The Doll Garden

Twelve

My father may not have been able to walk very well, but he'd do anything to walk in his garden for what he thought would be his last time. I was witnessing that determination for myself for the first time now.

"Wow," he breathed out, "it's been so long, I couldn't remember what it felt like to go for a stroll out here." He may have been talking but he wasn't talking to me. I saw him smile to himself and breathe in another long breath of fresh air. He propped his cane up straight, using it to hold himself steady. I was surprised to see he had pulled it out of storage.

The last time my father used his old, silver cane was years before I left home. That was when his knees had started going bad. I hadn't seen him use it for any duration of our time here since coming back to visit. But if he needed his cane again nowadays, I could only assume his muscles were growing weaker. He was another step closer to his death bed.

"When's the last time you did?" I wrung my hands together in front of me.

"The day I found out I was sick," was his content reply. My jaw clenched. He almost sounded too content, but I didn't point that out. We basked in the breeze and the silence between us for a few minutes more. It'd been a while since I stood alone in the garden with my father.

I should have been okay with the fact that he seemed at peace. But I wasn't. I couldn't pretend I was okay with it either. The fountain's running water eased some comfort in me. Enough comfort that I'd found the courage to speak my mind on the matter.

"Why won't you receive treatment?" I pulled my hands apart and combed one of them through my curls, looking over at him. His gaze was now set upon the inside of the fountain—his eyes daunting over his reflection—and both his hands were folded on top of his cane. I wouldn't have thought he was a dying man if I were just meeting him for the first time.

He sighed the kind of sigh that told me he was treading carefully with me. "This old man is going to die very soon, regardless... All receiving treatment will do is delay the process."

I scowled. "So, that's it? Do you want to leave us and this Earth that badly?"

He turned his head—obviously not in the mood to discuss this with me—so that I could see the solemness on his face and he could see the bewilderment on mine. "I wouldn't say that... But I think I've left enough behind."

"But, Dad—" I began.

"I'd appreciate it if you would drop it, Jenna." His voice was smooth. Relaxed. If I knew my father like I thought I knew him, I knew that wasn't a request, but a warning.

I scoffed. "How can I drop it when you—!?"

"Jenna." His tone dropped an octave as he spoke my name with emphasis.

There was a tick in my jaw. "Fine... I'll stop asking," I gritted. "Dropping it is always your answer to everything anyway." The tension in my laugh was thick.

"Marcus, Kim is finishing off the grocery list. Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Both of our heads whipped around to find Candace approaching us. She halted any sudden movements she made, taking in the two of us standing side by side. My father straightened his back and tightened his grip on his cane. For a moment, Candace looked to be in awe.

She was probably mistaking our closeness for a mending of our relationship. That was far from what was happening, though. I didn't know if my father and my relationship could ever go back to the way it once was. Nothing about this estate could go back to the way it once was. Candace was wise, but she'd have been a fool to think otherwise.

She cleared her throat and smiled. "Aye! Perdóneme. I'm sorry. Did I interrupt?"

"Nope. Just the same old conversation. Like always." I shut my mouth before the agitation I felt caused me to say anything else I couldn't take back. My father noticeably flinched at my words in the corner of my eyes.