Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty

"I don't know what I want. No, that's not true." I turn to him, mouth setting into a hard line. "I want you to live... I want that."

"I wish that were the case too, Scarlett. I do. But it's not." He sets aside his novel, closing the pages. "You told me you'd think on it and I haven't forgotten that. If you don't want this, you don't have to take it. I don't want to force you into anything, not now.

"As much as I want you to have it, I realize that you've made plans for your life, and I'd never want to hold you back. I don't want you to take this because I'm dying and you feel bad saying no."

I throw up my hands in frustration. "Well, Norman, I won't lie. That is a very big part of this!"

His mouth sets and curves with disappointment. "Then don't take it."

"No, this is your legacy. I've built this place up with you. I'm not just going to give it to someone who could destroy it all."

"Then sell it."

I scowl at him, as if he had just offended me with an insult. And I'm completely aware of why that is my reaction.

And it's because my decision has already been made, floating around in my head, never settling, for some time now. It's only the feeling of entrapment to him and the image of the life I had begun to picture in my head that is making me argue on this.

Because saying yes means I'm accepting what he has to offer me. In a world where I've had to get by on my own, saying yes to this means that for the rest of my life, Norman White is my father. And while I have allowed myself to realize that, I still am having trouble with the acceptance of it all.

Because saying yes to this feels like I'm letting go of who I am.

I should be ready to let her go, but I'm not. My memories, while destructive, are mine. They are real. This woman who is being offered the world from a dying man feels like an imposter.

And yet, I don't have it in me to deny him anything right now.

"I'm not going to sell it. I'm not going to put anyone else in charge, Norman. That's just not happening."

"Scarlett—"

"You're my father," I snap, pinning him with a sharp, determined gaze. He just sits there, staring at me. I shake my head at him, unwilling to fight it anymore.

"You're my father and this is the thing you've loved more than anything else in the world. I'm going to take care of it—for you. So, just stop trying to make me change my mind." I stand up, holding out my hands in front of me. "It's made up."

I pull on my blouse as I exit the room, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

"There's medicine in the kitchen."

"Thanks," I mumble begrudgingly, heading in that direction, knowing I need a pillow and a vapor rub more than anything else right now. "Can I get you anything? While I'm in there?"

"I'm alright."

"What about tea? I can make some ginger tea?" I press, stopped by the entrance to the hallway.

"If you're having a cup, that's fine."

"Alright."

"Scarlett."

I stop again, and turn to him. He's not looking up at me, but down at his lap. I barely hear the words he says because they are uttered so low.

"That firm means next to nothing... in comparison to you."

With a sharp suck of air, I spin back around and hurry to the kitchen, before I let myself actually feel the pain of those words.

...