Wounded Hearts Will Conquer

Chapter 3 - The Invisible Daughter

Chapter 3
Bailey
The Invisible Daughter

”Sweetie, you need to get the hell out of bed,” my Dad laughed at me. I slid the dark blue covers on Lanie’s bed over my face and sunk further into the bed, trying to hide from him.

”Bailey Renee, you need to get up and help me plan this thing. We talked about this…” he urged. I felt a firm hand grip at the tops of the covers, trying to pull them off of my face.

It was Saturday morning in late September and I was still sleeping in Lanie’s bed, even though it’s been two years since she’s passed. I liked to think that if I slept in her room every night that it somehow brought me closer to her, in a way that I couldn’t quite explain to anyone else. At first I started lying here every night because it smelled like her, and I missed her so much that just the smell of her left on her dark blue pillow case could be satisfactory enough for me to get a good night’s sleep. Now, I can’t even imagine moving back into my own room at this point.

”Dad, can’t you plan the benefit without me?” I groaned, pulling the covers with me as I turned onto my right side, away from his heaping presence. He laughed that hearty, country laugh that I was so used to hearing.

”Bails, I asked for your help because your mother isn’t exactly around much, what with her firm heating up at the moment.”

”I told you to stop calling me Bails,” I murmured. “You know that Lanie used to-“

He stiffened for a second, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. You know I just got used to calling you-“

”I get it, Dad,” I whispered. I pulled the covers down a little under my eyes and looked up at him. His face held pure sorrow as his chocolate brown eyes started to water up. Even after two years of this emotional rollercoaster, the mere mention of Lanie’s name was enough to start up a whole batch of crying fests. Every time each one of us talked to each other in this house, it was like we had to tip-toe over certain subjects that would bring up the memory of her. Like, I couldn’t talk about going to a bakery in the mornings without Mom starting to crumble, because that was Lanie’s old job. Even the slightest hint to a ham sandwich and it was like the whole house would fall apart, because that was her favorite food.

I sighed heavily and held onto my Dad’s hand. His eyes grew wide and he looked down at me through my reddish strands of hair in my face. “I’ll be down in your office in twenty minutes, okay?”

He smiled small and used his other hand to push the pieces of red out of my eyes, kissing my forehead. “Thanks a bunch kiddo.”

I gave him a small smile as he proceeded to my open doorway and waited for him to shut the door before I turned back around to face my wall, the dark blue covers snuggled up under my chin. I felt a small tear fall down my cheek and caught it immediately with my hand. I sniffed, trying to hold back the breakdown that I knew was about to come. I was tired of being upset. I was tired of crying and pretending everything was okay. It’s been two years; you figure I would be over this by now.

I hadn’t even truly sat down with my parents and talked about how I felt. It was as though when Lanie died that I suddenly became invisible to everyone in my family. I always knew Lanie was the favorite, and I never tried to change that, because I knew I couldn’t possibly take her place. I didn’t want to take her place.

Who could possibly take that blonde vision’s place in this world? She was one of kind.

The only reason my Dad was making such a big deal over me getting out of bed before ten on a Saturday morning was because Mom was out on another case for her newly opened law firm, and I was the only one around to help him with this benefit concert he was planning for the Ladder 24 firemen.

You see, my father’s this big wig in the country music world. The name Phillip Keys is a name that any member in the country music business could tell you about. He was friendly with everyone, had already won 3 grammys in his short two year career, and has sold out shows from here in New York City, all the way to Japan. And the Ladder 24 house has been a house that he’d always called home.

His father was a firefighter for 40 years before retiring at the age of 65. My Dad practically grew up in that house from the time he was two, and it’s always been a place that he’s held close to his heart. With it being almost a week since the anniversary of the tragic 9-11 event, my Dad wanted to give back to the men who had lost their friends to the dusty smoke and blazing fires, and salute those who had lost their lives in general. Phil felt that giving back with his music was the best thing he could do. And last, but surely not least, he was giving all of his concert proceeds back to the men who he had called family since before he could remember.

 I’m sitting in Lanie’s bed, awestruck that my father, the man who had given birth to me and called me his flesh and blood, was more sentimental to a bunch of firemen that he barely knew, than he was to me. My Dad should have let me cry on his shoulder when we heard the news of Lanie’s passing. He should have held my hand at the funeral as we all crowded in the graveyard in a black cluster of shirts and ties, instead of just hugging my mother.

He has another daughter left on this earth, so why did it seem like as soon as Lanie died, he’d had no responsibilities left to take care of anymore?

* * * * *

About an hour later I’d made my way downstairs to my father’s office. I had slipped on a pair of black leggings and a light green, slightly stretched out shirt that hung past my shoulders. My feet grazed against the plush, white carpet as I quietly padded through the house. I tousled the light red waves away from my eyes and let out a deep breath that I didn’t know I had been holding. I slowly turned the golden knob and knocked slightly before opening the door all the way.

”You can come in,” he called to me. I closed the large wooden door behind me, and my feet turned cold as they met the hardwood floors of my Dad’s office. It was strikingly cold I noticed as I folded my arms against my chest, feeling small goose bumps make their way against my skin.

”Come sit,” he said, urging me with his hand to take the small leather chair next to him. He was lounging in his larger, black leather computer chair, his dark brown eyes focused on something on his large silver laptop. “Ah, this venue is perfect!”

”What venue?” I asked, talking quietly. I still never really felt quite comfortable in ordinary conversations with my Dad, considering they only happened about once a week.

”This new retro theatre that Lina just emailed me about,” he smiled, clicking fiercely through all of the pictures on the theatre’s website that his assistant had sent him.

”Seems really cool, Dad,” I smiled slightly, faking interest.

”You bet it does!” he laughed, already tapping the theatre’s number into his iPhone’s screen.

I rested my back against the small chair, and pulled his leather bound planning notebook from his large desk and started making a list for him so he wouldn’t forget to do anything. That’s all he really needed from me anyway.

As I finished with the last words being, “Call Kyle, your guitar manager, and make sure he has your guitars dropped off at the place the morning of,” I pushed the book back into a spot I knew he would remember to look at it, and stood up.

”Hang on one second,” he said to the manager of the venue on the phone. He covered the mouth piece with his large hand and looked up at me with concern. The concern, I noted, mostly for himself because he thought I’d decided against helping him.

”Where are you going?” he asked, anxiously.

”It’s all right there in your book, Dad. Everything you need to remember to do. Just check off everything as you go,” I shrugged.

Not like you need me for anything else, I said to myself.

He smiled slightly as first, and then frowned for a quick moment. He seemed to be thinking quickly as to what to say, other than a small thank you, which would have been enough for me. After a few more seconds, he smiled again, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulled out his wallet, he set his iPhone down and pulled out two crisp one hundred dollar bills, the small corners slightly bent from the wear of its home.

”Buy yourself something nice for the benefit, then?” he said, smiling widely at me, handing me the bills.

Was he serious? He was thanking me by giving me money? Were a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I love you’ just too hard to suffice?

”Thanks Dad,” I said, a tight lipped smile making its way onto my face. It’s nice to know that I helped with everything and I don’t even get a thank you, just a token of affection with two hundred dollars.

He picked his iPhone back up and started talking animatedly, waving his hands around like a mad man, excitement clear as day on his unshaven face.

I trudged back up to the room I was in an hour ago, and slipped back into the familiar confinements of the bed. I wrapped the covers around me like a cocoon and pressed my eyes closed forcefully, silently hoping that I could stop the tears that I knew were about to fall.

Not that anyone in this house would notice anyway.