Page 32 of Wasted
“Hi.” She closed the door behind her, then looked at her brother.
He slid his hand through his blond curls as he always did when he was nervous. “He wants to talk to you about me, doesn’t he?”
“I assume so.” She gently squeezed Hank’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It will be fine.”
“Okay.” He managed another shaky smile. “Thanks, Vicki.”
“I need to go in.”
He nodded.
She walked briskly from the entryway into a long hallway, her boots clicking on the tiled floor. Like the sound of the man who’d followed her tonight. He must have worn dress shoes to make such a sound. Wasn’t that odd for someone who?—
No. She needed to focus on her father and making peace between him and Hank.
She stopped in front of the closed door to his office library on the left. She knocked.
“Enter.” Her father’s familiar voice reached through the heavy wood.
She opened the door and walked in. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make a point of her being one minute late. She was never late.
He looked up from his massive wooden desk as she entered, his short auburn hair as neat and tidy as always, and his expression serious and observant. He never seemed to change. Except for the tiny, silver flecks of hair that caught the light, suggesting that even he was aging.
“You’ve had a busy day.”
Her stomach clenched as she stopped in front of his desk, waiting to discover what he meant by that comment.
He looked at his wristwatch and then directed his gaze to her, his eyes angling toward her hair.
She reached up, her fingers touching a loose clump she must have missed in the darkness of the car. And he wasn’t going to let the one minute of tardiness go. Not a wonderful start for Hank’s sake, but there was always some critique to overcome.
“I came directly from Treese’s Pilates class.” Supporting Treese’s business should earn her a few grace points. “I must have mussed my hair when I changed, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by leaving early, of course.”
He leaned back in his chair and pointed with his whole hand to the chair that faced the front of his desk.
She removed her coat and hung it over the back of the chair, then smoothed her skirt beneath her as she sat.
“Henry, Jr., is confused.” Her father’s hazel eyes, sharpened by his intensity, locked on her. “I’ve talked to the boy, but he’s been rattled and forced off course by what happened to your sister.”
Victoria nodded. She took his pause as her queue to speak. “What happened to Spring has affected all of us deeply. We all need time to process it in our different ways.”
Her father arched an eyebrow. “You’re not throwing away your career.”
She pressed her lips together, taking a moment to consider her next words and check her approach against her model—her mother’s peacemaking technique. She would show sympathy for both parties, try to help their father understand his child, but then conclude with a positive assurance that all would work out in favor of their father. “No, I’m not. But Hank hasn’t done so either. He’s young and hasn’t yet begun his career. He feels great compassion for Spring and others in need. He’ll find his way once his emotions settle down.”
Her father leaned forward, planting his forearms on the desk and bringing his hands together as he stared at her. “Neurosurgeons don’t make decisions based on emotion, and youth is absolutely no excuse. I never deviated. Robert never wavered from his goals, even as a child.”
Victoria held back the urge to point out that Robert’s goals had been his own, not his father’s. Though they had, thankfully, aligned with what Dad wanted him to do—excel as a medical doctor of some kind. Robert had also set an incredibly high bar when he’d graduated high school at fifteen. It wasn’t fair to hold Hank to the same standard. “We aren’t all identical, so our paths may look different. But I know Hank wants to make you proud. He worked very hard to graduate a semester early from Harvard and be accepted into Johns Hopkins for next fall.”
Graduating from college early may have been a mistake, given how much time Hank now had on his hands to ponder and doubt his future. But Victoria kept that observation to herself. The point was to remind Dad of Hank’s accomplishments.
“He cannot end up like Spring.”
They both knew her father didn’t mean paralyzed from the waist down. He meant Spring’s rejection of his aspirations for her, that she had become a professional cyclist and was now pursuing a teaching degree.
“I will not allow that to happen to Henry, Jr. Is that understood?” Her father pinned Victoria with the look of warning that used to send fear shooting down to her toes.
Now it only twisted her stomach and dried her mouth as she nodded. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t believe there’s any cause for concern. I’ve spoken with him, and he’s no longer considering physiatry.”
