Play of Light by Debra Doxer

Author:Debra Doxer [Doxer, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Published: 2014-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Keeping up with Riley was wearing me out. I was exhausted when I fell into bed that night, but my thoughts wouldn’t stop firing. First I thought of the party, and my sore feet reminded me of all the dancing Riley eventually coaxed me into. Then I saw Spencer’s eyes just the way they’d looked tonight, glinting with humor as we splashed in the ocean, and then dark and stormy as he told me why he was with Annabelle.

His eyes had always held my attention, so blank and lifeless when I first met him, and then so full of pain later on. They were more expressive now, but that haunted look was still there. I’d caught a glimpse of it tonight, and it hurt to see it again.

Rolling over, I nearly groaned out loud. I didn’t want my head to be so filled with thoughts of Spencer. My father was the reason I came here. He was the one I wanted to be thinking of. I’d tried not to think of him for so long that it wasn’t natural to remember back to those times. The memories didn’t come easily. But I wondered if I could block out that terrible night, maybe I could think of my father and not be overwhelmed by the grief that had darkened all my thoughts of him.

Curled up in Riley’s bed, despite the way my stomach pitched and rolled, I closed my eyes and tried to recall one specific thing about my dad. Picturing his face, I started with his smile and the way one of his front teeth slightly overlapped the other. Then I tried to hear his voice with its deep, rumbling tone. I thought of the way his skin crinkled around his green eyes when he laughed, and I rolled over restlessly, letting myself go back there.

I thought of how Dad liked to watch buddy-cop shows, especially old black-and-white reruns of Dragnet. Even though I made fun of everything about that show—bad acting, bad clothes, bad dialogue—I’d sit beside him and watch it anyway because I wanted to spend time with him.

Dad had a sweet tooth. I remembered that too. Every Halloween, he’d inspect the candy we collected from the neighborhood to make sure no one had tampered with it. Before he approved it, he’d eat a piece and say, “Dad tax.” At night, before he went to bed, he’d walk around the house, checking all the windows and doors to make sure they were locked. He was watching out for us, keeping his family safe.

Those were the kinds of memories that got lost in the devastation, but now I wanted to remember. I wanted to feel his loss. Dad deserved to be remembered. That was the worst part of it all— that I’d buried my memories along with him. Even the good ones had a sharpness to them. They were tainted by his death, and I didn’t know how to remember without getting cut by the horror of his ending. I didn’t want to think of the night he died.

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