Avalon and Maddock

Chapter 12: Avalon

When Maddock came over that night for our homework assignment, I asked him to stay until after the boys were in bed because I needed to talk with him. Although a little puzzled, he didn't ask any questions and simply agreed.

The boys were thrilled that Maddock was staying for dinner, and I was happy he was there to entertain the boys because I was still in a mind funk about the revelations that my father had unwillingly dropped on me earlier in the day. I spoke only when spoken to, and Maddock, knowing that something was wrong with me, worked hard to divert the boys' attention from me and keep it focused on the boys.

When they were done eating, Maddock had them clear their plates and cups and  then announced he was giving them their baths that night, and the news was received with much wildness and whooping. So the three of them disappeared, and I heard the tub filling to little voices ordering more bubbles, Daddy! Through it all, Maddock's deep laugh underlined the boys' giggles and demands.

I cleared my plate and scraped just about everything I'd served myself into the garbage. Like a robot, I rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the kitchen table and washed out the sink. My dad's betrayal played over and over in my mind.

Every few weeks, he'd call me and say he really needed to talk to you about the situation, but I'd talk him out of it, reminding him how the constant worry killed your mother and how I'd always been warned by your doctors to minimize your stress and anxiety.

I was trying to protect you, Avalon. You were my only concern.

He wasn't good for you. Look at what he put you through for seven months.

You can't blame me, Avalon. You were all I had left after your mother died, and I wanted you with someone who deserved you. Your marriage problems aren't on me.

What a lie that was. My father had told Maddock not to talk to me about his company's problems because it would literally kill me and he'd made a convincing case for it. Then while he was advising Maddock of one thing, he was warning me that if Maddock wasn't talking to me, it was because my husband was having an affair.

I brewed Maddock a cup of coffee -- caffeine never kept him awake -- and I made myself a cup of tea, hoping that would settle the nausea that hadn't left me since my father confessed to his wrongdoings.

Evil doings may have sounded dramatic but was probably accurate.

It wasn't for him to decide who I spent my life with. It wasn't for him to decide who I loved. It wasn't for him to decide who was worthy of me and who was not. This man I'd loved all my life had set out to destroy my marriage deliberately and without remorse. He'd still been justifying it when he'd finally confessed after I kept at him to tell me the truth. After about twenty minutes of replaying the scene with my father, I heard little feet running to get into their pajamas and decided to just let Maddock take over completely tonight.

I was drained and disheartened. Betrayed by my own father on so many levels. He'd betrayed my mother, too. Ignoring her problems in favor of saving his business. Not caring enough to change his focus. Business had been all important, and while I could understand wanting to save his real estate company, I couldn't understand doing that at the expense of his wife and the mother of his only child.

When I was home, I was still working and I didn't have time to really pay attention to you or your mother because I was working on strategies, making calls, fighting to keep what I'd built.

So if Dad was never home, and my mother was drinking heavily, who was watching me? Taking care of me? I tried to search my memories, but my mother was a vague, blurry figure to me, gone before I had any solid memories of her, and even those little bits had faded over the years until I was left with nothing, really. Dad had never spoken about her or tried to keep her memory alive for me after she'd died. Well, now I knew why and it hurt now like it hadn't really hurt then. I'd been too young to remember or even register what had been going on, and Dad had just been too busy to care.