Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [93]
Clearing her throat, she said, "Why don't I make us some breakfast? Would you like scrambled eggs, an omelette, maybe some pancakes?"
He leaned against the counter and gave her a bleary smile. "Your mother used to make pancakes, blueberry pancakes. Those were her favorite."
"I know," she said gently.
He sipped his juice halfway down the glass, licking his lips at the end. She should say something, but the words didn't want to come. Instead, she said, "I could try to make blueberry pancakes. I might have to run down to the store and get some berries, though." She got up from her chair and looked through his cabinets. She was shocked to see how empty they were. "Dad, you don't have any food in the house. What have you been eating?"
"Your aunts take care of me," he said with a shrug. "I don't feel like cooking anymore."
Which meant a lot coming from a man who made his living running a restaurant and prided himself on turning out good, quality food. "Is that why you haven't been down at the restaurant lately?"
"I'm tired of working," he said heavily. "Tired of so many things." He walked over to the table and sat down.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
He shook his head. "I'll be all right. I'm worried about you and Julia. I think she should stay here, too, although I'm sure Michael wants to take care of her."
Liz saw the question in his eyes and damned Julia for once again not being here to do her own dirty work. She returned to her chair, trying to think of what to say. In the end, she just gave it to him straight. "Michael and Julia broke up last night."
Her father appeared truly shocked by the news. "What?" he stuttered. "How? Why?"
She didn't know which question to answer first. "I'm not sure why, but certainly Julia's push to find the missing pieces of her past didn't help. After Michael saw our apartment last night, he begged her to give up the search. She said she couldn't. She's obsessed, Dad, determined to find the truth. The past twenty-something years don't matter to her as much as the first three or four years of her life that she can't remember. And she seems to have forgotten how good Michael was to her through Mom's illness and how perfect Mom thought Michael was for her." Liz blew out a breath of frustration. "I don't get it. I can't understand why she'd let him go. Maybe he was rushing her a bit, but good grief, they've been together over a year. It's not exactly lightning speed."
"Your mother would be disappointed," Gino said. "And not just in Julia, but in me. I've let my daughter down."
"How do you figure that?"
"I should have paid more attention to what Julia was doing. I should have guided her more."
"It's not your fault. It's Julia's. She's the one making these foolish decisions. She really hurt Michael. I went to his house last night. He was drinking himself into oblivion." As she said the words Liz wondered if her father would see the parallel between Michael and himself. They were both choosing to dull their pain with alcohol. The problem was that once the alcohol wore off, the pain came back.
Gino didn't appear to make the connection. He finished his juice and got up to make another drink. She should say something, she told herself again. But right now her dad was the only one she had to talk to, and that would end if she attacked his drinking.
"Julia is changing right before my eyes," Liz continued. "Can't you make her stop, Dad? I think she'd listen to you."
He put up a hand. "I can't make her stop. I don't know who her biological father is, but if she is determined to find him, then she should be allowed to do so."
"It's disrespectful to you. You raised her. You treated her like your own daughter."
"And that's the way I think of her. She's my daughter, and I want her to be happy. I'm sorry about Michael, though. He's a good man."
"It's not just her biological