Keeper of The Lost Cities: Book 9: Showdown

Chapter 36 - Keefe's POV

My room is just as it was when I left it, which is to say, messy.

But I can tell it has been tended to. There is no dust over my many bookshelves, my books arranged tallest to shortest, the way I like them. The book I was reading is still open on the table in front of my favorite armchair, worn through the years of my using it.

My bed is made, and I'm reminded of Foster telling me my father slept in it.

I decide to look away.

"I was surprised to find that book," my father says from the doorway.

Ro takes this opportunity to slip out the doorway.

"That was expected." I reply. "No one would think that wayward prankster Keefe Sencen read books."

My father presses his lips together. "I didn't expect you to read, that's not wrong. But I was surprised that you were specifically reading that title." He steps over and picks it up, careful to use his finger so as to not lose my page. "This was your mother's favorite book." He runs some fingers over something in the cover. "Her copy, too."

I look at the book with renewed interest. The book, titled Nonexistent, talks about a lost civilization in a city that's not supposed to exist. Illegal things happen there, and I think I'm at the part where other people find out about the city.

It's been a while since I read.

I'm suddenly reminded that the plot is eerily similar to real life.

I take the book from my father and run my fingers over the covers, searching for something.

I sink to the floor looking for a letter, a piece of paper, words, anything.

When I find nothing there, I search the binding for anything, then attack the pages.

"Did it ever occur to you," my father muses as I continue to forage the book, "that maybe your mother simply liked the book? That maybe it was one simple thing about her? That it had nothing to do with her ... goals?"

I look at him blankly.

"She used to read it when she was pregnant with you," he smiles at the memory. "She'd sit on that very armchair and read it out loud for hours, like she was reading to you. And then when you were very little, you had that thing humans call... when you can't sleep at night? Insignia?"

"Insomnia," I provide.

"That," he affirms. "You wouldn't sleep unless she was next to you, reading from that book."

I raise an eyebrow. "I think I would remember that."

He shakes his head sadly. "No, you wouldn't, because she didn't want you to remember."

"She wiped the memory?"

He nods. "I'm sorry you don't have any happy memories of your mother. I like to believe she really loved you, the way a mother would. At least in the beginning."

"And then what? I grew to be 'too constant' for her, and suddenly I was such a pest?" I shake my head and turn to look at the book, now silent in my unmoving hands. "And what about you?"

He blinks at me. "What do you-"

"She might have... loved me in the beginning, but I've never even felt anything even remotely affectionate from you. All I felt was disappointment. Disappointment because a 98 was never good enough. Disappointment because I skipped one grade and not two. Because I could have been you, silent and in the shadows while at school, but instead I'm a social butterfly in the spotlight. Because I actually have -"

"Stop." suddenly my father's kneeling at my level and his surprisingly strong and steady hands are gripping my shoulders. "Is that what you really think?"

"It's not like you've given any reason to think otherwise."

He exhales deeply, like his chest has suddenly caved in on itself. He looks down, like he can't bear to meet my eyes. "Keefe, I- I didn't - I'm... sorry."

I start at the words. He keeps going. "I didn't know - it was never-" my father sighs and adjusts his position so he's sitting on the floor across from me. "It was never disappointment, Keefe."

"It sure felt that way," I say and look away from him.

"I know, and I apologize for it." his voice is tender with emotions I've yet to hear from him. "I knew of your potential-"

"So did she. My 'legacy' and all that." I snap. "Don't waste your time saying things you don't mean. I'm not worth it, anyway."

"Must you be so stubborn, even when I try to make amends with you?"

"Yes!" I yell. "Yes, because I know who you are and who Mom is. I know that anything you might say is fake, insincere. I know all you want for me is to better than I am right now-"

"You are very, very, intractable." my father states the obvious. "I suppose that if you don't want to hear what I say, then I won't say it. But I do want you to know that-"

"I don't -"

"Want to hear it, yes, I know." my father waves me off. "For what it's worth, I regret that we spent seventeen years this way."

"I do, too." I look at my book again, stubborn tears threatening to push themselves over the edges. "I regret that you're my father, and not someone who actually cares."

My father grits his teeth and leaves like the room.

Ro whistles from the door after he's gone. "I love my snarky boys, but... you don't think you could - or should - give him a chance?"

I shake my head. "He had seventeen years to-"

"And he's choosing now. If not now, when? Had he done it two years ago, you'd have said the same thing you are now."

I change the topic. "D'you think you can sense anything from this?" I hold up the book. Ro contemplates the book and sinks into my armchair with it. "No," she says frustratingly. "But there is this." she presses a finger on to the spine and runs it down, revealing what appears to be a slit in the cover. She pulls out a letter. "Is this what you're looking for?"

"I don't know what I'm looking for."

"Huh." Ro looks very skeptical as she thoroughly examines the letter. "Well, it's addressed to you."