by Louise, Tia
“I don’t know how I’m going to pay you for all of this. I hope you take credit cards.”
He doesn’t answer. He just grins and his eyes drift out the window again. His grip on my inner thigh flexes gently. My hand is still over his, and I slide our fingers together.
“Remember when you saved me from the snake?” He seemed larger than life to me then. He still does now.
“Vividly.” He chuckles. “You were so little. You were so loud.”
“Hey!” I push his hand off me, and he laughs, putting it right back. “I was scared.”
“You were only eight, but you picked me up and carried me to my mom.”
“Right. You were heavy, too.” He gives me a side-eye, but I only shake my head, holding my hair out of my face with the arm that’s rested on my open window.
“Then you sat with me after Mamma died.” The air in the truck feels quieter, more solemn. “You were so good to me.”
His fingers move, stroking my skin tenderly, carefully. “I knew how it would be for you. How much it would hurt and for how long.”
My hand moves to his arm, up his shoulder. “It’s my turn to sit with you. I want to be there for you.”
His smile tightens, and he looks out the window again. His hand doesn’t move off my thigh. I feel like we’re so close. Still, it’s not complete.
We pull into the neighborhood, and I know he’ll retreat like before. Still, I’ve made good progress. I can get us back to here. Then it’s a matter of moving forward.
He stops on the street at the end of my driveway. I grab my bag and my now-dry clothes. I’m not sure what he’ll do sitting here in front of my house, with neighbors all around. Our eyes meet, and he reaches for me.
A surge of joy pushes me into his arms. His kisses are sweet, not devouring or passionate. A peck on my nose, on my lips.
“I’m heading back over to check out the Jag. I’ll have it home for you tonight.”
“I trust you.” No truer words.
Another squeeze, and he lets me go. I hate climbing out of the cab, but I know I must. “I really enjoyed last night.” I say through the open window when I close the door.
“Me too.” His smile is touched with sadness. I hate it.
“Want to go out again next Friday?” I don’t mind making the first move. I want him to know my arms are wide open.
“Let’s see how the week goes.”
“Okay.”
He waits, watching as I slowly walk up the driveway, feeling like a girl, feeling like a woman. Knowing I’m so deep in love. I turn to walk backward, watching him as I get closer to the house.
I blow him a kiss, and this time his smile is a little less sad. He catches it and drives away.
Inside, my dad surprises me in the kitchen. “You’re up!” I try not to sound too stunned. I don’t want to embarrass him. “Did you sleep well last night? Everything okay by yourself here?”
“The house was quiet.” He’s holding a container of orange juice, which I take as a good sign. “How was your date?”
“It started kind of terrible, but then it got better.”
He nods as if this is the usual course of events. “How is the lake house?”
“Needs some work, but otherwise, same as always.” I switch on the coffee pot, and sneak another glance.
My father’s eyes have deep lines in the corners and dark circles underneath. His skin is the sickly sallow of a person who doesn’t get in the sun much.
“I’d be happy to drive you out to check on the place if you want.” My optimism knows no bounds, I guess.
“Sure.” He does a little cough-throat clearing. “We’ll go next weekend.”
It’s the same answer every time. He says he’ll go then he backs out at the last minute.
“How’s the Jag?”
“Oh.” I almost drop my mug at that question. “It’s ahh… well…”
That gets his attention. He squares off, facing me with one hand on his hip. “Andrea. What happened?”
I feel sick to my stomach. “Well, you know how it was raining last night? A stupid dog or raccoon or something ran out in front of me, and I sort of went off the road.” Angry eyes flash at me, and I charge forward. “It’s okay! I’m getting it fixed. Gray is picking it up, and he thinks he can probably repair the damage. The car needs new tires.”
“Gray.” He speaks the word like it tastes bad. “He finally dragged his sorry ass back to town? For how long?”
The sickness in my stomach is replaced with burning knots. I hate the way he talks about my love. “I don’t know, Daddy, but Gray’s a good guy. He’s a hero.”
“Ha.” It’s a bitter retort. “Some hero. He let half his unit get killed in a bomb explosion.”
“Stop it! That is not fair. It wasn’t his fault. The officers said it was an accident.” My voice goes loud and high, defensive. “Listen to yourself. Are you suggesting Gray planted the bomb?”
“I did some research. His team was in charge of checking that road, making sure there were no explosives in their path before they left.”
I’ve heard this story, too, and it still makes me nauseated. “That’s completely unrealistic. They were being watched constantly. Some terrorist probably went right behind them planting more bombs.”
My father makes a dismissive noise, and starts for the liquor cabinet. I follow him, beating him to it. “Wait. Please wait just a minute. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He doesn’t look at me. “You haven’t done anything to upset me.”
I catch his hand as he tries to reach around me. “Would you do something for me? Please?”
“Don’t start with me today, Andrea. I’m not in the mood.” He tries to move my body, but I put my hands behind my back and hold the edge of the cabinet. “Do you mind?”
“Please just listen to me a minute. I’ve been thinking about what you said about nothing being anonymous in this town.” Like everyone doesn’t already know my dad is a notorious alcoholic.
“What about it?” He’s growing impatient, the withdrawals grinding his teeth.
“What if there was a pill you could take to help you quit drinking. Would you be willing to try it?”
“No.” He tries to move past me again, but I slide to the left.
“You wouldn’t even try it?”
“I like drinking, Andrea. I have no intention of stopping.”
I’m breathing harder, anger coursing in my veins, from the way he talks about Gray to the way he insists on destroying his body. Still, I know from past experience of having this conversation with him, shouting and crying will only shut him down even more.
“You’re all I’ve got now, Dad. It’s just you and me.”
He stiffens, and I know I caught him off guard with this approach. “That’s not true, you have Ruby.”
And Gray, which I don’t add.
“She’s not my family. You’re my only family.” Reaching out, I hold his hand. “Would you just try the pills and see if they help you? You don’t have to stop drinking entirely. Just cut down some?” By like ninety-five percent.
He stands back, studying me closely with those judgmental eyes, those eyes so full of hate and hurt and defensiveness. “I’ll think about it.”
A smile breaks across my lips. I can barely believe he softened this much. “I’ll get some samples from the clinic for you to try.”
“Don’t go talking about me up there at that clinic.”
Again, I have to roll my eyes at his cluelessness. Does he really believe nobody knows what he does?
“I will not be talking about you at the clinic.”
He continues past me now, taking out the whiskey as he grumbles under his breath. I sigh, trying to reassure myself I’ve made an important first step as I watch him pour a double into the thick crystal tumbler.
“I’ll make us something hearty for dinner tonight. Beef stew sound good?”
“Eh.” He does a dismissive shrug as he greedily take
s a long sip of the amber liquid.
He tops off the glass again and leaves the room. I collapse onto the bar wondering if I’ll even see him again today.
Chapter 20
Gray
Billy is hanging around the garage when I get there. “Hey, man, got time to come with me and fish that Jag out of a ditch?”
“What the fuu…” A worried look crosses his dark eyes, but I wave a hand.
“It’s okay. You can say what the fuck around me. It’s very much a what the fuck situation.” I wave for him to climb inside the cab, and we start back out of town toward Lake Mary.
“We should have replaced those tires.” Billy has another stick in his hand, and I figure I caught him mid-whittling. “The rain makes these roads extra slick.”
We get closer, and I see the site that nearly destroyed me last night. Those red taillights sticking up from the gully.
“Ah, shit,” I grumble. “I hope we can get it out without needing a tow.”
Both of us walk over to the deep trench. “We can get it out.” Billy jumps down, going under the vehicle. “It’s not too bad from under here, he calls. This tree limb kept it from hitting the rocks.”
Damn, I can’t express how happy I am at that news. I saw the worry on Drew’s face when I dropped her off. I know her dad loves this car, and I don’t want him having a setback or giving her shit. It was just as much my fault she was driving too fast on this road in the rain. I shouldn’t have pushed her.
“I’ll come down there and lift it. Help me attach it to the truck.”
It takes us less than a half hour to get the car out of the ditch and back to the garage. Billy hangs around a bit longer, helping me check the axel and the oil pan, any parts that could have been damaged.
“The tires will be in tomorrow.” Billy has an app on his phone that syncs with our shipping information.
“You’ll have to show me how to do that.” I look over his shoulder at all the useful information he’s carrying around.
“Dude, you’re so old.” He starts to laugh and I punch him on the shoulder. “Ow! Don’t hurt me old man!”
We both laugh, and I like the easy camaraderie we’re developing. “Show me what you’re working on now.”
“Ahh,” he grins. “Something inspired by our breakfast bunny.”
I frown, but when he pulls out the cylinder of wood, I see it’s carved in the shape of a woman’s torso, shoulders to knees. The breasts are round and pointy, but he’s only made a curved line in the lower area.
“Looks like the bow of a ship. You’re really into this Moby Dick stuff.” I give him a prod with my elbow, and he pushes back.
“I don’t know what a moby is, but I don’t want it on my dick.”
I’m heading back to the office so I can send Drew a text. “Actually, Moby means something big or important.”
“Shit. In that case, my dick is Moby. Magnum Moby.”
“All right, get out of here with that.”
He shuts the hood and takes off, waving back and calling something about Moby Monster. I’ve already picked up my phone, getting a little charge at the prospect of making contact with her again.
My drug of choice is back, and I smile thinking of reading her words, touching her through the ether.
Me: Jag is out and at the garage. No damage to the body or paint. Looks like you got lucky, kid. I’ll drop it off later, but no road trips before new tires. I’ll do it Monday.
I wait a few minutes, watching the little dots indicating she’s typing. It’s so easy to fall back into this with her. To fall back into these feelings.
Drew: You are a lifesaver. Can’t wait to tell Dad.
Me: Was he pissed at you?
I don’t like the idea of her dad talking to her the way he used to talk to Danny, especially if he’s drinking. Danny was a shitty drunk.
Drew: He wasn’t happy, but I distracted him by talking about you.
That actually makes me laugh.
Me: I’m sure that went really well.
Drew: It went okay. Sometimes he’s more open than others.
Me: I’ve never known your dad to be open when it came to me.
Drew: I’m open when it comes to you.
For a moment, I only look at the words. I know what she’s saying. Drew’s a smart girl, and even though we’ve been close, she knows I haven’t told her everything.
Drew: Gray?
Me: Sleep well, Drew-baby.
Drew: I’d sleep better if you were here.
I confess, that puts a little rise in my pants. I shake my head, grinning.
Me: I’m certain your dad would not be open to me in your bed.
Drew: We can discuss it over breakfast.
I’m full-on grinning now.
Me: Let’s build to that, okay?
Drew: Oooh kay.
Me: Goodnight. Bring the car Monday.
Drew: I will. (kiss emoji)
I need a drink.
It’s still early, so I walk up to the Red Cat pub, and push through the ancient glass door. Mack used to come to this place after work when he was having trouble sleeping. I had to come here and wake him up once, walk him home. I was only about sixteen, but even Mack had dark days.
It’s dusty and old inside, and I know this place’s reputation. The drinks are stiff and cheap, and the company is decent. A jukebox with actual vinyl records is placed against the back wall. It’s usually spinning Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett, but tonight it’s Elton John’s, “Mamma Can’t Buy You Love.”
I look around, and sure enough, Steve “Dagwood” Magee is at the bar, one of the biggest Elton John fans I know. We weren’t as close as I was with Danny in high school, but we were good enough friends. Hell, I wasn’t as close to anyone as I was with Danny. The thought is a kick to the gut.
The minute Steve sees me, he straightens up, smiling broadly. “I’ll be damned, it’s our hero. Mose, I’m buying Gray here a drink. Anything he wants. Have a seat, friend.”
I wince at him calling me hero. “Hey man, you don’t have to buy me a drink—”
“Stop!” He holds up a hand. “It’s my first chance to welcome you home properly. That dinner was nice, but I was all the way at the other end of the fucking table.”
It’s possible my friend is a little buzzed.
Mose stops in front of me. He’s been the bartender at the Red Cat since the stone ages, and he looks as old and dusty as everything in here.
“Okay, hero. Pick your poison.”
“Whisky up.” I give him a thumbs up.
“A man’s drink.” Steve slaps my back. “You’re a good man, Gray. I’m damn proud I know you. Have I told you that?”
Mose slides a tumbler of whiskey in front of me, and I lift it, taking a sip. “Why are you telling me now?”
“Look at all you’ve done.” Steve waves his arm around. “First, you went to college and kicked textbook ass. Then you went to Africa and kicked terrorist ass. Then you came home and opened the garage. You hired that little Mexican kid—”
“You’re proud of that?” I cut him off before he has a chance to get offensive. He’s a good guy. “Some people might say opening a garage is wasting my education.”
“Bastard people, Gray. Assholes.” He leans forward. “We need a good garage in this town. Mack had vision.”
“It’s honest work.” I look at my stained hands. “I don’t know that I’ll do it forever.”
“Did that fucker Ralph Stern say something to you? I swear to shit I’m going to shove a bag of almonds up his ass next time I see him.”
That makes me chuckle. “It’s okay. He actually offered me a job.”
“Don’t do it, bro. That guy’s a weirdo. He’s obsessed if you ask me.”
I can’t argue with him, so I don’t. I don’t get a chance.
“Say, you any good at fixing up old cars?” He grips my shoulder.
“I don’t do body work, but I helped Mack restore a few engines, mechanical s
hit. Why?”
“My friend Taylor Dawes has an old Chevy Bel Air he wants to restore. I could send him your way if you’re interested. Make you a little bank.”
“Tell him to stop by.” I don’t need the money, but I want to work.
When I was in Dover, my therapist said working with my hands or creative work would distract my mind from the thoughts, from spiraling into depression. So far, it seems to be working.
Drew helps.
I take another pull off my whiskey as “Flyin High” by Marvin Gaye comes on.
Steve leans back, nodding. “This is your kind of music. Right?”
“Mack liked to play it in the shop.” I look at the whiskey, tilting it side to side.
I liked to sing it when I was holding Drew. I can still see her with that shirt around her shoulders, her perfect little tits pointed up at me, peeking out of the top of that lace bra. We have to talk. I have to get this shit off my chest. Resting on my elbow, I wipe my hand across my eyes, fatigue hitting me now.
“What’s on your mind, brother?” Steve’s voice lowers. He’s less bravado, and more legit concern.
I look to him, giving him a tight smile. “Sometimes the past doesn’t want to stay past.”
Mose is with us now. He’s holding a white bar towel, drying a beer mug. “My old man was in WW two.” He actually pronounces the letters. “He never could shake the memories.”
My jaw clenches. I’m not looking to be the topic of conversation with these guys. Or their wives.
“I’m okay.” I blink up and force a smile. “It just still feels close sometimes.”
“You got a friend here, man.” Steve’s getting a little choked up. “I know you and Danny were tight. At least you were with him in the end.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“Dagwood, man. Call me Dag.”
“Thanks, Dag.” I look at the whiskey. It’s almost done. “I should probably head on home.”
