Episode 2

 She twisted the ring on her finger, when she craved to go back to nights that made her feel eternally alive. The ring reminded her the past was truly dead, it couldn’t come back to hurt you if you bury it as deep enough and for years she had worked so hard to fill up the cemetery with her past. Sometimes she was weak and her heart would beat a little faster when she thought of him, his touch, his words and his rare smile. 

“Make my day and dance with me?”

A soft chuckle, “is that the best line you’ve got?” 

“It is from being brain dead after staring at this beauty for a long time.” He spoke with his eyes.

A young girl’s naive blush, “that’s creepy.”

“I’d be creepy as much as you need if it makes you light up like the sun.”

Words. He never lacked the words. She kept twisting the ring on her fourth, left finger, she belonged to another, her head knew that, her heart just had to catch up. Collins was a good man and he’d accepted every baggage she brought with her, the least she could do was not let the words return. Her heart wasn’t entirely at fault, it was the dreams or were they nightmares. She has told no one of how sweaty and terrified she woke up for the past few months. The worst part was that she woke up screaming his name. But the nightmare made no sense to her. It made no sense at all.

She shook her head, a curl from her bun fell to her brown, oval face, settling past her eye. Her full, black, shoulder-length curls were tortured into a bun so she looked like a woman that could successfully run a million-dollar industrial company and that was her goal. Her thought welcomed the arrival of her father. He was fifteen minutes late or maybe she was fifteen minutes early, it didn’t really matter.

 She accessed the peach, long sleeved, wrap dress which passed her knees and brushed invincible dusts from her lap. She, unnecessarily, adjusted the file on the table. It had her name in front of it, Presentation by Zipporah Ruby Williams, her middle name was from her maternal grandmother. At the bottom of the file was her father’s, Presentation to Mr. Isaac Henry Willams. 

She witnessed him stroll down to her, he was an average-height, bulky man with broad, steady shoulders for a man above fifty years. His dark skin complimented his cream, well-ironed t-shirt above a black trouser. His age didn’t hide the fact that her father was a man fit and handsome in his time.

Her shoulders shot up straight on default when he got to her booth, he was on a phone call, it sounded like it was his secretary, Anita. “Let me call you back later Anita, I’m here with Zee.”

He ended the call and stared at her unfinished breakfast before raising his brown eyes to his daughter. “Anita says hi. Why aren’t you eating?”

She adjusted in her seat, “not hungry. How’s Anita doing? Hope the pregnancy isn’t so hard on her?”

“She’s good. She has refused to take a break. Sometimes I’m happy about that, no one does the job like her.”

“Yeah, she’s great. You know she still sends me motivational morning text messages like she does when I was in college.”

He chuckled, “yes, she’s quite consistent.” It gave Zipporah a prideful moment to watch him truly smile with his eyes.

The waiter appeared with a cup of tea, he asked if they needed anything else. They both shook their heads and were left to the obvious mild tension in the air. Isaac took a sip of his tea, appreciating the absence of sugar with a satisfying nod. He regarded his only child, he knew she was nervous and he disliked making her feel such discomfort. Her beautiful, wild hair like her mother’s was tamed in a bun, it exposed her full, slim face which was mostly under the veil of her curls. Her eyes were anywhere but his. 

When you care for a child for twenty-four years, you see them become a stranger everyday as they drift beyond your giggling infant. Isaac felt that way, like he’d lost a side of his little baby girl that he could never get back. He took a long sip of his creamy tea, he was about to loose more of her by the end of this meeting. 

He glanced at the file between them, the pile of papers held greater power than it should, “how are the girls doing?”

Impatiently, Zipporah frowned at her father, “they are good Dad.”

“And Colins, he’s good?” He rubbed the hem of his cup of tea, a whip of smoke brewed from the liquid. 

“He’s good too Dad. I’m good too. Everyone’s good.” She pushed the file towards him and tugged the escape curl behind her ear. 

He placed his cup on its saucer, his hands seemed steady but his right leg under the table ached from how much it shook. He rubbed his bald head down his bearded chin. 

“Dad. . . Sir, I have spent weeks gathering every reason I’m qualified to work with you or for you. I have made extensive work on some places the company could revolutionize. The numbers we. . . I mean you accumulated last year is impressive but there’s a better way we could get those numbers up. I just need you to see what I’ve got.” Zipporah winced at how slightly brittle her voice sounded.

“I can’t Zee.” He had his hands on the file, his heart truly broken from the disappointment and sadness he saw in his daughter’s eyes.

“But why daddy? It’s all there, I’ll do my best. I’ll start from anywhere. I swear dad, I just need you to trust me. Please dad. Please.” 

Her voice broke this time and she didn’t try to hide her ability to kneel and beg if he needed her to. The company was founded by her parents right from their college graduation. It was almost like a sibling she had always had to compete with and then a sibling she grew to love and be committed to.

“I can’t do tha. . .”

“Why? Just give me one reason why. And don’t say I’m not ready. I am, I really am.”

“It’s gone.” He spoke, his voice flat and stiff. 

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” A shimmer of panic in her eyes, she drew back to her seat. A part of her knowing what came next.

“I closed the deal last night, sweetie,” he began, “it was always I and mother’s plan. To sell and retire and travel or do whatever we wanted with whatever time we have left. We never wanted to force our legacy on you. We are lucky to have a child that wanted what was ours but ever since your mom. . .” His whole demeanor grew unsteady, his voice shook and his eyes held a great amount of sorrow. He looked away from her then took a brief sip of his tea.

He cleared his throat and continued morosely,“your mom wanted what was best for you and so did I, the company is gone sweetie and I’m so sorry Zee. I have been struggling with how to tell you, I know how much you loved it. Your mother’s last wish was for me to see the world like we planned and I want to do that, for her.”

Zipporah’s heart shattered in her orange booth, not from the news of the company but the realization of how blind she has been to his pain. Mindlessly, she took off her headphone and walked over to sit beside her only family. They understood each other’s pain, their loss was in sync and it broke her heart that for one year, six months, three weeks and five days since her mom’s death, this was the first time she was giving her dad a hug. 

She wrapped her arms around a man she grew to idolize. She placed her head on his shoulder and wept for both of them. She felt his big hands that had pushed her as high as she screamed for in the swings as a kid, draw her closer. Together they mourned a woman that had brought them together and had almost torn them apart. The meeting was not what she had expected, but it was everything she needed. Her Dad. 

Passersby showed no acknowledgment of the father who shed light tears in his daughter’s hair and the daughter that held on to him. The image they created made you wonder about their grief and made you appreciate the beauty of their solace in each other. But one in particular stood afar, witnessing from dark shades, in a black, leather trench coat and a black fedora. Hands in pocket and eyes focused on its prize. Not to win, but to kill.