Adam's Daughter Read Free

somehow.” He stopped when he saw the sudden glacial expression on her face.
    “What do you expect me to do?” she asked.
    He dropped his eyes to his hands. “I’m sorry, Kellen,” he said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He rose. “Good night.” He went to the door, closing it behind him.
    She sat rigid, staring at her hands now clasped tightly before her on the desk. She noticed a photograph in a sil ver frame sitting off to one corner on the desk and picked it up. It was a sepia-toned remnant from another era, a picture of her father and mother. A tall, handsome man with a wicked smile and a beautiful young woman in an ivory-colored dress with sparkling eyes. Adam Bryant and his bride, Elizabeth Ingram. The woman he had pursued with relentless passion, the woman he had waited for through both their first marriages, the woman he finally married against all odds. The woman who died in a drug-induced delirium when Kellen was thirteen.
    Kellen stared at her mother’s face, trying to connect the image to the memories in her head. Finally, she put the frame back in its place. She rose slowly, rubbing her neck, and walked to the door. Pausing, she looked around the room one more time then left the study, locking the door behind her.
     
     
    Early the next morning, Kellen was awakened by a knock at her bedroom door. She opened it, blinking in the hallway light.
    “Get dressed,” Josh said. “Hurry.”
    The urgency in his voice was like a splash of ice water in her face. She threw on a robe and went quickly to her father’s room. Stephen and the doctor were bending over the bed. Adam’s breathing was labored, his eyes screwed shut with pain. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly.
    “Kellen...”
    His eyes fluttered open but did not focus on her face.
    Kellen was aware of other people closing in around the bed, but she didn’t look up.
    “I’m sorry...so sorry ,” he said.
    “So am I, Daddy...I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
    “I hurt you —-”
    “Daddy, don’t -—”
    H e closed his eyes. The room was quiet for a moment, except for the sound of muffled crying. She looked up. It was Tyler in his pajamas, leaning against a far wall. She saw Ian standing at the end of the bed, his face stony and pale.
    “Kellen...”
    She looked back at her father.
    “Take care of it,” he whispered. “Take care of the newspapers.” He paused. “And Tyler...take care of your brother. Take care of it for me. Kellen? Promise me...”
    “I will, Daddy. I promise.”
    For several minutes, the room was quiet except for the sound of Adam’s labored breathing. Then, suddenly, he gripped Kellen’s hand, and his eyes opened wide.
    “My wife,” he said.
    Kellen felt someone press forward. "I’m here, Adam,” Lilith said.
    He glanced up at her then slowly turned his head away on the pillow. “No,” he said, closing his eyes. “Elizabeth. Where’s Elizabeth?”
    Lilith retreated to Ian’s side. When Kellen looked back at her father, she realized he had stopped breathing. His eyes were closed, but his face was still creased with pain.
    Dry-eyed, Kellen stared at her father’s face then gently released his hand. She reached up and stroked his brow.
    “It’s over, Daddy,” she whispered. “You’re all right now. It’s over.”
     
     
    The funeral was held two days later. Grace Cathedral was filled with the rich, the powerful, and the curious. In the front pew was the vice president of the United States and in the back was a sixteen-year-old San Francisco Times copyboy. Neither had known Adam Bryant well, but each had come out of a sense of allegiance. Adam Bryant had helped both of them get their jobs.
    The house on Divisadero Street was filled with cables, letters, flowers, and the constant ringing of the phone. In grief, everyone reverted to their usual behavior patterns. Josh, with his usual calm efficiency, took up the burden of dealing with the funeral aftermath. Tyler retreated to his room. Ian