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Written for Oz Drabble Tree Knows Best at oz_wishing_well.
Long Time Gone
She'd stopped seeing him, thinking of him, wanting to know him, years ago; that chapter of her life was long over. She shouldn't be here now in this place of too much gray and too much glass, not even the slightest bit changed from when she was a girl.
All that glass, and the only bars are the ones that slammed shut behind her as she walked down one endless corridor after another.
So many people had done their damnedest to make her forget, filling her life with dance, and music, and tennis lessons, summers spent in the charmingly weathered beach house, winters skiing at the best resorts around the world.
It was easy to forget that he was alive, easy to think that he was dead.
Now, everyone else was dead and he was still here. And she wouldn't have remembered if she hadn't experienced the headache of going through her Uncle's books and discovering a small amount of money being sent to an account, month after month, for so many years.
She could have had a lawyer send a letter to tell him that his brother was dead in a freak boating accident, along with his gold-digger third wife, and hah! to that. The bitch wasn't going to get a dime of the Beecher fortune, all that plastic surgery and fake honey dipped sweetness went for nothing in the end.
She came to the last doorway, no bars this time, but still more glass. There is a momentary attack of nerves right before she walks through, and then he is there, the same as she remembered, no matter the silver in his hair or the lines in his face.
"Dad," she chokes out, as he wraps her up in his arms.
He breathes, "Holly," into her hair, and she suddenly hates every minute that her well intentioned family kept her away from him.
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