Tides of the Heart (Crestwood Chronicles #1)

Chapter 25

Professor MacDowell bolts to his feet, nearly upsetting his glass of wine, pale with shock and relief. With a whisper of Hazel's name on his lips, he crosses the room in three strides and snatches his son in a crushing embrace.

"Jesus Christ," he grates through clenched teeth, giving Hazel a combination bear hug and shake. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been? You could at least have acknowledged my texts—let me know you were alive, for God's sake!"

"I'm surprised you noticed I was gone," Hazel huffs, shaking free of his father's hold. "I figured it would be a month before you even thought to check my room."

MacDowell lets his hands drop to his side with a look of devastation. "You know that isn't true."

Hazel tries to glare, but can't hold his father's gaze, and looks away, biting his lip as fresh pain twists his face. His eyes meet mine where I still sit at the table, frozen in place like a thief caught red-handed, and my gut churns with misplaced guilt. He would never admit it, but I see how much he envies me and wishes he was in my place, having dinner and an open, honest conversation with his dad.

I set my napkin aside and rise. "I'll give you some privacy," I say, keeping my attention on the professor.

"Don't bother," Hazel interjects, a tearful, angry warble in his voice, and focuses on his dad. "He's the son you've always wanted. You're perfect for each other. I'm the one intruding. I'll go."

He turns and takes a step towards the door.

"Hazelius!"

Hazel flinches a little; I practically jump out of my skin. MacDowell's voice is like a thunderclap—as if Zeus himself had spoken—carrying the stentorian tone and lung power of someone accustomed to giving long lectures in large halls.

Hazel turns and glowers, but says nothing.

MacDowell exhales heavily and speaks in a far quieter tone. "I should have told you this a long time ago, Hazel; and I'm sorry it took a poor excuse for a father to make me want to be a better one. I love you. I always have, and I always will. I've done a lousy job proving it so far, but I want to change that, if you'll give me half a chance."

"Why should I?" Hazel's lip curls, and I flinch again. There's poison in his tone; it's born of hurt, not hate, and it's not aimed at me, but I shy away from it nonetheless.

His father's expression deflates further, from sadness to resignation. "Hazel... I'm fifty-seven years old, pushing fifty-eight. If I'm lucky in health, I have another decade or so of good years ahead of me. Maybe more, maybe less. I don't want us to spend them like this—angry at each other; hurting one another. I want something better for us."

Hazel narrows his eyes. "Right. I should have known you'd make it about you. You want us on good term so I'll take care of you—like you did so well for Mom."

MacDowell flinches as if struck, but to his credit he maintains his calm, and takes the blow without anger.

"You're young," he remarks after a brief pause, "but I hope you're wise enough to admit you've made your share of mistakes." He casts a meaningful glance my way. "If you could go back in time—say something different, set things right—wouldn't you do almost anything for that chance? But you can't. You have to live with it, and hope that those whom you've hurt, and whom you love, will forgive you."

Hazel continues to glare, but nothing the professor has said is untrue or unfair, and he knows it. "Took you long enough to come to that conclusion," he grumbles sullenly.

The lines of MacDowell's face lift with a slight, sad smile. "Another thing you will discover, if you have not already, is that habits are hard things to break—bad ones, especially. I'm trying, Hazel; I'm trying, but I need you to meet me half way. I can't do this alone. I'm not asking you to forget the past, or to forgive everything at once. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance."