After a time, Flip scoots a chair and sits near Dylan’s face. He says, “I was not so excited when I heard your mommy was pregnant with a little boy. I just want to be honest with you here. Talk to you straight, you know, man-to-man. When I heard we were having a boy, I just felt confused. From the beginning, I had assumed we were having another baby girl. I didn’t know what I would do with a little boy. I had this picture in my mind of my two little girls playing together, all dresses, tea parties, and pigtails.
“But when you came along,” he says to his sleeping son, “you really taught me something. You had a different kind of energy, a different way from Sara at the same age. I guess it’s a gender thing. Watching you grow taught me that boys are pretty cool. I always thought my dad was so wretched and my mom was so innocent. I felt like maybe all men were bad, even me. Deep down, I was destined to disappoint everyone who counted on me, hurt people, prey on women, objectify them, and use them up. That’s how I grew up thinking about it; it’s how I thought about myself. Dylan, you made me kind of appreciate what I have to offer in a new way. That’s a pretty good gift for an old dude like me.” He leans over to kiss Dylan on the head and whispers, “Thanks, buddy.” Dylan doesn’t open his eyes, but his eyeballs shift under their thin, closed lids.
A small Middle Eastern man with delicate hands walks in and takes a chart from the end of the bed. He doesn’t wear a lab coat, but the stethoscope worn jauntily, like a rubber scarf, around his narrow neck is reassuringly medical.
“I,” he says, then takes a dramatic pause. “Am Doctor Pradhan. I worked on Dylan earlier in the ER. Have you seen him wake yet?” He speaks with a slightly British accent.
Everyone shakes their heads in the negative.
“Not yet,” Coleen says.
“Ah, well,” the doctor says. “There’s nothing to get too worried about. We do need to keep an eye on him.” He moves to Dylan’s side and uses the stethoscope. He opens Dylan’s eyes and shines a pin light into each of them.
“He looks good. Everything still appears normal. The CT was good. No surprises. Will someone be staying the night?”
“I will,” Lynn and Coleen speak in unison.
“Very good. If he wakes, please alert the nursing staff.” Dr. Pradhan takes up the chart again and makes a note before leaving the room.
No Place Like Home
Flip throws his crumpled suit pants in the back seat to make room for Sara. “You want to grab some food on the way home?” he asks.
“What the hell happened to your window?”
“A rock,” he improvises. “A truck threw a rock. A big redneck truck.”
“Guess you’re lucky the window was up. Might have taken your head clean off,” Sara observes.
He starts the car, rolls the window carefully down, and drives out of Emergency Parking. “What about food? You hungry?”
Sara picks at a pimple on her cheek. “Nah. I’m not hungry. I’m tired. Really really tired. But, the realtor people are coming tomorrow, so I guess if we were going to eat, it might make less of a mess to eat something out. You know?”
“I do know. I’m on the fence about it. I’m wiped out too. I’m looking forward to being back in the house, sitting at our table to eat. Like the old days. Maybe we could play cards if you want.”
“Sounds fine,” she says noncommittally. “But what are you going to do, cook? No offense, but cooking is not your thing.”
“I could order out.”
“True, that is your specialty,” she says. “That actually sounds good. Pizza Pizza?”
“If you want pizza. I’ll order pizza. Or Chinese.”
“Yeah,” Sara says. “Grandma doesn’t like Chinese. Now would be a perfect time to get some.”
“Chinese then,” Flip declares.
“Poor Mom and Grandma. Eating cafeteria food, again,” she says happily and Flip likes it. It’s been a long while since he’s heard her like this. He wants to blame himself, but wonders if there’s more going on.
There’s an electronic tweet tweet that indicates Flip has a voicemail on his phone. The sound comes from under Sara. She looks around, feels under the seat, and eventually finds the phone down between the seat and the door. She passes it over.
“Is it Mom?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” he says. He doesn’t recognize the number and supposes it could be the hospital. He pushes buttons with his thumb and plays the message, puts the phone to his ear.
“Flip. It’s Byron. Your father. About what I said the other night, what I said about your mother wanting me out and about my cancer. Well, it’s not true. I mean the part about your mother. Wanted to make out like I was a good guy. But I’m not a good guy. I’m just what you always thought I was. Let’s just leave it at that. But to be clear, I am dying. Okay. Bye. Take care.” There’s a sound of the phone being knocked around before the recording stops.
Flip holds the phone away from his ear and stares at it. Flip prides himself on knowing when he’s being lied to, and he knows Byron just lied. Took all the blame back on his own head. Flip doesn’t know why Byron would bother, but he isn’t falling for that noble bullshit. He’s offended that Byron would be so selfish, so vain as to make the situation all about him. It’s not about him, it’s about me. He drops his cell phone in a cup holder and watches the road.
“Was that the hospital?”
“No,” Flip says. “Just an old friend. He’s sick. Wanted me to know something in case he doesn’t get better.”
“Oh,” is all Sara says.
While waiting for the Chinese food to arrive, Sara takes a long shower and Flip unloads his stuff from the car. He stashes the gun under the passenger seat, because he doesn’t like the idea of a loaded gun in his home. Accidents can happen.
He’s arranging his suit so it looks less abused, when the doorbell rings. He stomps down the steps and opens the door. The deliveryman is the same one as last time: about Flip’s age, bald, in running shorts, and a Good China T-shirt.
“Hey,” Flip says in greeting.
“Order for Mellis,” the deliveryman says. He doesn’t seem to remember Flip.
Flip pays the man and gives him a couple of extra bucks.
“Aren’t you the one who said you’d catch me up next time?” the guy asks.
“Did I say that?”
“Yeah. I think you did,” he stands still, holding his two-dollar tip, waiting to see if he can add to it.
“Oh,” Flip says. “I will have to catch you next time.”
“I assumed as much.”
“Just kidding.” Flip digs in his pocket and takes out the rest of his pill payoff, hands it over.
“Cool. Thanks. A lot,” the delivery guy says happily. “Thanks a lot,” he says again.
At the table, Sara has her hair twisted in a turban of terry cloth. She eats fast and burns her mouth on an egg roll.
“Shit,” she says. “Hot.” But she keeps putting food in her mouth.
“Slow down, lady. You act like you haven’t eaten in days. I thought you weren’t that hungry.”
“I got hungry.”
For a while it’s like old times. Sara starts talking and doesn’t stop. She talks about her friends from school. She talks about Gina, who was short and dumpy last year but stretched out over the summer.
“She has curves like a Kardashian.”
Flip thinks this is code for fat ass. Specifically, good fat ass, not bad fat ass. But he can’t think of an appropriate way to ask.
She describes who is dating whom, whose braces have come off, whose braces have been put on, and who should really get straight to an orthodontist. Flip doesn’t care about any of it and is bewildered by the glut of names she throws at him. He’s happy to watch her expressive face as she speaks. So hard to believe how grown-up she is.
“What have you been up to, Dad?” she asks. “Mom said you interviewed for a job. How’d that go?”
“I don’t have high hopes. The boss asked me to be
honest, I made the miscalculation of believing him, and I don’t think he liked what I had to say.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yes,” he agrees solemnly.
“Donald said he spoke to you at the store,” she says.
Flip is confused. “Who?”
“Donald. D. My boyfriend,” she reminds him. “He said you had a nice chat. Is that true?” she asks between mouthfuls of lo mein.
“Mmmhmm. Yes. I did speak with D. I actually like him, I think. He seemed nice.” Flip really means it. Clearly Sara is way too young to marry, and D is far too earnest for his own good. But, he does like D. “He seems like he’s serious about you. He really likes you.”
“Yeah,” she says without enthusiasm.
“What’s up, girl?”
Sara sets her plastic fork down and wipes her mouth on a paper napkin. She sits up straighter and places her hands in her lap, below the tabletop.
“Dad,” she says. “I think I’m pregnant.” Flip’s mouth gapes, partially chewed food on display. He drops his fork, wipes his hands, and finally remembers to finish chewing.
“You think?” he says. “So you might not be.”
“No. I am. I really am. I am all the way pregnant.” Her mouth curls down in a hard spasm, her lower lip trembles. Flip comes out of his chair and kneels beside her. He holds her and lets her cry. She sobs and wails and blasts him with Chinese food breath. He grabs a paper napkin for her to use.
Of course she’s pregnant: the upset tummy, the mood swings, the appetite, and of course D talking about marriage. I should have seen it. I’m going to kill that kid.
He thinks hard about the right thing to say. Congratulations doesn’t seem right because she’s underage and unmarried and clearly upset. But things like, How did this happen? and Are you going to keep it? What are you going to do? Have you told your mother? What did she say? and How the hell could you be so careless? all feel a little out of line. This is Lynn’s fault. She can’t put this on me. Sex talk and birth control is her domain.
Finally, he says, “We will figure this out.” Though his knees ache, he holds her until she’s ready for him to let go.
He slowly lifts his weight into a standing position, his lower back protesting the entire time. He sits back down, slides his food aside, and reaches across the table for Sara’s hand. She takes it and they sit a good long while. He wants to let her talk, say what she needs to. He knows the odds are very high he’ll blurt something that will upset her. So he holds his tongue and waits.
He thinks what a nice kid D really is, he could make a good dad. He has a job, seems ambitious enough. It’ll be hard, but they could make it work. If he and Lynn pitched in and helped, they could get Sara through high school at least. He wonders if the high school has a day care. He saw an episode of 60 Minutes about high schools with nurseries. The girls would go and nurse their babies between classes. Or was it prisons?
“I don’t know who the father is,” Sara says weakly.
“D is the father,” Flip replies, as if he knows.
“Listen to me. I am not sure the father is Donald. I told D about the baby, or he kinda figured it out. Now he thinks we have to get married. But I don’t think he’s the father.”
“Did you tell D that part?”
“Should I?”
“I don’t know. Shit. What the hell, Sara? How did this happen? Fuck. Are you going to keep it or what? Have you told your mother? What the fuck were you thinking? How the hell could you be so goddamned careless?” The litany tumbles from him. She jerks her hand back, crosses her arms under her breasts, and gives him a familiar hard glare. Like mother, like daughter.
“Sorry,” he says. She relaxes her pose and her expression softens.
“Whatever, Dad. I understand. I’ve been asking myself the same shit.”
He stands and pulls her to her feet. She lets herself be led out through the mud room and across the backyard. They head down the driveway and start walking down the street. It’s turned dark out, and the sky is clear. Flip points into the night sky.
“See those three stars. Remember what that’s called?”
“Orion’s Belt.”
“Good girl,” he says. “You always were smart.” They walk to the end of the block and hang a right. “Well? What happened?”
They stride through the evening air for a time. Then she answers, “D and I broke up a few months back. I didn’t tell anyone. Mostly because I thought it might not stick. The fight was over some bald girl he works with. He was always talking about her. I got mad and broke up with him. It was stupid. I needed to get out of the house. I went out, sat on the porch swing, and was texting some people. Just felt moody and trapped. That’s all. This guy I know came along and started chatting me up. Next thing I know, we are on his couch.” She stops her story there, and he’s grateful she does.
He quits walking. “So, have you told this guy?”
“Yes. But he has a girlfriend. And honestly, I don’t know whose it is for sure.” She rubs her belly, but Flip can’t see that she looks any different. He continues walking, she falls in and matches his pace.
“You haven’t talked to anyone? You haven’t been to the doctor?”
“I told you, Dad. That’s all. I haven’t done anything else about it.”
They make it back around the block and pass by Kev’s driveway. Sara looks at Kev’s house real angry. And like a punch in the face, Flip knows: that fucking stoner knocked up my daughter. A rage builds in him, but he tamps it down. He needs a plan.
Inside, they clean the kitchen together, just like a normal family. He says she needs to tell Lynn about the pregnancy, that Lynn will get Sara in to see a doctor. She needs an exam and blood work and antenatal vitamins. She seems resigned, maybe even relieved, to let her parents make some decisions for her. He tells her she needs to come clean with D. See how he wants to handle it. She says she’ll think about it. Then he tells her to go to bed.
“Because you need your rest.”
“Okay, Dad. Thanks. Thanks for listening. I know it’s a shocker. I actually feel a little better.” He leans down a bit so she can peck him on the cheek. “I missed you,” she says. “Are you moving back in?”
“I don’t have any answers just yet,” he says.
He showers in his own bathroom and dries with his favorite towel. He puts on clean boxers and a clean T-shirt. He shaves and grooms and generally indulges himself in any excuse he can find to linger in his home. Aware the entire time, each thing he does may be the last time he ever does it—either in that house, or in his life.
He attempts to push his fears for his daughter out of his mind, but it’s useless. He sneaks to the end of the dark hall to check on her. She’s sound asleep and snoring softly.
Back in bed, he lies to the left, just as he used to when he and Lynn still shared the room. He considers what act of violence would be most appropriate to subject Kev to, and if he should kill himself directly after speaking to Dr. Hawkins, or not.
Eventually, all the worry and stress seep from him, as he sinks deeper down into the mattress.
Lynn slips her long naked body under the sheets and curls up at his side. He puts his arm around her casually, not surprised at all.
“Flip,” she whispers with quiet insistence. “Flip. Wake up. It’s about Dylan.”
Flip wakes up, sits up a bit in the bed. It isn’t a dream. Lynn is in bed with him, naked.
“Dylan woke up about midnight and started talking nonstop.” She has her body pressed to his, her face above his. She speaks breathy and excited, she smells like coffee. “Dylan talked for nearly two hours. He’s fine. The nurses checked on him. They helped him to the bathroom. He asked if he would get his own wheelchair, or his own crutches. He seemed totally jazzed by the idea. He ate three cups of cherry Jell-O, they gave him some meds for the pain, and he finally fell back to sleep.” She kisses him on the mouth. Initially, it startles him, for a split second he wants to push her away, then
he returns the kiss.
She throws the blanket back and together they get his boxers down. She puts her leg over him and straddles his crotch. She grabs his cock and guides it where she wants it. He’s afraid to touch her, scared she’ll be offended or will simply disappear in a twist of vapor. She takes his hands and presses them to her tits, they grind at one another fast and hard. Near the climax he finds himself on top, her nails digging painfully into his shoulders. It doesn’t last that long, but Lynn was so emotional and ready, she barely needed him there to get the job done anyway.
He flops back to his side of the bed and drags the covers over them both. She rolls on her side to face him. He can’t see her in the dark of the room, but he knows she’s there, knows exactly how she looks, could stretch his hand out through the dark and touch any part of her damp body.
“Thanks,” she says. “I needed that.”
“Welcome.”
“I need you to pack up your stuff and go in the morning,” she says. He doesn’t speak. “This doesn’t mean everything is okay. You know. And the open house is tomorrow. I need things to be perfect. You understand, right? We’re grown-ups. We needed that. But it doesn’t change things. Right?”
“Right.”
“I told Mom I was going to shower and change clothes. Then give her a break. I need to get moving,” she explains.
“By all means.”
She rolls out of bed and feels her way to the bathroom. The light that comes under the door is enough for Flip to see the whole room. He finds his boxers, his pants, and a shirt. He slips on socks and shoes and gathers the few things he had left scattered around.
He knocks on the bathroom door and cracks it open. “I need to grab a few things,” he says. The shower snaps off as he brushes his teeth. The shower curtain slides back and Lynn dries her hair and body.
When he’s gone, Flip will miss this most of all. Not the sex or the conversation. Not the birthdays or meals. But Lynn’s presence, being adjacent to all kinds of mundane feminine activities. He’s always found it comforting and soothing and he will miss it when he’s gone.
Good for Nothing Page 27
