Chapter 9 - Severing the Ties
Two hours later, the rain had finally subsided, giving way to a pale, washed-out afternoon sky. The campus grounds were nearly empty as families headed to celebratory dinners across the city.
I walked out of the administrative wing accompanied by Dean Bradley and a campus security escort, carrying my leather-bound diploma case and the brass medal in my hands. As we approached the faculty parking lot, a pathetic figure stepped out from behind the wet trunk of an oak tree.
It was Richard. His expensive jacket was soaked through from pacing in the wet grass, his tie crooked, his eyes wild and bloodshot. Evelyn and Haley had abandoned him, taking a rideshare home after a screaming match on the sidewalk. He looked old, broken, and utterly defeated.
"Clara," he rasped, taking a tentative step forward before the security guard held up a warning hand. "Please. Just five minutes. Just listen to your father."
I looked at the security guard and gently nodded, indicating that I would handle it. I stopped five paces away from him, keeping the heavy leather diploma pressed against my chest. "You have sixty seconds, Richard."
He flinched at the use of his first name. "Clara... the hospital board already sent an email. They canceled the procurement meeting. The banks are going to call in my equipment loans by Monday morning. If I lose that contract, we lose the house. We lose everything."
"You made your choices," I replied evenly.
"I made a mistake!" he pleaded, falling onto his knees on the damp asphalt, careless of the mud staining his trousers. "I didn't know you were graduating at the top! If you had just told me about the awards, about the speech, I would have been proud of you! I would have sat in the front row and cheered for you!"
A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "That is the saddest thing you have ever said, Richard. You shouldn't have needed me to be valedictorian to treat me like a human being. You shouldn't have needed a gold medal around my neck to refrain from pushing me into the mud."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small brass key—the key to the front door of his house, where I had scrubbed floors at midnight just to earn the right to sleep in an unheated attic room. I dropped it onto the wet ground. It landed with a dull splash in a puddle between his knees.
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"Don't call me. Don't look for me at St. Jude's. As far as the world is concerned, Dr. Clara Hensley is an orphan."
I turned on my heel and walked toward the waiting car, never once looking back as his sobs mingled with the dripping trees.
