sets aside on a smaller pile, picks up one from his lap, checks the spine, flips through it, and sets it in a different pile. He doesn’t hear us knock or enter. Music plays loudly from a small Bose iPod dock: “Hibernia” by Michael W. Smith. The distinctive and beautiful piano chorus with the orchestral backing washes over me, sinks into me. This was one of the few songs by him I actually liked, mainly because there weren’t any words.
I watch Daddy flip through another thick reference book. He has changed. He’s thinner, much thinner. His hair is more silver than blond, and it’s thinning, and the bald circle at the top of his head has expanded significantly. He looks…old. And frail. Louise bends over near him and whispers in his ear. His head snaps up, and his eyes lock on me.
I swallow hard at the welter of emotions I see in his gaze. I should have called. I should have checked on him. There’s so much between us, and I have no idea what he’ll say, how he’s going to react to my unexpected return.
He struggles to his knees, and then to his feet. Louise catches his elbow and helps him, and I see something in the way they look at each other briefly, in the way she helps him to his feet. Louise is a widower, too, her husband having passed of a heart attack about three years before Mama died. I’m frozen in place as I put two and two together. Daddy brushes his hands down the front of his pressed Dockers, smoothing the creases, and then takes three hesitant steps toward me. He moves slowly, as if stiff.
“Grey?” His voice is unchanged, still deep and powerful and stentorian. “You came back?”
I glance at Dawson, who just smiles encouragingly at me. I look back to Daddy, and take a single step in his direction. We’re separated by a few feet still, but I can see his features working, his eyes taking me in, searching me. “I…I just, I wanted to—I mean—” I have no idea what to say. I hadn’t meant to come back.
Daddy’s face crumples, and he rushes to me, wraps his arms around me, and holds me. He’s crying loudly. “I’m so sorry, Grey. I’m so sorry. I was so stubborn. I should have…I should have loved you. I never thought I’d see you again. I’m so sorry, Grey.” He takes a step back and wipes his face with a hand. “Forgive me, Grey.”
I never, ever expected this from him. “I—of course, Daddy.”
He closes his eyes and slumps, stumbling into Louise’s side. She holds him up and pats his shoulder. “I never…I thought I’d lost you forever. I’ve missed you so much.”
I look past him at the stacks of books, the boxes, the desk cleared of papers and pens and the computer. “What’s going on? Why are you packing up the office? And—the house. You sold it?”
Daddy straightens, and then moves around behind the desk, visibly strengthening and reassuming some of his old authority. He clicks off the Bose stereo, cutting off “Hibernia” as it begins a second play-through, and then he roots in a drawer, finds a key ring with a circular tag and one key. “Yes, I’m—I’ve retired. Doug is taking over as full-time executive pastor. I’ll still do a few sermons here and there, but…yes. As for the house…I moved out a few months ago, into a condo a few minutes from here. The house was…it was too hard to live there. It was too big, too empty.” He looks down and rubs at the desk surface with a thumb. “There were too many memories. I saved all your things, though. Your belongings, along with what I didn’t bring to the condo, are in a storage unit a couple miles from the condo. This is the key.” He hands the key to me, and I take it.
Louise is still in the room, hovering in the door. “Are you okay, Erik?”
He nods, and smiles tenderly at Louise. “Yes, I’m fine, d—don’t worry.” It sounded to me like he was going to say “dear.” He must see my questioning expression as I look from Daddy to Louise and back, wondering. He winces. “Louise and I…we’re—what I mean to say is, we—”
I interrupt. “Daddy, that’s your business.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’ve—”
“I’m not ready for that conversation. I’m just not.”
He nods. “Yes. I see. Perhaps you’re right.” He glances past me to Dawson, who is leaning against the door with his phone in his hand, idly checking emails or something. “Who is this young man?”
Dawson steps forward immediately, shoving the phone into his pocket and extending his hand. I see Daddy scrutinizing Dawson, and I see when recognition hits, seconds before Dawson introduces himself.
“Dawson Kellor, sir.”
“Erik Amundsen.” Daddy takes Dawson’s hand, and the two men shake. “How do you know my daughter?”
“We’re working on a film together.” My heart skips as Dawson seemingly dismisses our relationship, but then he continues. “That’s how we met, at least. I love your daughter, sir. Grey is the most amazing person I know.”
Daddy clears his throat. “Nice to meet you.” He has a million questions, and he doesn’t like the situation, and my old Daddy is probably still in there, but he’s keeping it to himself.
It’s an improvement, it’s a beginning, and I’ll take it.
Chapter 15
“…And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to…Dawson Kellor!” Channing Tatum claps his hands, the sound too loud in the microphone, his hands hitting the envelope. Beside him, Emma Stone claps as well, holding a smile as Dawson rises to his feet and makes his way down the aisle.
As he passes me, he leans over and whispers, I love you, in my ear, kissing me quickly. He trots up onto the stage, gives Emma a gentle embrace, and then does the back-slapping man-hug thing with Channing. My heart is pounding, and I’m on my feet, screaming and cheering as Dawson accepts the golden statue.
I’m overwhelmed, but that’s nothing new. Tom Hanks is a few rows back, Ted Danson is at the end of my row, and Jay-Z, Beyonce, and several of their friends sit directly in front of me. I see famous faces wherever I look. And then there’s me.