Page 11 of The Parent Trap

“You took away my access to the family account.”

“I didn’t, Dad did.”

“Because you told him to.”

“I’m not having this argument with you. Use your own goddamn money. Just get here.”

“God, fine.”

“I know, Dell, such a hardship, having to come all the way back home to see your dying father.”

“Fuck you, Delia. Seriously.”

“Right back at you, brother.”

* * *

I’m wokenby the sound of tires on the gravel drive—I’m in the chair on the back deck, still, sprawled out, slumped low, head hanging backward. I start upright at the door closing. I check my Apple Watch—12:41a.m.

I work to my feet, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and meet my brother in the foyer—he has a Louis Vuitton overnight bag on his shoulder, Versace sunglasses on his head, holding back his thick black hair, and he looks exhausted.

“Took you long enough,” I snap.

“Lay off, Dee,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t find a last-minute charter. The soonest flight I could get was a three-stop going to Atlanta and then Minnesota and then LA, and then I had to get another flight to San Francisco and then rent a car to get up here. I swear, I did my best.” He rolls his shoulder. “I had to pay through the fucking nose to upgrade to first class, or I’d have been stuck in the back row of fucking economy.”

“Poor you.”

He just sighs. “Is he awake?”

I shrug. “He’s in and out pretty much all the time, now.” I head for the study—Daddy’s room, now. “He’ll want to see you.”

Dell shifts from foot to foot. “I, he—if he’s resting, maybe—”

I ignore him and open the door to the study. “Come on.”

Dell sets his bag down and follows. Dad is asleep, mouth open. I panic for a split second, but the monitor still beeps steadily, if more slowly than it should. According to the doctors, there’s nothing specific wrong with Dad, it’s just…age. I perch on the edge of the bed and touch his shoulder.

“Daddy.”

He stirs. Blinks awake. His eyes go to me, and he smiles—and then his gaze flicks past me, registering Dell. “You showed up, finally.”

Dell’s shoulders slump, and he flinches as if struck. “Yeah.” He rallies, and goes to the other side of the bed. “I’m here, Dad.”

Daddy eyes me. “Can we have some time alone, Dee-Dee?”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll be in there. Just let me know if you need anything.”

He pats my knee. “Go home. You need sleep, honey-bunny. You have a company to run.”

I nod. “Okay. I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I lift my chin at Dell. “Night.”

It’s the nicest thing I can think to say to him.

He just nods.

When I close the French doors to the study, Mom is hovering at the end of the hall, a blue silk dressing gown not quite closed all the way, revealing a little more of my mother than I’d like to see, but she’s half asleep.