Passion Ignited. Kayla Perrin
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since the heart attack, they had adjusted their master bedroom so that he could be comfortable in it and not have to move around too much. Before that, he used to love to spend time in his man cave. With her and Grace gone, her father had taken over the den. He had put a huge-screen TV in there so he could watch his favorite sports up close.
But since the heart attack, he had been spending more time in bed. Part of the reason was that he had an oxygen tank he had to use for several hours, and it was set up beside the bed. Due to his heart disease, the doctors believed his body was not getting enough oxygen, so he had been prescribed oxygen therapy.
Gabrielle had made sure that her parents had a bigger TV in the bedroom. She’d also helped her mother order a bed that could be adjusted so that her father could sit upright. Gabrielle hated to see him stay in bed all day, because to her it seemed as though he was giving up.
Gabrielle wandered through the house to the back that led up to the split-level. Her parents’ bedroom was the first one on the left. Gabrielle knocked softly, then pushed the door open.
“Daddy?” she called out.
“Come in, darling.”
Gabrielle stepped into the room, saw her father sitting upright in the bed. He looked exactly the same as he had the last time she had visited. A knit bedspread was thrown across his lap. His head rested on a pillow. The oxygen tubes connected to his nose.
Gabrielle’s heart ached. Her father looked so darn frail. His face was worn, and his eyes were glum. Gabrielle hated this.
She walked over to her father and leaned down to give him a hug and a kiss. “Hey, Daddy.”
He offered her a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hi, Gabby.”
Gabrielle eased onto the bed beside her father. “How’re you feeling today?”
He made a sour face. “I hate all this crap I have to eat and drink.”
He gestured to the right, and Gabrielle looked on the table beside the bed. There was a tray with congealed oatmeal, a banana and a cup of nuts. “You’re not eating?”
“Not that stuff.” He made a face. “I made your mother get me real food.”
“And what was that?” Gabrielle asked.
“Pizza.” He smiled. “From that pizza place I like down the street.”
“Daddy,” Gabrielle said, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. She knew exactly why her father liked that food. It was greasy and delicious—and exactly the kind of food her father had been told to stay away from. “You know you’re supposed to cut out the fatty foods.”
“He thinks vegetables and food cooked with less butter is torture.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, Gabrielle looked over her shoulder. Her mother stepped into the room. “I’ve been trying to get him to follow the doctor’s advice, but you see him. He’s wasting away to nothing. I have to feed him.”
“I know,” Gabrielle said. Though she wished her mother wouldn’t cave to her father’s demands. Eventually, he would have to eat what was in front of him if she didn’t give him an alternative.
“I need you to get better, Daddy.”
“I want this arsonist caught,” her father said, speaking passionately. “That’s what’s going to make me better. He took away my livelihood.”
Her father made a pained expression and tried to adjust his body in the bed. Gabrielle’s mother quickly hurried to his side. “Joe, you can’t do this. You can’t get yourself worked up.”
“That man took away our livelihood! Our dream!”
Gabrielle took her father’s hand in hers. “Daddy, you’ve got to take it easy. Do you want to give yourself another heart attack?”
He frowned, and huffed. But he didn’t say a word.
Gabrielle squeezed her father’s hand. “I’m working on finding out who did this.” She looked at her mother briefly before looking at her father again. “I was close yesterday. Real close. You heard about the fire last night? Well, I was there. And I saw someone in the crowd, and—”
“You what?” her mother asked.
“I went to the scene of the fire. I wanted to look at the people, see if someone there seemed suspicious.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Gina uttered.
“I know I saw him,” Gabrielle pressed on. “It was dark, but I tried to get a few pictures. Then, when he was leaving, I tried to follow him.”
“Gabby,” her father chastised. “You can’t be doing that.”
“There were a lot of people there. I was fine.”
“I don’t want you getting yourself hurt,” her father scolded.
She thought of Omar, how he had echoed the same concern. Gabrielle offered her father a brave smile. “I won’t get hurt. I promise you.” She paused. “What matters to me is that I get this situation fixed for you.”
“You always think you can fix things, don’t you,” Joe said. “But, Gabby, you can’t. Some things you need to let the authorities handle.”
“I hate seeing you like this,” Gabrielle said to her father. “All the stress of what happened... I just want you to get better.”
“You want me to get better, get me a chocolate fudge sundae.”
“You’ve already had pizza today,” Gabrielle said. “That’s enough veering from your diet for one day.”
“Joe.” Gina shook her head with disdain. “You know you can’t have a chocolate fudge sundae.”
Joe scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “It wasn’t my diet that did this to me. It was the stress.”
Gabrielle figured it was a bit of both. But mostly the stress. To lose your life’s work in a flash and for no good reason was exactly why she was determined to make things right for her father. She wanted to see the light in his eyes again. And in her mother’s. She couldn’t walk into this house and feel this cloud of negativity hanging over all of them for much longer.
“Gabby,” Gina began. “Can you come to the kitchen with me for a moment?”
Joe looked at Gina with suspicion. “What’s going on?”
“I just want to talk to Gabby about dinner.”
“Rib eye,” Joe said as Gabrielle and her mother began to walk out of the room. “With some mac and cheese. Or maybe fries and gravy.”
Gabrielle looked over her shoulder at her father. She shook her head. “Not tonight.”
“Then a T-bone,” Joe called as Gabrielle and her mother stepped into the hallway.
Gina turned toward her daughter. “Do you see what I have to deal with? It’s so hard. I try to make him healthy meals, and he acts like I’m trying to poison him. I made him some quinoa last night, and a beautiful garden salad. He threatened to go on a hunger strike.”
Gabrielle groaned. “He’s acting like a petulant child. Good grief, he knows you’re trying to keep him alive.”
Gina linked arms with Gabrielle and walked with her toward the staircase. “Can you go to the store and pick up some groceries for me? I hate to leave him here alone. The last time I left, I came back and found him downstairs eating ice cream from the tub.”
“What I can do is help you clear out the fridge,” Gabrielle said. Her father wasn’t an invalid. Sure, he was staying in bed a lot to rest, but he was smart enough to know that when her mother left the house, it was his opportunity to raid the fridge for the foods he really liked. “You