Page 15 of Almost Christmas in Paradise

“You guys have been here for two hours, and in all that time, you’ve barely said two words. Usually, you’re talking with the boys, or you’ll call that fool, and he’ll get the kids all riled up with some bullshit.”

I want to tell him that for someone who claims he doesn’t like Wyatt, he sure talks about him a lot, but I don’t. I’m not in the mood.

“Okay,” is all I say with a shrug, unsure of what his point is.

“Okay," Mr. Nash says, doing a poor job of mimicking my voice. “That’s all you have to say? What happened to the smartass version? I like him better.”

“I didn’t realize you liked any version of me,” is all I say back.

He stares at me, and I assume he’s waiting for me to say more, but there’s nothing I can think of. He’s the last person I want to discuss this with. I know what he thinks of my father, and he’s right.

“I know you’re not standing on my deck feeling sorry for yourself.” When all I do is look away, he continues. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me nothing. I don’t want to hear how you don’t want to talk about it either. Something’s wrong. You’ve been walking around like someone ate your dessert. Is Paradise Construction in trouble?”

He stands in front of me and crosses his arms. My wife is a small woman, but her father is huge. He stands there, tall, imposing, and unsmiling. He kind of reminds me of my dad at this moment. He could never stand to think any of us were upset. Or I thought he couldn’t. But he watched me for years and never tried to fix it.

“It’s just a bunch of shit.” I close my eyes, throw my head back, and run my hands over my face.

“Well, a bunch of shit happens to be my specialty. I’m a detective. I’ve been a cop probably longer than you’ve been alive. There isn’t any type of shit in this world I haven’t heard of. Maybe I can help.”

“No one can help me with this, Mr. Nash, but why would you want to?” I ask. “You tolerate me.”

“For my daughter and my grandkids,” he says. “And for you too.” That surprises me so much I become speechless. “You love my daughter. You’re a devoted husband and father. I believe that you didn’t abandon Nia when she was pregnant. What I’ll never forgive you for is blackmailing her into marriage, but I don’t want to talk about that since everyone else seems to have gotten over it, and I promised my wife I’d let it go. I want to know what’s wrong.”

He gestures to the small table, and I take a seat. He sits across from me and doesn’t say another word. He just waits. I weigh my options. On one hand, we’re not close, but on the other, I trust him. I trust him to be nothing but brutally honest with me, and right now, I need an unbiased opinion. After a deep breath, I decide to talk.

“Before my father died, he left a letter and a video with his lawyer for me. I’ve known about them for over two years, but I finally read the letter and watched the video yesterday. I guess it’s his version of a deathbed confession, even though I sat by his bed for months while he was sick. He had plenty of time to tell me to my face, but he didn’t.”

He nods in understanding. Some of the harshness in his face softens. He starts to reach toward me, and just when I think he’s going to touch my hand to comfort me, he pulls it back.

“It was to explain why he did what he did,” I continue.

He nods again, but I look away from him and stare into the distance.

“Let me guess. You don’t feel any better.”

I hang my head and let out a deep sigh. “I don’t. I’m still confused. I’m still hurt and pissed the fuck off. I lost out on Carter’s first three years and four with Nia. And for what? For nothing. Who the fuck does he think he is that he can manipulate my life and my future? Why did he get a say in whoI love?” I stand abruptly and give him my back. “For a while yesterday, I thought of giving it all up. I considered walking away from Paradise Construction for good. I even considered taking my family and moving across the country for a clean start. Maybe go to California. Nia loved it there when I took her last year.” He remains quiet. I expect him to chastise me for having the gall to even consider taking his daughter and his grandkids away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. “He talked about how he suffered too because he missed out on Carter. Can you believe that shit?” When he remains quiet, I lean over the railing. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it. He did this to make himself feel better, not me. I feel like shit. In fact, I feel worse now than before I read the letter and watched the video. And that’s the last thing I need right before Christmas.”

I hear the scraping of the chair and heavy footsteps. He stands next to me, and we both lean against the railing and look out into the darkness. We’re silent and still until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“I wish I could say or do something to take it away, or at the very least, make it better,” is all he says.

“Yeah, sure,” I snort.

“I do. I objected at first, but you’re a part of this family. My family. It’s my job to take care of all of you.”

“Including me?” I ask, stunned.

“Yes, you, dummy. You’re my daughter’s husband. You’re the father of two of my grandchildren. What your father did is the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard of. Trust me. That’s saying a lot. I’m a cop, and I thought I had heard of every fucked-up thing until I heard about that.” He moves closer to me. “I don’t have magicwords for you.”

“You know what? I appreciate that. I don’t want platitudes or empty words. I’m pissed off, and I don’t want to have to fake it with you.”

“It’s easy to focus on all you’ve lost but look at what you have now.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“Good. Focus on them. They need you. They love you. You’re a good husband and father. You’re not a dummy. You seem to have some intelligence. I think you’re good at your job.” I smile at that. For all the progress we’ve made, I never could have envisioned a scenario where he would be the one trying to make me feel better about this. “From where I’m standing, you have it all. And if you’re angry at your father, go to his grave and tell him.”

“I already did that,” I admit. “Last year on the anniversary of his death. It took all my strength not to spit on it. Do you want to know the worst part?”

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