When the Last Light Fades

A week before the wedding, I took my dad to the hospital where my fiancé worked for an upper endoscopy under sedation. Dad had gotten up extra early to shave and put on a gleaming white shirt and a new pair of shoes. Clutching his numbered ticket, he asked me quietly, "If Yale's busy, we don't need to see him. We shouldn't hold him up." I patted his arm. "Don't worry. I made an appointment. It wouldn't be holding him up." He'd been up since five without anything to eat. By eleven, his legs were trembling from standing. I texted Yale Xavier. [Dad can barely stand anymore. How many people are ahead of us?] It took him a long time to reply. [Wait your turn like everyone else.] Another hour passed. Just as our turn finally came, they called in the mother and daughter who'd been sitting the whole time. Through the gap in the door, I heard the girl ask, "Yale, who are those people outside? Are you sure it's okay to give me their spot?" "Sure. I happen to know them a little. They're father and daughter. They won't mind." I looked down at the ticket in my palm, soaked with my dad's sweat. Dad had paid his tuition for medical school and his doctorate, and in five days, I was supposed to marry him. Now we were just people he happened to know. I rolled up the ticket and tucked it into my pocket, then helped Dad to the nearest place serving breakfast. As soon as we sat down, I sent a message to our family and friends. [The wedding is off.] Chapter 1 Breakfast was unusually quiet. Dad spooned up his grits and tried to reason with me. "Yale didn't mean anything by it. Don't let something this small come between you. Listen to me. Go ahead with the wedding." I didn't answer. I just slipped a strip of bacon from my plate onto his plate. Back home, Dad ran a small breakfast place. He got up before dawn to knead dough and let it rise, shape rolls and hand pies, and fry doughnuts while the coffee brewed. Yale had accepted Dad's money for tuition without a second thought, but he'd never asked where it came from. Five- and ten-dollar bills and loose coins piled up in a drawer, stained with grease and grime. The cost showed even more plainly on Dad's hands, covered in thick calluses and burn blisters. Whenever I visited, I told him to take a break. He'd wipe his face with a towel and give me his guileless smile. "Once I've saved enough for a down payment for you two, I will." At the beginning of the year, Dad started complaining that his stomach hurt. I asked Yale if he could use his staff family privileges to arrange an endoscopy for him. He refused outright. "I'm a senior doctor. How can I be the one pulling strings?" I had to admit he had a point. So with the wedding coming up, I booked Dad an appointment for the week before it and reminded Yale several times. Every time, he said, "Got it," without looking up. Apparently, "Got it" hadn't meant he'd remember. It hadn't been a promise. He'd only said it to brush me off. I took Dad home and booked him an appointment at another major hospital. By seven that evening, Yale still hadn't called or texted to ask whether Dad had had his endoscopy, or whether we wanted to go out for a while. By eight, the dinner I'd made had gone cold, and Yale still wasn't home. I called him. The phone rang for two seconds before he hung up. I texted him. [When are you coming home?] He didn't reply. I picked up my fork, but Dad stopped me. "We shouldn't eat without him. Yale might be in surgery..." Under the light, his smile drew all the wrinkles in his face together. Against his white hair, the sight stung. I swallowed the ache in my throat and set my fork down. My phone chimed with a notification about a new post. I opened it and saw Yale grinning and flashing a peace sign with the mother and daughter from the hospital. They were in a lavish private dining room with his coworkers, a table full of food in front of them. A nurse I knew, Nora Price, had tagged me in the comments. [Hey, Mrs. Xavier, Yale's treating his childhood sweetheart to dinner. Where are you?] I stared at the screen until it went dark. Then I typed a few words. [Guess I'm not worthy.] I put down my phone and told Dad to eat. "He's having dinner with his coworkers. We don't need to wait." Dad's hand went still on the table. He quickly forced a smile. "It's right for him to treat them. He has to maintain those relationships at the hospital. We can't help him with that, so we should support him." I ate in silence. Every bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. I'd barely chewed a few mouthfuls when Yale called. His voice was colder than a knife. "Delete it." Chapter 2 I gripped my phone and went into the bedroom. "All my friends and coworkers can see your comment," Yale said. "What are they supposed to think of Paige? We grew up together. Her mother is my godmother..." I cut him off. "So you gave her the appointment Dad and I waited four hours for?" The line went dead quiet, as if the words had caught in his throat. "Dad was sitting there in a cold sweat, his legs shaking, just waiting for an endoscopy. You told us to wait our turn while those two sat around eating pretzels and drinking coffee. All they needed was a blood pressure check. Any nurse could have done it, so why did you give them our spot?" My questions seemed to make him angry. His voice shot up. "Your dad stands for over ten hours a day at work. Why's he suddenly acting so fragile? You're picking a fight with me over one appointment? Are you really that petty?" "Petty? If I were petty, I wouldn't have called to ask you home for dinner. Dad comes to visit, and you never take him anywhere. "Instead, you'll fall all over yourself to play son to someone else. You book a private dining room and treat them to dinner—" "Enough!" Yale shouted so hard his voice cracked. "Listen to yourself, Xandra Sutton. You disgust me. Keep making a scene, and we don't have to get married!" I didn't speak for a long time. Then the bedroom door opened, and I saw the hurt in Dad's eyes. I hurriedly ended the call. "Xan, don't fight with Yale. My stomach doesn't hurt anymore. I'm fine." As if to prove it, he thumped his stomach hard. But I knew people in their sixties and seventies were at high risk for stomach cancer. Just last month, when I'd brought Yale dinner at the hospital, I'd passed the body of a patient who had died of advanced stomach cancer. The shape beneath the white sheet had made me think of Dad, with his irregular meals and his aching stomach. My heart had nearly leapt out of my chest then. Yale had laughed and said I was letting worry get the better of me. I forced a smile for Dad and raised a hand in promise. "Okay. I won't fight with him." "Good. When he gets home... talk to him nicely." I saw the hope in his eyes. Digging my nails into my palm, I quietly said I would. The front door opened just then. Yale came in with his arms full, followed by the mother and daughter from the hospital. He didn't spare Dad a glance. Instead, he bent to take two pairs of new padded slippers from the shoe cabinet and handed them to his guests. Now I understood why he'd snatched those slippers from Dad the day before. "Older people get athlete's foot," he'd said. "Give him the old pair. We can throw them out when he leaves." Dad had barely stepped inside our home. Yale had already been thinking about getting him out of it. I'd wanted to argue, but Dad tugged my sleeve to silence me. Then he rubbed his hands together, bent forward, and gave Yale an eager smile. "Yale's right. The old ones are better. They're comfortable. I like wearing them! Don't fight over something so small." Remembering it made my whole body burn. Dad caught my hand without warning and held it so tightly that I didn't have to look at him to know what he wanted. He wanted me to put up with it. Once Yale and his guests had changed their shoes, he straightened. "Xandra, have your dad stay at a motel tonight. There are too many people for everyone to stay here." Your dad. That was what he'd called him since yesterday. When he'd needed money for tuition, Dad had been "Uncle Sutton." Now that Yale had become a senior doctor, he was "your dad." I said nothing, so Yale gestured toward the two women. "This is my godmother, Helen Grant, and this is her daughter, Paige Grant. She's like a little sister to me." I held back my anger and greeted them both. Helen didn't answer. She hurried over and slapped me hard across the face. "You little bitch! Have you no shame? You barely know my godson. What gives you the right to come into his home while he's away?" Chapter 3 For a moment, the slap left me too stunned to move. I held a hand to my cheek, then stepped forward to confront Helen. Yale immediately turned to shield her and Paige. "Xandra! My godmother has a quick temper. She didn't mean it." Paige stayed behind him. "Don't stop me, Yale. A shameless woman like her needs to be taught a lesson." "Exactly!" Helen pointed at me. "If you really know my godson, why didn't he invite you to dinner tonight? I've seen plenty of shameless whores like you." She rushed at me, still shouting. Yale blocked my way but did nothing to stop either of them. Dad was the only one who moved to protect me. Before anyone could react, Helen's palm struck his face instead. The room fell silent. Dad didn't get angry. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then smiled at Yale. "It's all right. Just a misunderstanding. We're almost family, and Helen has a quick temper. I understand." He was still gripping my hand, as though he feared I'd make things worse because she'd hit him. He was always telling me how capable Yale was. "He made his own way. He's already a lead surgeon at a major hospital, and he's still young. "You'll have a good life with him. I can't give you that life, but if I've helped you find a good man, that's enough for me. Let the little things go, as long as you're happy." So Dad kept giving way. When Yale threw out the homemade pickles Dad had carried more than a thousand miles, Dad waved it off. When Yale refused to contribute to the wedding, Dad handed me his savings passbook, its edges worn soft from handling. "I've put this money aside for you," he said. Even when Yale wouldn't come home with me for the holidays, Dad made excuses for him. "He works hard all year. The holidays are his only chance to rest. That trip would wear him out. We should be understanding." And for all that understanding, we got insults and slaps. Yale seemed to come to his senses at last. He grabbed my hand. "Xandra, calm down. I apologize for my godmother. She's only looking out for me." I hadn't hit or insulted anyone. Still, I was the one he wanted to calm down. Only then did he turn to Helen and Paige. "There's been a misunderstanding. Xandra's my fiancée, and that's her father." Paige looked me up and down. "That's her? Yale, your taste is terrible." Helen gave a cold snort. "This morning you said you barely knew her. Now she's your fiancée? Even if she is, she has no business living in your house before you're married. Has she no shame?" Yale said nothing. He let them insult me without telling them that my family had paid the down payment on this house. I let out a breath, took Dad's hand, and headed for the door. Yale caught my arm. "Where are you going?" I pulled free and looked straight at him. "Yale Xavier, we're done." The hallway was dim, but the swelling on Dad's face stood out. So did the drops of blood on his collar. Yale followed us out. "Xandra! We can talk about this. Why are you throwing a tantrum? If you leave, who's supposed to look after my godmother?" This time, Dad didn't ask me to stay. His hand shaking, he reached past me and pressed the elevator button first. Chapter 4 Dad and I stayed at a hotel that night. The next morning, I took him to another hospital for the same endoscopy process. This time, we had the result in two hours: a stomach polyp, not cancer. The fear I'd been carrying finally began to ease. Yale called throughout the morning and sent messages when I didn't answer. [Xandra, we're adults. Don't run away from home over one little thing.] Apparently, anything involving Dad and me was little. Paige and Helen were another matter. [Paige likes that limited-edition coat of yours. I gave it to her since you aren't wearing it.] The coat was brand-new. I'd saved it for our first visit to Dad after the wedding. Before I could get over that, another message arrived. [Paige wants to be your bridesmaid, but she doesn't have a dress. I gave her your champagne-colored one.] It was the only dress I had for the reception. Yale hadn't asked about Dad once, yet he'd found a way to bring Paige into every message. I left them unanswered and kept my attention on Dad's procedure. As they took him into the procedure room, a nurse hurried over. "Ms. Sutton, we still need payment for your father's procedure." "I put down $4,500 yesterday." "The payment didn't clear. The money was withdrawn from the account this morning." I'd paid from our shared account. Yale was the only other person who could have emptied it. My savings were already gone, spent on the house down payment and the wedding planner's deposit. Without that money, I couldn't pay for Dad's procedure. Yale answered when I called. "Did you take the money I set aside for the hospital?" "Yes." "Put it back. Dad's procedure is today." "Too late. I bought Helen a gold bracelet with it and spent what was left on clothes for Paige." "Then how am I supposed to pay for Dad?" "Take out a loan. Or borrow it." "Yale, Dad paid $200,000 toward your medical training. Now he needs a procedure, and you won't give him $4,500?" He paused. "I could give it to you. I'm choosing not to. This is your punishment for going to another doctor. How do you think that makes me look to my colleagues?" The nurse called to me again. I forced down my anger. "Please lend me the money for the procedure. We can discuss everything else afterward." "Fine, if you sign something first." "What?" "Helen likes our house. She wants to retire there. Sign it over to her." "Why would I do that?" "Because you've loved me for ten years. You're not going to give me up now." Sunlight poured through the windows, but I felt cold spread all the way down to my feet. Yale had pushed Dad and me out of our home and taken the money set aside for his care. Now he wanted the house itself. I ended the call and phoned the bank, hoping to borrow against the property. The representative apologized. "We can't approve another loan against this house, Ms. Sutton. A $45,000 home-equity loan was opened yesterday." My hand shook around the phone. Yale had planned for my refusal. If I wouldn't sign over our house, he could borrow against it, put the money toward another one, and leave me with the debt. I called an old family friend, Daniel Brooks, back home. Within five minutes, he'd sent me $7,500, and I hurried to the nurses' station. Elsewhere, Yale was discussing where to buy Helen's new house with her and Paige. "Won't Xandra be upset that you borrowed against the house?" Paige asked. "No. We're getting married tomorrow, and she can't wait to marry me. She won't make a scene now." Helen patted his shoulder. "You're a senior doctor. She's just a junior office worker. She should thank her lucky stars you want her. You have the upper hand." Yale nodded. By eleven the next morning, the food had been served at the wedding venue, but every seat reserved for the bride's side was empty. Xandra and her father hadn't come either. Yale's coworkers were the only guests at the tables. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he called a mutual friend, Jordan Miller. Jordan answered him angrily. "You took Xandra's house and her father's surgery money, you bastard. Who would marry you after that?"