Chapter 31

MACKENZIE

"Y ou okay, Mackenzie." Liv's voice cuts through my thoughts and I realise I've probably been twirling the same three strands of pasta on my fork for at least a few minutes. I don't think I've heard most of what the two of them have been talking about.

"Yep." I try to sound as chipper as I can, but it falls flat, only piquing both Liv and Kristen's concern.

"You sure?" Liv tilts her head to the side. "Because you've been about to eat that same forkful of fettuccine for the last five minutes and if you aren't gonna eat it, I'll take it off your hands. I don't know why, but I'm so hungry today."

"Maybe you're pregnant." Kristen's suggestion is met with Liv's wide eyes.

"I doubt it," Liv replies, though she seems to ponder the possibility before shaking her head. "Nah."

Truthfully, I've been sitting here wondering how to broach the subject of my mother and grandmother. These aren't the kind of things that you just blurt out over a tiny table at a gourmet café overlooking a pristine bay.

Kristen tries to lighten my sombre mood, offering a wink as she says, "She's probably got a certain surfer slash bar manager on her mind."

"Oh? Tell me everything," Liv demands, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of some fresh gossip.

"It's new," I begin, not sure how much information I want to divulge.

Putting your heart on the line is a sure way to get it broken, though something tells me Dylan will handle mine with extreme care.

You're safe with me, Kenz. Always.

"But they are so cute together," Kristen gushes.

I drop my fork into the bowl and aim an eyeroll her way. "You've literally only seen us together one time."

"Yeah. One time in your bedroom while you were both half naked," she chides. I jolt as she pokes a teasing finger at my ribs. "And you looked cute together."

Liv's eyes look like they're going to bug out of her head. "Are you serious? Wait. Are you talking about Dylan? Oh, you two do look cute together. I can totally see it now."

"Right?" Kristen adds, waving her fork in the air.

"Good for you, Mackenzie. Dylan's hot. And such a sweetie," Liv says. "Although, there's something so familiar about the guy. I swear, it's like I know him from somewhere."

My mouth twitches at her comment. Knowing Liv, it's highly possible that she, in fact, does know him from somewhere, but it's not my place to say. "I'm sorry about this morning," I mumble awkwardly.

"Don't be sorry, Mac. I'm relieved," Kristen replies. "Like I said, I've been worried about you spending so much time on your own lately."

"Well, I haven't exactly been spending that much time alone," I admit. This is my chance to redirect the conversation.

"Well, yeah. I know that now. You've had Dylan."

"Yeah, and Harper," I add. Get to the point Mackenzie. "And there's someone else."

"Someone else other than Dylan?" Liv asks, leaning eagerly across the table.

"Yes," I reply. Then when I see where their minds have gone, I quickly add, "No. Not like that. Geez."

They both deflate with relieved sighs and I'm met with puzzled looks.

"Oh, okay. Who?" Kristen asks.

My chest rises with a nervous inhale. Dylan has been hinting at me for weeks now to open up to Kristen, to make the choice to let people in. Here goes nothing.

"My grandmother," I reveal.

"What do you mean?" Kristen's features are now marred with confusion. "Our grandmother passed away a few years ago."

"Not our father's mother," I say. "My grandmother on my mother's side."

"Wow. Okay," she responds uncertainly. "I thought you didn't have any family left on your mum's side."

"Honestly, I didn't know that I did," I explain. "Dad told me my grandparents had passed well before I was born. It

turns out she didn't know that I existed either."

"What?" Now it's Liv's turn to look baffled. "How did she not know about you?"

"She said my mother was troubled. That she never told her about the pregnancy."

"That's a lot to process," Kristen says.

She doesn't even know the half of it yet.

"Yeah, it has been. I've been spending some time with her at her art studio in Seabright Cove."

"Wait." Kristen raises a hand in the air. "Seabright Cove? You don't mean the Abstract Palette?"

"Yeah," I reply. "You know it?"

"Of course. It's been there forever. Grace used to come and help out at the primary school when we were younger." She picks up her fork, stirring her salad around before stabbing at a cherry tomato. "That art class I did with my mum? We did that at the Abstract Palette."

"No way."

"Yeah!" Kristen exclaims. "Small world, huh?"

"So…Grace? She's your grandmother?" Liv asks.

"Yeah," I answer, still in shock that Kristen had unknowingly met my grandmother before she'd even met me. "That's what she tells me."

"Mackenzie, this is insane," Kristen says, her eyes widening. "She would be able to answer so many questions you have. She would know where your mother is. Maybe you can finally – " She stops talking when she sees the silent tear that trails down my cheek. "Mac?"

"She's gone," I whisper. "She died. Last year sometime."

"Oh, Mackenzie." Liv is out of her seat now, scooting

closer to me on the bench seat I'm sharing with Kristen.

I've never had girlfriends like this. At least, not since before I met Ethan. He'd made sure I was kept as isolated as possible from everyone and everything.

Sitting here, sandwiched between these two amazing women as they comfort me, I now know what I've been missing out on. It makes me feel silly for taking so long to confide in them. I wish I had of been able to convince myself sooner that they'd only ever offer me love and acceptance and their unwavering support.

I fill Kristen and Liv in on the rest of the details. About how Grace found me, what I'd learned about my mother, and the letter that she left for me that detailed her depression. By the time I'm finished, both Kristen and Liv have tears streaming from their eyes too.

"Oh my god, Mackenzie," Kristen says, curling an arm around my shoulders. "I should have been there for you. I had no idea."

"It's not your fault," I say, swiping at my eyes. "I shut you out. I shut everyone out. My first instinct was to shut Grace out too."

"Look, I know we haven't known each other that long," Liv begins. "But I know a thing or two about how difficult it is to have to reinvent yourself in a new town full of new faces. I know what it's like to hide parts of yourself away. I did that too. For so long, I was scared to let people see the real me, but it was only when I opened up to them that good things started happening for me. Now, I can't imagine ever being any happier than I am right now."

A hopeful smile warms my cheeks. "I feel like I'm only just learning who the real me is."

"You've been through so much, Mac. But you're strong and brave and beautiful." Kristen tightens her arm around my shoulder. "You might not be able to see the real you yet, but I can. And I bet Dylan can too."

"Does he know?" Liv asks. "About everything that happened with Grace?"

I nod. "Yeah. He thinks I should go back and see her. We didn't exactly leave things on the best of terms the last time I visited."

"I think you should too," Liv says.

"Me too," Kristen agrees. "She obviously came looking for you because she cares. I mean, your mother had her reasons for doing what she did, but it isn't Grace's fault that she couldn't be a part of your life. I'm sure if she'd known about you, she would have done everything she could to help you."

"Yeah. I'm starting to see that now."

"Go see her," Kristen says. "I can drive you there if you like."

"Thanks." I aim a bittersweet smile back at my sister. "I might just take you up on that."

I have every intention of returning to the studio to see Grace, but there's someone else I need to see first. Someone that I should have gone to see a long time ago. The idea of it sends a ball of dread sinking into the pit of my stomach, but I've been putting it off for way too long.

I force myself to eat the rest of the pasta I've ordered for lunch and then we visit a few more shops.

Liv buys some new books at the local indie bookstore.

Kristen purchases Henley a gag gift – a pair of socks that say ‘I can't keep calm. I'm a drummer.' I scour the art store for a few extra paint colours. I'm still not certain of what I'll paint on my canvas, but a few ideas have started to form in my mind.

As we head back to Cliff Haven, I think about how glad I am that I listened to Dylan and came out with the girls today. I left home today with a head full of uncertainty, a bundle of nerves in my gut but I'm returning with a grateful heart.

When Liv drops us home, Kristen dumps her bag on the hall table and flops down on the couch. She brings her hand up to rest on her stomach. "God, I'm so full from lunch I might go into a food coma. You wanna watch a movie or something?"

She picks up the remote and starts flicking through the channels as I stand in the doorway, weaving my fingers together anxiously. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a massive favour."

"Sure. What's up?" She sits a little higher, straightening herself when she notices my unease.

"I was wondering if I could borrow your car."

"Okay," she says hesitantly. "Where are you going?"

"Milton." It's the only word I need to say out loud. The rest can be communicated through one look.

Her brow shoots upward and I know she understands what I'm telling her. Suddenly, the atmosphere feels charged, a tension falling over us.

"Do you need me to come with you?" she asks.

I shake my head, knowing I need to do this alone. "Maybe next time."

"Okay." She stands and moves toward the hall table, digging for the keys in her bag. She places them in my palm. "Be careful."

"Thank you," I say, clutching them tightly in my fist. "I'll be back before my shift starts at the tavern tonight."

She nods as I turn toward the front door. I pause when I hear her call my name. "Mackenzie?"

I swivel back around and then her arms are around me, squeezing me tightly in a warm sisterly hug. It's obvious, at least to me, why I've never been a fan of physical affection. The only human contact I've ever had has been forced or abusive, but I relish this moment here in my sister's arms, allowing her to hold me.

"I'm proud of you," she whispers.

When her grip loosens from around me, we share a knowing look, before I turn and walk down the front steps. She watches from the porch as I reverse back down the driveway, offering a small smile and a wave.

Forty-five minutes later I'm pulling into the Rykers rehabilitation facility. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered turning around at least ten times on the way here. I consider it once more now, but I've come this far.

Nerves overwhelm me as I approach the front desk. Again, I second guess whether I should even be here. I know I don't need to be. That this is my choice. I don't owe anything to anyone else, but at the very least, I need to do this for myself. I need to see this through.

"Can I help you, Miss?" I'm greeted at reception by an

older woman with a stern disposition.

"Uh, hi," I say timidly, my voice smaller than I intended. "I'm here to visit Greg Riley."

"Do you have an appointment?" She barely makes eye contact with me as she begins flipping through a stack of paperwork on the desk in front of her.

"No, but I really need to see him." I was afraid she might ask me this.

"I'm sorry," she replies bluntly. "Even if he has visitation rights and you are an approved contact, I can't let you in without an appointment."

"Please. It's really important that I see him. I'm his daughter and – "

"I really can't help you today, but you can make an appointment for next week if you like."

"I have to see him now." Desperation has begun to seep in through my veins. I can't go another week without seeing him. I've already left it too long as it is. "There's been a death in the family."

I realise I'm giving the term ‘family' more meaning that it deserves in this context.

The lady at the desk goes still. This time she finally looks up at me, her features softening. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Alright, we may be able to make an exception. Let me see if I can help."

She begins tapping away on the keyboard in front of her. "Greg Riley, you said?"

"Yes," I answer eagerly.

"Can you confirm your father's date of birth?"

I rattle off my father's birth date and she gives a brief nod. Her expression doesn't give anything away as she continues tapping away some more on the keys.

"And your name?"

"Mackenzie Riley."

"Do you have some ID?"

I pull my driver's licence from my purse and slide it over the counter. It feels like an eternity passes before she replies. "That's fine, Mackenzie. If you'd like to head down the hall and to the left, you'll come to a visiting area. I'll send for Mr. Riley to meet you there. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you so much."

She offers a tight smile. "Don't make a habit out of it. You'll need an appointment next time."

I nod profusely, my eyes beginning to sting with the tears I push back down. "Okay."

Following the woman's instructions, I head down the hall and as I veer left, the waiting room comes into view. It's a bright and inviting space, well-lit by the floor-to-ceiling windows that line both sides of the room. There's an outside sitting area out the back, lush with greenery and colourful flowerpots. It doesn't seem like a bad place, all things considered.

A few other people are seated off to one side, so I choose a couch along the far-left window. Although, sitting is the last thing I feel like doing.

Anxiety fires through my veins as I pace the space in front of the couch, my eyes on the ground, my forefingers massaging my temples. I contemplate one more time whether I should turn and run from this place.

The last time I'd seen my father, he had been passed out on the couch. His head was dipped back along the headrest, an almost empty bottle of whisky on the floor at his feet. An amber liquid trickled from it, leaving a stain on the already soiled carpet.

I'd reached for his wrist, relieved to feel the faint thrumming of a pulse. Then I'd turned for the door, following the yellow glow of Henley's headlights in the driveway with the intent of never looking back.

Now that I'm here, I can't help but wonder what he might say when he sees me? What will he do?

I don't have to wonder long. I force myself to look up when gentle footsteps fall on the plush, grey carpet in front of me.

There are two things I notice about my father's eyes in this moment. One is how much emotion they seem to convey. Happiness, joy but also guilt.

The other is how clear they are. No longer red-rimmed and bloodshot, the whites whiter. If it weren't for the turmoil that swirls in their midst, I'd say he looked more at peace.

"Mackenzie?" His voice cracks as he questions my name.

He blinks, as though he can't really believe I'm standing in front of him. I don't blame him. I can't believe it either.

He takes a step closer, but I retreat, moving backwards with my arms folded across my chest. I wanted to see him again. I needed to. But now that he's here before me, looking the healthiest he ever has, at least to me, I can't stop all of those bad memories rushing in.

"Did you know?" I blurt, swallowing down the heavy lump that forms in my throat.

His eyes cloud over with confusion, his brow wrinkling as he shakes his head. "Know what?"

"Did you know that she was dying? Did you know that Mum's gone?" My eyes well as I say the words.

The shock that washes over my father's face tells me that he didn't know. That he's learning this information for the first time right now. He pushes both hands through his hair as he falls onto the couch beside us. "I had no idea."

I don't say anything while I watch him process this information. He chokes out a guttural sob. "Oh, Mackenzie. I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you ever tell me about her?" I demand, my jaw set hard in anger. "You never talked about her."

"I know." He drops his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry.

"I needed you to talk to me."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he pleads. His hands are cupping his mouth now, muffling the sobs that escape. I watch until I can't bear it any longer. I can't stand to see him break in front of me. I fall down on the couch beside him, and he finally lifts his head. "How did it happen?"

"Cancer," I sniffle as tears sting behind my eyes. "I found out from my grandmother. She came looking for me."

The uncertainty portrayed in his expression is sincere, letting me know that he didn't know about Grace either. "Your mother told me her parents had died."

"Her father died," I tell him. "Her mother is well and truly alive."

"I had no idea." He shakes his head in shock. "She told me she'd never had a great relationship with her mother."

"Why didn't you talk about her, Dad? There's so much I don't know about her."

He squeezes his eyes shut as though he's in physical pain.

"Because it killed me to talk about her. It killed me when she left us like that. I had to drink every day just to numb the pain. And it killed me to look at you, because with every passing year, you began to look more and more like her."

I shake my head, unsure how to take this information. "Is that supposed to make it okay?"

"No, Mac. None of it is okay. None of it." He turns to me, determination in his gaze. "I'm going to make it right. I'm going to get out of here and I'm going to be the father that you need."

"You mean the father that Kristen needs." I spit out the words.

His eyes fill with hurt. "What?"

"You're doing this for her, right?" I accuse. "I mean, you only got off your ass and came here after her letters arrived in the post."

A crack tears down my chest as a tear rolls from his eye. "I know I've been a terrible father. I know I've hurt you both. I'm doing this for both of my girls And I'm also doing it for myself. I'm going to make things right."

I want to believe him, but past experiences tell me that nothing will ever change. He will never change.

"You said that last time," I bite out.

"I mean it this time."

I'm just now beginning to comprehend what Kristen had said about forgiveness. Sometimes we don't need to forgive someone to release them from their demons. We do it to free ourselves from our own.

I never had the chance to forgive my mother.

I hope that I'll get the chance to forgive him.

"I need to go," I say, getting up to leave.

I've taken two steps before his gravelly cry stalls my feet in place on the carpet.

"Mackenzie," he croaks. "I loved her."

I turn around slowly, unable to hold my tears back anymore.

"I've only ever loved two women. Your mother was one of them." There's an honesty in his gaze that makes it impossible not to believe him. These may be the truest words he's ever spoken to me.

I nod once as my lips twist up in a sad smile. The hole in my already fractured heart grows wider, mourning the loss of everything that could have been.

I take one last look at this man who has been to hell and back, walked through fire and had the embers burn their marks into his skin.

And I hope with everything I am that he can find a way to rise from the ashes.