Page 21 of Into These Eyes
Chapter 11
Jamie
Sliding my laptop into my bag, I head straight from the office to the hospital. Life now consists of work and spending every other spare moment with Dad.
My father’s pancreatic cancer diagnosis came shortly after Gavin Lake’s release from prison six months ago. At first, we were all in denial, positive the doctors had it wrong. But when Dad declined at an alarming rate, the truth had to be faced.
Anika’s now almost finished Session Two of the compulsory four-month training course at the Police Academy down in Goulburn, which has left me alone to deal with Dad, who’s barely holding on now. I don’t blame Anika for one second. The timing couldn’t be helped and there’s no way I’d ever demand she stay home and risk her career.
Besides, why should she look after Dad when he’s never cared about her? That wall he erected between himself and Anika has never come down. Although he changed after Mum’s death, he’s never treated me with the coldness he’s projected at my sister. On more than one occasion, it’s crossed my mind that he’s only remained caring toward me because he needed me to stay to look after his other daughter.
Even if that’s true—and I don’t know if it is—Dad’s always had my back. He worked hard so I could attend a local university and get my law degree. By living at home, I remained the carer he needed me to be for Anika. I’d come home from uni and collect her from school. Then I’d help with her homework and assignments, make sure she was fed and in bed at a reasonable hour before I finally lost myself in my studies.
With Dad working two jobs to support us, I suppose, in part, his relationship with Anika never deepened because he was hardly ever around.
I’d considered forgetting about uni and settling for a clerical job straight out of high school, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Even after Mum’s death, I poured myself into schoolwork as an escape, keeping near-perfect grades.
Parking at the hospital, I change my heels for runners, head straight to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich for dinner. With Anika gone, I don’t see the point of going home to an empty house and cooking. One less thing to worry about.
Picking up my pace, I hurry into an empty elevator. I’m late tonight, which gives me only ten minutes with Dad before thenurses kick out all the visitors. Working for a large law firm in the city has its downsides. Like the expectation of long hours, despite what’s going on in your personal life.
After weaving through the corridors, I enter Dad’s room. As usual, he’s asleep. Quietly putting down my handbag and sandwich, slip into the bathroom.
Even though I’m ashamed of myself, I hide in here for five minutes. Seeing him like this, having to deal with it alone, tears at my soul and takes all the energy I have left.
Staring in the mirror, I remind myself that I’ve got this. I’m tough. Nothing’s beaten me down before and, as bad as this is, it’s out of my control. I can’t change it, can’t stop it. I can only be here for him like he’s been there for me. Besides, this is about him, not me. He needs the comfort of family. And I’m it.
After I wash my hands and emerge from the bathroom, I take his cool, bony hand and brush my thumb over the tissue-thin flesh.
“Jamie,” he croaks, his throat raspy and dry.
From the bedside table, I pick up a bottle of water with a straw already in place, and press it to his parched lips. He sucks weakly, some of the water spilling from his mouth before I catch it with a tissue.
“Hey, Dad. How’s that?”
He barely nods as he cracks an eye open with great effort.
“Jamie,” he says again, this time a little easier.
I put aside the water and tighten my hold on his hand. “I’m right here.”
His feeble fingers encircle mine. I vividly remember how tight he once gripped my hands when he’d twirl me around, when he taught me how to ride a bike, when he held my hand at Mum’s funeral.
I want to cry, but refuse to give in. I’m strong. He doesn’t need to see tears, he needs my strength. Breaking down will only hurthim, worry him, make him feel like he’s abandoning me. He doesn’t need that. There’ll be time for tears … after.
Even though he’s still right here in front of me, I swallow down the grief welling inside and say, “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“For what?”
“That this is happening to you. It’s not fair.”
He gives his head a slight shake. “It’s okay. I deserve it.”
I frown at him, confused. But he’s already asleep, his breaths rhythmic.
I deserve it?
What the hell is he talking about? He doesn’tdeservethis cruel disease. He’s the last person who deserves to suffer like this after all he’s been through.
