The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

next day, while Ray was off with Major Elmore. Dad had met me at the Thai restaurant just around the corner from the condo.

As we sat down, he had said, “I’d like to apologize for last night. I was in shock when Ray came into the condo, and I reacted badly.”

I smiled at my father. “It’s all right.”

“That said, Carrie, I’m deeply concerned about you. I think you’re making a mistake getting so deeply involved with Ray, given the circumstances.”

“I understand that. But that topic isn’t open to discussion. I’m committed.”

He nodded. “What are your long-term plans?”

“It’s kind of difficult to make long-term plans at the moment. But ... I plan to marry him.”

My father closed his eyes, then said, “And if he goes to prison?”

“I’ll deal with it somehow. It’s not like I can’t support myself.”

Of course, I was putting up a front. It was entirely possible I soon wouldn’t be able to support myself, at least not as a scientist. My father didn’t need to know that right then.

“You understand I’m not comfortable with him living here.”

Our conversation was interrupted when the food arrived, so I didn’t answer right away. But once the waitress had gone, I said, “I’ll be clear, Father. I truly appreciate you letting me live in the condo. Obviously, on my salary, I’d never be able to afford it. But I don’t care if I have to rent an eight hundred dollar studio with gang shootings in the neighborhood. I’m living with Ray. Either you accept that, or you let me know, and I’ll find someplace else to live. I’m not a child. I won’t be treated as one. If you want to let me live in the condo, it comes with no strings attached.”

He grimaced then took a bite of his food. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable pause, he said, “I’ll accept it, even if I don’t like it. I won’t have my daughter living in some place that isn’t safe.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

My parents have, in some ways, always been fascinating to me. Overbearing, over controlling. There’s no question that they love us, but with my mother’s mental health problems and my father’s cold demeanor, it’s a wonder we’ve turned out as well as we have. My mother used to say the most horrible things to all of us, and it took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t out of hate. Or rather, it wasn’t out of hatred toward us ... it was her own self hate that drove the kinds of things she would do. But my Dad ... he was tougher to understand. Withdrawn, isolated, it was often nearly impossible to know what he thought. Half of me was afraid that when they arrived at the hotel, I was going to hear some version of I told you so from him, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop myself from hitting him if that happened.

When we got to the hotel, I just sat down on a chair in the lobby and leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. Dylan and Alexandra took care of getting us checked in. I was feeling queasy again, my stomach doing slow cartwheels, my head feeling swollen. If Ray had been here, he’d have said my head was like Doctor Who’s Tardis: bigger on the inside than the outside. The thought made my eyes prick with tears.

“Carrie? Come on, we got the rooms set. Let’s get you upstairs.” I opened my eyes. Dylan was standing there. My vision was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” I said, my voice almost at a whisper. “I can’t even keep my eyes open.”

He held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. I was so tired I overcompensated and stumbled, and Dylan slipped an arm around my waist and held me up. It was probably pretty comical looking ... Dylan’s not short, but next to me he looks it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

We rode up the elevator in silence. Michael and Kate went in a different door, thank God, and I followed Dylan, Alexandra and Jessica into another. It was a large suite on the top floor, with several bedrooms. Jessica stumbled away into one of the rooms.

“Thank you,” I said to Dylan. “I’m a mess.”

“Get some rest.”

“I’m setting the alarm for 5. Don’t let me sleep any later than that. Please?”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll make sure.”

I collapsed on the bed without getting out of my clothes. I rolled on my side, and half expected Ray to be there. He wasn’t. And for the first time since I was a child, I cried myself into a broken, troubled sleep.

At one point I stirred in the darkness, and I could hear voices, my parents, Julia, Dylan, arguing. I drifted away, Julia’s voice still in my ears, and then I found myself sitting in the grass on the edge of the Potomac River. I recognized the spot, not far from the Lincoln Memorial, where Ray and I picnicked just a few weeks ago. The sun was shining down, and I felt warm where it touched my skin.

I was alone, but I could see people in the distance, on the Mall, and they were out of focus, colors wavering. One of them walked closer to me. And then he slowly came into focus. It was Ray.

I stood and ran toward him. He smiled, and reached out his arms, and wrapped them around me.

“I thought I lost you,” I said.

He whispered in my ear, “You’ll never lose me completely. But maybe for a while. I think you’re dreaming right now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. Just know ... I love you.”

“I love you,” I replied. “I’ll never give up on you.”

He sighed and held me closer, and we were dancing, slowly, beside the river. He whispered, “I don’t think I’m going to make it, Carrie. You’re going to have to go on without me.”

What the fuck kind of dream was