Shades of Sydney (PUBLISHED ON AMAZON)

Chapter Five

Amelia was still fast asleep at noon. To kill the time, I decided to call my mom. I knew she'd appreciate the gesture. After all, I was her only child.

"Hello?" My mother's voice sounded breathy, as if she had to run to get the phone.

"Mom?" I asked, sinking into my leather chair in the living room.

"Syd? Hey, baby, what's up?" She sounded joyful when she knew it was me.

"Nothing much. Why do you sound out of breath?"

"I was outside doing laundry when I heard the phone ringing."

I was right. "Okay."

"How's your vacation going? Does Amelia like Malibu? Grandma's beach house still in good condition?"

Currently my best friend is passed out on her bed. I'll have to ask her later.

I couldn't say that, so I came up with something simple. "The beach house is fine. And Amelia is having the best time. She loves surfing."

My mom laughed. Her laugh always made me smile. "I'm glad."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm hanging in there."

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. "Do anything fun lately?"

"Does going to the movies count?"

"Sure."

Her voice sounded like honey. I liked hearing she was okay while I was away.

She said, "Then yeah, I did."

The coffee pot was full of sweet, black coffee. I poured some into my mug. "You should go out more, Mom. Meet some guy and—"

"Sydney, we have already had this conversation." Her tone quickly became harsh, almost bitter.

"I know..."

"I have some news about your father."

My stomach knotted itself together. I took a quick sip of the hot coffee and said, "I don't want to hear about your ex."

I referred to my father as my mom's ex because I didn't like to accept he was my dad. He wasn't there for me. Well, I guess he was, but not in the ways a father should be. Just existing and lying in bed most days didn't count. He hasn't lived with us for five years. I wasn't sure how he was anymore.

"You're going to regret being cold-hearted to him one day. Learning about his cancer should bring you two closer, not drive you further apart."

I looked down at my coffee, wishing I could drown in it than have this conversion. "I know. People keep telling me that, but I don't care."

She clicked her tongue. "I'll drop it if you don't want to know."

"Is it good or bad?"

"Good."

A sigh escaped my lips. "Fine, lay it on me."

"His cancer is shrinking. The tumor is half the size it was when it was first found."

I placed my mug on the counter and sat at the bar. "That's good."

"Yeah, it buys him some more time. But he'll never be cured."

"I know," I said flatly.

"Well, the dog wants to go for a walk. I'll catch up with you later. Thanks for calling me."

"No problem. I love you."

"I love you too, baby. Bye."

"Bye." I hung up and sat the phone down next to my cup.

I downed the rest of my coffee and abandoned the mug on the counter. My throat tingled from the heat, but it was good to feel something. I went into the living room and sunk into my couch.

I wished she hadn't brought up my father. The topic depressed and frustrated me. My father was diagnosed with liver and colon cancer three months ago. He could've avoided it if he went to the doctor more than once every ten years and stopped abusing meth and alcohol.

My mom and I never knew he had been using meth for years. He wasn't bouncing off the walls or talking up a storm. Instead, he pissed himself off in seconds and physically injured my mom, threatening to kill her. He'd punch holes in the walls and break anything nearby, mostly knick knacks and a movie or two.

The man was also paranoid and saw things. Once he convinced himself a cop was in our carport, spying on him. Another time he swore cameras were hidden in the palm trees across the street, trained on him.

But who was I to judge? He was only my father, the man who was supposed to protect me.

People liked to remind me I should forgive him for what he had done to me and move on, that his cancer should bring us together. I heard that from everyone. On some sick note, I wanted him dead and gone. That way I didn't have to think about him. To me, he died when I was ten. That's when he stopped caring about his family and his life and refused to go to work.

When I thought about caring for him, all the painful memories came flooding back. In particular, I remember how he was childish and pushed me when I had fallen after twisting my ankle in a hole the dog dug when I was eleven. Then my father acted like he was five and ran around the house like an annoying little brother.

If he was a true father, he would've carried me into the house and got me ice. No, I got pushed and laughed at. Mom had it out with him when she came home, telling him he should take care of his daughter. It was one of many fights that ended their nineteen- year marriage.

When I felt bad for him, the memories brought my hate back to the surface. It was how I coped. Some said it was the wrong way, but it was my way.

What I needed was a perfect angry band to wash away the thoughts about my father and Jason. I turned to my iPod and listened to In This Moment. Sometimes, music is the only place a person can turn.