19. August

Chapter nineteen

August

T he drive to Rock Glen Haven passed in silence. The weight of every one of Constance’s unasked questions filled the cab. I’d confirmed— under duress —that, yes, Niles had spent the night in my room, and yes, I sometimes enjoyed the company of men. Then, I’d promptly shut down the conversation, refusing to discuss it further.

Chloé didn’t know, and I had no sway with our daughter to convince her to keep her mouth shut. If I thought for one second I could bribe or influence secrecy, I would. As Constance’s least favorite person on the planet, I didn’t try.

We arrived ten minutes early. Parked and with the engine shut off, we sat, staring at the monolithic building that rose above the trees into the gloomy winter sky. It didn’t look like a treatment center. The Victorian mansion, located on a vast wooded property, could have passed for the home of an aristocrat had it not been for the high privacy fence circling the rear yard and decorative sign announcing its purpose.

In October, when I’d helped Chloé check in, the abundance of autumn leaves turned the landscape picturesque. Stone pathways wound around voluptuous gardens. Benches and gazebos provided quaint areas of rest. Wildlife ran among trimmed hedges and hid amid the tall branches of ancient oak and poplar.

Today, on the cold, naked side of winter, the estate’s bleakness reigned. Snow swept across lawns and accumulated on bare trees. A howling wind rattled the rusty eaves. Icicles glimmered on the porch railing. Frosted windowpanes made it impossible to see inside. No sign of birds or animals today. Not even a curious squirrel seeking a long-lost nut.

The full parking area seemed to indicate a busy event. I still wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to Chloé’s wishes.

Constance handed me her phone, a message typed out.

I won’t tell her. It’s not my place. But I don’t know why you’re ashamed.

Emotions clogged my throat. My cheeks flushed. “It’s a long story. I’m working on it.”

She took her phone back and typed. I like Mr. Edwidge.

“Me too.”

Minutes ticked by. Neither of us moved. I motioned to the building. “Shall we?”

Constance nodded, but her enthusiasm appeared to have waned. She didn’t move to get out of the vehicle, instead peering into the distance as though lost in thought. Troubled. Of course she was. Here was where fantasy and reality clashed, the latter prevailing, the former a childhood whimsy.

I played dumb. “What’s up?”

For all her bravado, for all the time she’d spent feigning unaffectedness, I could have sworn Constance didn’t want to go in. Two months moaning about not getting to see her mom. I knew it was a bad idea.

“You can change your mind. We can go home.”

She shook her head.

“It’s okay to be angry.” The last time she’d seen her mother, Chloé was in handcuffs, being loaded into the back of a police car.

Constance wouldn’t look at me.

“None of this is your fault. You know that. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I can call that doctor again. The therapist you were seeing. If you want to—”

Constance cut a hand in the air and scowled. Without another word, she exited the car and headed toward the building.

This was a mistake, and I was going to pay. With a steadying breath, I got out of the car and followed.

The festivities took place in a common area. With its shiny decorations, enormous Christmas tree, and treat-laden tables, it presented a joyous atmosphere free from strain. It masked the true nature of the facility, letting guests pretend they were visiting relatives in a homelike setting. Rock Glen patients, in their plain clothes, geared for comfort and not celebration, stood out among mingling family members. No amount of glimmer and baubles erased the truth. If you looked closely, the illusion was surface deep.

Smoke and mirrors. It did not affect me, but I hoped it helped Constance settle.

I spotted Chloé near the Christmas tree, sipping juice from a paper cup and nibbling a cookie. She waved upon seeing us, offering a heartfelt smile I didn’t return.

“Go ahead.” I nudged Constance, who seemed hesitant. “You have about thirty minutes. I’m going to check in with a doctor and see how things are going.”

Mother and daughter greeted each other with long, emotion-drenched hugs, tears, and smiles. Where was Constance’s anger now? Why did I get the attitude Chloé deserved? Why was I being punished for someone else’s mistakes? I stuck around long enough to be sure Constance didn’t change her mind, then backed out the door into the grand hallway, disgusted and in no mood to witness their happy reunion.

The interior of the mansion was as striking as the exterior. Clients paid a lot of money for comfort, care, and rehabilitation. It could have passed for a high-class B&B or a shared vacation home. The main difference was that the guests couldn’t freely come and go, and their mental and physical health was closely monitored.

The door to the office, located near the main entrance, stood open. I poked my head inside, finding Ruth Christie at a desk, chatting with a male nurse. Since Constance and I had signed in less than ten minutes ago, she queried, “Is everything all right, Mr. Castellanos?”

“Everything is fine. My daughter is visiting. Is Dr. Pembrook or one of the other physicians available?”

“Not today, I’m afraid. Dr. Duchess is on call for emergencies. Otherwise, we have minimal staff around with the holiday. Is there something I can help with?”

Chloé had given me medical power of attorney in the event she became incapable of making decisions, and since I was also her sole emergency contact, I was privy to regular updates should I request them.

“I wondered how things are going.” Taking a recovering addict’s word for truth was foolish. Chloé had spent almost a decade deceiving everyone until she put our daughter’s life at risk and wound up being arrested. A lifetime of lying made her untrustworthy.

Ruth couldn’t communicate as much as a doctor, but she found Chloé’s file and translated what she could. “Dr. Pembrook has marked a significant change in the past few weeks. I would guess the worst of the withdrawal symptoms have calmed, and Chloé is working the program rather than fighting against it, but addiction is a lifelong disease, Augustus, so…”

“I know. Time will tell.”

“Yes, and although we only want what’s best for our patients, some end up back here multiple times before they find their feet. I don’t say this to be discouraging, but I know how hurtful it can be if you get your hopes up.”

I was well aware. It was Constance I worried about. “Is she still scheduled to be released at the end of January?”

“Um… No. There’s a note here that says March first. Is that not what you were told?”

“I was told the doctor would make the final decision.”

“Looks like March first is the anticipated date unless things don’t go as planned.”

I thanked Ruth and wandered back to the common room. Chloé and Constance were seated near a window, involved in an infuriating ASL conversation— both of them —even though Constance’s hearing was perfectly fine. Acts like this convinced me that Chloé was not on my side. She coddled our daughter rather than promoting healthier habits.

It reminded me of the book Niles had gifted, the stained morning, and the euphoria of the previous night. How easily I’d caved to my suppressed desires. How incredible and freeing it had felt.

I’d asked Niles to give me time, but time for what?

The visit ended, and Constance and Chloé approached arm in arm. Other families, in the midst of saying goodbye, hugged loved ones and wished them well.

“Hello, Augustus.” Chloé’s emerald eyes were clear and bright, a marked difference from the last time I’d seen her. Our daughter shared more of Chloé’s genes than mine. Side by side, as Constance moved into womanhood, their similarities were startling. How deep did they go? How much of her mother had she inherited? It was why I refused to push Constance into a life of competition. The pressure and stress were part of her mother’s downfall.

“Merry Christmas, Chloé.”

“You didn’t visit.”

“We have nothing to talk about. I’m here for Constantina.”

She turned to our daughter, rubbing her arms. “Take care.” Chloé kissed Constance’s cheek and drew her into an embrace. As they rocked side to side, hugging, she said, “I’d like to chat with your father for a moment in private.”

Released from her mother’s arms, Constance glanced at me and nodded. I handed her the keys to the car. “Turn the heat on so you don’t freeze to death. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Once she was gone, Chloé sighed and crossed her arms over her thin chest. She’d always been petite, as angelic in appearance as her voice when she sang, but the beauty who had captivated me fifteen years ago was not this woman.

“How is she adjusting to school?”

“No issues.”

“That’s all? No issues? You can’t elaborate? Give me something, Augustus. Don’t be stubborn.”

I shrugged. “It’s been less than a month. What do you want?”

“She tells me Jonas isn’t coming for lessons.”

“No. She has a music teacher, and whatever he can’t teach her, I will.”

“I don’t agree with this.”

I stared, perplexed.

She met the challenge.

“Do I need to say it?” I asked.

“No. I gave up the right to opinions. Yes, I realize that. What about when you leave her and go back to Chicago? That is your plan, isn’t it? Timber Creek is a boarding school. You chose it for that reason.”

“I’ll make decisions when the time comes.”

“Call Jonas. Please. He’s what she needs.”

What Constance needed was a goddamned therapist to help her process all the changes in her life so she could come to terms with what had happened.

“Was there anything else?”

Chloé pressed her lips together and scanned the fast-emptying room. “What about you? Are you managing?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“You were forced to become a father overnight. That can’t have been easy.”

I huffed. “It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

“I’ll sort this out. It’s temporary. Maybe by the time the school year is over, I’ll be able to—”

“No. I don’t think so.” Despite the trials and struggles I’d encountered, a flare of anger ignited in my core. I lowered my voice so I wouldn’t draw attention. “If you think for one minute I’ll sit by and happily hand over custody again, you’re wrong. I might not have wanted this. I might be utterly failing at every aspect of fatherhood, but I will be damned if I put Constance back in your care.”

“Augustus—”

“No. You did this. You ruined your own life and almost hers in the process. That’s not on me. Your career is over because of the choices you made. And the one thing you wanted desperately enough to lie and deceive to get— our daughter —is too precious to risk. Try me, Chloé. I will raise the fires of hell. I don’t care if she hates me forever. The best you can hope for is un supervised visits, but you’re a long way from that. I gotta go.”

It took half the drive to feel calm enough to ask Constance if she had a good visit. She nodded, peering out the passenger window. Her thoughts were loud but indiscernible, and since conversation between us was stilted on a good day, never mind in a car, I didn’t push. Lately, the more I said, the worse our relationship.

By the time we hit Peterborough, I’d made myself sick contemplating the trajectory of my life. Announcing that I planned to keep Constance in my care indefinitely had been spontaneous. It meant never fully going back to the life I knew. It meant several more years of being responsible for her education, care, and well-being. It set me on a path I hadn’t planned, and again, I felt like I needed to revisit my career and future goals and figure out what I was doing.

The roving lights on the marquee above the cinema drew my attention. I pulled over and put the car in Park, admiring the sign. Constance tapped my shoulder and questioned me with a raised brow.

“Wanna catch a movie? It’s probably the only place open today, and there’s not much to do at home.” Except ignore each other and get lost in unpleasant thoughts.

For the first time in ages, my daughter’s smile was directed at me. She nodded. We got out of the car and headed inside. I bought butter-glazed popcorn and soft drinks big enough to swim in. Constance picked a fluffy rom-com, and we settled in two seats midway up from the front of the theater.

As the previews began, Constance handed me her phone with a message displayed. Do you think Mr. Edwidge is all alone right now?

I weighed my words, taking a second to respond. “I don’t know.”

She took her phone back and wrote, That would be sad. We should have invited him to join us.

“To a rom-com?”

She batted her lashes and nudged me coyly as she made kissy faces.

“Stop.” I chuckled, the tension of the morning draining away. “Maybe next time.”

Promise?

“I’m not making promises I can’t keep. He’s not happy with me right now.”

Then fix it.

***

Two days later, planted at the piano, unable to hear the symphony inside my head no matter how hard I strained, the three words that had been emblazed on Constance’s phone at the theater returned to me. Then fix it. Spoken with the naivety of youth, from the mind of a teenager who had yet to discover the harsh realities of the world.

Fix it. Would the music come back? Was this blockage created by stubbornness? Fear?

Oddly enough, Niles was the one thing Constance and I agreed on. We both liked him. Without realizing it, the man had formed a bridge between us. Instead of existing on separate islands, Constance and I shared a common interest. She in a music teacher she’d grown to adore who’d promised to perform a duet with her at the spring concert and bought her gift cards to the salon, and I in the eccentric man who couldn’t see his worth. Who boldly outshone me in personality alone. In everyday life, Niles’s confidence put mine to shame, and I hated that my career and success took any of that away or made him feel like less of a person.

We hadn’t been in contact since Christmas morning. I didn’t expect a call or text, not when the issue resided with my insecurities. Not when he’d bluntly stated his position on repressed— closeted —individuals. If I wanted to prove myself, I needed to step out of my comfort zone and fix it .

The temperature had turned mild. Any residual snow from before Christmas had melted, leaving mucky puddles and uncovering sodden piles of rotting leaves along the paths. The world beyond the window left much to be desired, but locked inside the cottage was making me stir-crazy.

Constance had been practicing violin for half a day when I abandoned the piano and my failing composition to announce I was going out.

Where ? she asked, using one of the few signs I understood.

“Just… out. I don’t know. I might grab groceries, stop at a library, or wander about and see what’s open. Do we need anything?”

She studied me for a long moment and formed a shape with her hand I didn’t understand.

Sighing, I shook my head. “With words, Constance. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rolling her eyes, she used a finger to draw the letters of Niles’s name in the air.

“Oh. Maybe… Um, yes, I guess that’s the plan. I don’t know if he’ll be home or want to talk to me, but…”

She smiled and snagged her phone, fingers flying as she typed. I wanted to reprimand her indignance toward speaking, but exhaustion over the ongoing feud had worn me out. The sign language book Niles had gifted lived on my bedside table. Stubbornness kept the spine uncracked and the pages unblemished. Giving in meant giving up. All I wanted was for Constance to lead as normal a life as possible. Why couldn’t she see that? What was the point of this war? Why did she persistently refuse?

He’ll talk to you. I know he will. Don’t be stupid. Ask him on a date. Go see that movie again. Take him out for dinner.

“So you’re a matchmaker now,” I said after reading the message.

She made a shooing motion, sweeping me up and shoving me to the door. Her beaming smile was contagious, and when she handed me a coat and straightened my collar, I warned, “My absence is not a free ticket to get out of chores. You promised you’d do the dishes.”

She helped tie a winter scarf around my neck and positioned it just so, tucking the ends in my coat front and smoothing it down. “Good grief, girl. Since when do you care about me?”

I earned a teenage sneer, and she took out her phone. Bring wine. Say you’re sorry. Do better!

Realization dawned. It wasn’t me she cared about but Niles.

Feelings bruised, I forced a smile. “I’ll be home in a bit.”