Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Scared?"

Trying not to show her how shocked I am, I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "A little, yes."

"Every new mother is. You'll be fine."

"Thank you for saying that," I say, through clipped words. I know why she's speaking to me. It's not because her hate has dulled. It's because I'm carrying her first grandchild, and there's something to lose. When I notice Connor approaching, I excuse myself, leaving Giovanni to share some time with his family, considering he's coming back to New York with me.

He immediately pulls me in, which calms the rush of nerves that had plagued me ever since he found out I'd been lying to him for months. He rubs my arms, sighs and lets me go.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. I'm good."

"As much as he and I knocked heads, he was a good guy. Deserved a longer life, much longer."

My eyes move around the guests uncomfortably. When I finally look back, I nod. "Yeah, he did...Look, Connor, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. It's been...complicated. I know I need to explain—"

He holds up his hands, stopping me. "Scarlett, we don't need to speak of that now. You take care of yourself, grieve properly, and I'll see you next week. We'll talk then?"

I'm immensely relieved—and grateful.

"Yes, I'll see you at the office—"

"Scarlett."

Connor takes a step back at the interjection that comes from behind, letting the next mourner attempt to share condolences.

Except the person standing a few feet in front of me isn't a mourner, or even an invited guest.

And I knew that even before Connor moved out of the way. Just hearing his voice, I knew who it was. Let alone that every single hair on my body alerted me to the sound, standing to attention, telling me to run from here as fast as I possibly can.

Connor touches my arm. "Scarlett, I'm going to go now. Take care of yourself, yeah?"

I nod, without giving him my eyes or attention. Connor leaves me, drifting into the crowds of people all around. The hum of the chatter has risen to a loud buzz, irritating my ears, making every noise a burden. The man in front of me is wearing a brown sweater, and untailored slacks. However unruly, he's come dressed for the occasion.

When he takes a step closer, I fall back two, nearly tripping over my heels. My skin has begun to sweat, my body sending tremors throughout, awakening my nerves, my adrenaline. My blood has thickened and slowed, ice cold in my veins.

I can barely get the word out.

"Ted," I whisper, just staring.

Like a ghost from my nightmares, my father has materialized into my reality, because surely, this cannot be the real man. I must be dreaming this, dreaming that he's here, aged and frailer than I knew him to be. He's not smiling, but he's clearly here for a reason.

His eyes are the same, dead, horrifyingly still ones that plague me every day of my life. Those haven't changed, nor the fact that he still reeks of liquor. The smell of his cologne trying to mask that smell is like a trigger to the most wounded part of my soul.

And it sends me into a thousand memories, ones that could cause tears, produce vomit, send even the strongest person to their knees.

"Scarlett."

My mouth, hung open, trembles as a million questions swarm my mind.

"W-What is this?" My frantic eyes scan the area around us. "Why are you here? How are you here?"