by Julia Kent
Leo's a gaunt man with gray hair, bags under rheumy eyes, and a hangdog, closed-off expression that makes it clear he's lived a hard life.
But man, does his face transform when he sees us.
When he sees Amanda.
“Mandy!” he calls out, taking off his baseball cap and waving it in the air, his smile warm, eyes eager but damn scared. Over the years, I've acquired a finely honed ability to sense fear in other men, and to use that fear in negotiations. His fear has nothing to do with competition or domination.
It has to do with rejection.
How does a father get to this point? Reeling from the thought, I have to hog-tie my emotions and get them in check fast, because this isn't about me. I’m about to be a parent, and my brain fast forwards to a time when our twins will be Amanda's age–what would it take for me to be like Leo?
I can't even imagine it, because the gap between who I am and what I'd have to do is so vast.
Maybe Leo thought that, too, when Amanda was born. Thought he'd never be a father who wasn't there.
“Dad?” The question in her voice makes my heart crack in half, because I've never had that tentative, timid tone when it comes to my father. James McCormick is a deeply flawed man in so many respects, but he was always there.
I don't just smell the fear of rejection on Leo.
I smell it on my wife.
And that enrages me.
Leo walks up to us and halts, uncertain, his body language respectful and eager at the same time, the hand waving the cap moving it to his head, the other patting his thigh, fingers twitching. He wants to hug her, but Amanda is a statue. A big-bellied stone statue who is frozen beside me, her hand in mine, crushing my bones like I'm her only way to prevent being sucked into a black hole.
One centered over her heart.
Politeness dictates that I offer my hand to the guy, shake in connection. When you meet your father-in-law for the first time after being married to his only child for three years, isn't that how it should be?
I don't move.
I just stand here, holding Amanda's heart in my palm.
“You, wow–you're so grown up!” he says, eyes jumping all over, once in a while catching mine for a split second, the corners of his wrinkled mouth going up. He smells like drugstore aftershave and dryer sheets.
Tobacco, too.
Amanda shrugs, eyes wider than normal, her throat working double time to contain emotion. The pressure on my hand lessens and irrationally, I worry she'll float off into the ether, as if decades of not seeing Leo have turned into helium that will carry her off like a balloon.
“May I hug you?” he asks, so softly that I feel it in her before the words click, her foot taking a step toward the guy, her hand releasing mine.
Maybe something in me needs to be tethered, too.
When they embrace, Leo leans forward, pulling his lower half back, her giant, twin-filled midsection impossible to avoid. He closes his eyes as I watch him, his chin on her shoulder, her arms under his, head nodding slightly.
“It's good to see you again, Dad.”
At the word Dad, he winces.
“Whoa!” he calls out suddenly, backing up, the spell broken as she giggles. “What was that?”
“One of the babies kicking,” she says, turning to look at me as if to assure me she's fine.
Because that's what she does. Amanda checks in, makes sure her people are okay, and she fixes problems. Leo's a thorn in her side for the same reasons all estranged parents are, but it works overtime for her, because he's also a problem she can't solve.
This time, I'm checking in on her.
As if he finally realizes I'm there, Leo turns to me, shoulders higher, jaw firmer. He reaches out a hand for a shake. “Leo Warrick. You've gotta be Andrew.”
I take the man's hand. It's sandpaper pretending to be a palm.
“Yes.” I hold back the sir that rises in my mouth. “Good to finally meet you, Leo.”
The finally makes Amanda blink rapidly.
“You, too.” He lets go, then goggles at Amanda. “How many you got in there? A baseball team?”
The word baseball starts a sequence inside me, a flash of images based entirely on Amanda's story about the last time she saw her father, when she was five. He took her to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park and lost her.
Lost her.
Then got into a wretched car accident, leaving poor Pam to think her daughter had been thrown from the car, dead in the weeds where the rescue workers couldn't find her.
My wife was a precocious five, though, a kid who wandered the streets of Boston until she found a police station and asked for help finding her dad.
Joking about baseball doesn’t just leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
It leaves me out for blood.
“No,” Amanda answers simply. “Just two.”
“Two? I didn't–I knew you were married,” he says, cutting me a nervous look that says we all know how he knows. “But children?”
Amanda just smiles.
“Your mom must be pleased as punch. Pam always wanted more kids.”
A pale, shaky look washes over Amanda's face, and I move closer to her side.
“She's happy to have grandchildren,” Amanda says softly. I can feel the thousands of questions she has for him, but also the restraint, the terror of being told no, of being dismissed, of being pandered to.
Of being confirmed.
Confirmed to be unimportant.
“I'm so sorry, Mandy,” he blurts out. A cloud of cigarette smoke hits us full on from a group of men and women sitting at a hexagonal, weathered picnic table to the right of the house. Leo frowns and looks at Amanda. “How about we move? You like ice cream like you did when you were little?”
“What?” Amanda's in a trance.
“Ice cream?”
I speak for her. “That sounds like a good idea, Leo. Is there a place we can go?” I hit the locks on my keyfob and my car unclicks.
His eyes narrow as he takes in the Model X Tesla SUV. “Nice car. Looks safe.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“We can walk. There's a great diner just a block from here. Has peppermint ice cream and good coffee.”
I lock the car.
“You said the magic words,” Amanda jokes. “Ice cream.”
Leo grins and looks at Amanda's belly. “Can you walk a block?”
“Sure.” She gives a wan smile, but then laughs. “As long as they have a bathroom and ice cream, I can go anywhere.”
Awkward seconds pass as we figure out how to align ourselves on the walk. Leo takes Amanda's left side and I move to the right. As time moves us forward, we say nothing, Leo slightly in the lead, guiding us to wherever he has in mind.
The seconds turn into a full minute that feels like an hour. I watch her father, his gait stiff and hunched. He's at least ten years younger than my dad, but seems like he's ten years older. Thin and wiry, he has the look of a guy who has been taught the hard way that reality doesn't bend to you.
The diner he's talking about is a total dive, an old Quonset hut that's seen better days.
Like, in the 1940s.
But there are outdoor tables with wide umbrellas providing shade, and a walk-up window that Leo leads us to. We get in line behind three other people. He points to the menu board.
“My treat,” he says.
I nearly swallow my tongue.
Amanda cocks her head and stares at him like he's suddenly sprouted antennae and gills.
Leo reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. He unfolds a very used wallet that looks as soft as the inside of a dog's ear and mutters, “I started getting Social Security disability three months ago. My life's on track now. Living at the house for now,” he adds, thumbing back toward the place where we met him. “But me and some guys are looking at a three-bedroom house to rent. Gary and George are vets, like me.”
“Vets?” I ask politely, deciding on a coffee and a butterscotch dipped soft-se
rve cone. Haven't had one of those since...
Since my mother was alive.
“Served in 'Nam. Pulled a bad number. Got drafted in the very last wave. Turned eighteen, and two days later, I was on a goddamned ship.”
“Navy?”
He nods. “Got me VA healthcare and some bad PTSD.” He says it slowly, like he's still getting used to the idea, then looks to Amanda, who is studying the menu like it's childbirth class and she needs to be an A student.
I know she'll order a peppermint sundae with hot fudge and crushed Oreos, so the reason she's taking so long isn't a mystery.
She's stalling.
Listening.
Absorbing.
“Sounds harsh,” I say to him.
Leo snorts and says in a broad coastal Massachusetts accent, like a lobster boat captain, “Harsh?” The word comes out with a long ahhhhh, like the R went into hiding. “Prison's harsh. PTSD got to me there. But I'm doing better now. Never going back to who I was.” He takes the chance, touching Amanda's shoulder. “I promise, Mandy.”
The people in front of us leave, fists full of ice cream cones and cups. My hand goes to Amanda's sacrum and her shoulders drop at my touch. She doesn't say anything to him at first, but as her lips part to speak, I jump in.
“Peppermint sundae with hot fudge and crushed Oreos,” I say to the clerk on her behalf, which makes her laugh.
“How did you know?”
I kiss her temple. “Because I love you.”
Leo's turn to study the menu board more carefully than he needs to.
We place our orders and I let Leo pay. Pride must be important to a guy like this. As we thank him, he beams but waves us off.
“It's the least I can do,” he says as we move laterally to a large water cooler, pouring big cups of the free stuff, waiting for our ice cream and coffee.
No shit, I want to say, but don't, suddenly filled with a jumble of emotions that must be a tiny percentage of what my extremely pregnant wife is feeling.
This isn't about me.
First comes my cone, an enormous tower of soft serve covered with gold hardshell in a waffle cone, then a paper cup of coffee. Amanda ordered the three-scoop sundae, but this place must be run by pregnant women because every scoop is the size of three.
There has to be a quart of ice cream in there.
Amanda is delighted.
Leo has a frappe the size of a grain silo and an orange soda.
Overloaded with drinks and ice cream, we make our way to an empty table near a large beech tree, shade at a premium. We sit. We use our mouths to eat.
It's a convenient excuse not to talk.
And for me to think.
The guy knows how wealthy I am. Saw my Tesla. He’d have to live under a rock not to know. He got out of prison a year ago; Anterdec security has been keeping tabs on him for me for a long time.
Why wait until now to make contact? Did he see Amanda somewhere, realize she's pregnant, and he's tugging her heartstrings?
A long time ago, Dad warned me that money brings the cockroaches out, ready to feast on whatever they can find. “The only way to get rid of a cockroach is to kill it, Andrew,” he said. “Squash it. Make sure it doesn't dig in and breed.”
If this guy is like that, though, he's playing it smooth.
The ice cream is surprisingly good, the butterscotch coating instantly transporting me back to childhood. A light breeze lifts Amanda's hair, and her tongue pokes out to lick a dab of hot fudge at the corner of her mouth. Leo says something to her and she laughs, her smile making my heart sink.
This guy has no idea what he's doing to her emotions.
And I'm the one who has to make sure the damage never happens.
With less enthusiasm, I eat more of the ice cream, using time as an advantage. After the cone, the coffee tastes more bitter than usual, but the order makes sense.
I need all traces of sweetness washed away for what I have to do next.
“Leo,” I say, balling up my napkin and shoving it into the empty coffee cup, “why did you want to see Amanda?”
A guarded look kidnaps Amanda's face, like my words hold her hostage.
Damn.
“Uh, ah–I know it's been a long time. I said I was sorry, Mandy.”
No one's corrected him on her name. Mandy was her childhood nickname. I'll let it slide if she's not saying anything.
“I heard you. I can tell you are.”
A coldness washes over me, brain clicking into robot mode. Emotion has no place in me. This is a transaction. If he crosses the threshold for ending conversation, we're gone.
Otherwise, we're here, but conditionally.
“I don't...” His voice is thick, choked with emotion. “I don't know how to use words to make up for years, Mandy. All those years. I was a bad father. An absent father. You turned out so well. Your mother did real good by you.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, avoiding conflict.
If this is a performance, I give him points for faking earnestness.
Suddenly, he's looking at me, red-rimmed eyes unembarrassed. “And you. Your secretary sent me the letter. I know what you're doing.”
Amanda stiffens.
“Any good man would do it, protect Mandy from someone like me. I got no right to ask for your time like this, but you're here and so am I. I'm making amends. You know what that is?” Narrowed eyes meet mine.
“You're in AA?”
“Recovery. Yeah. Working the program.” He reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a shiny round object, thrusting it at Amanda. “That's my two-year chip.”
“Two years?” she says with marvel.
“Been more like ten now, in fits and starts, but two years is the longest I've gone in one stretch. Took me this long, and getting settled after getting out, to finally dig up the courage to ask to see you.” Leo's eyes cut to me. “Hey. What's wrong?”
“I have to ask, Leo – how do you get alcohol in prison?”
He's taken off-guard by the question, but a sheepish laugh comes next. “Man, until you're inside, you'd never know. Toilet wine. Pruno.”
“Toilet wine?” Amanda asks, making a face.
Waving off the question, he scratches his nose and lets out a long sigh. “You just need sugar and something that ferments, like a moldy piece of bread. Some fruit. A bag to put it in and store it. People use toilet tanks sometimes to store it all in a plastic bag.”
“Or people smuggle it in for you,” I add, thinking it through. Leo gives me a fingershoot that says I'm right.
“Oh.” Amanda's little gasp kills me.
Then she does it again, face filled with astonishment, hand going to her lower ribs on the right. “Oh, goodness, Righty!”
“Righty?”
She laughs. “We don't have names for the babies yet, so we call them Lefty and Righty.”
Leo shakes his head. “I knew a Lefty in prison. That's no name for a kid. He could dislocate his own shoulder, elbow, and wrist to get out of handcuffs, but only on the left.”
“They'll have names soon,” I declare. Leo's staring at Amanda's belly like it's a nature show on the National Geographic channel.
“They're your grandchildren,” Amanda says softly. He looks at her, frozen. “Do you have others?” she asks.
“Others? Where would I have others?”
One shoulder goes up as she clearly tries to find a way to ask something. “I–Mom never told me much about you. Were you ever married to anyone else? Did you have other kids?”
“God, no, Mandy. You're it. My only kid.”
“Oh.” Relief fills that single syllable.
“Grandkids. Two at once. Who ever imagined old Leo would have grandkids?” He seems overwhelmed by the idea.
So much that’s unsaid fills the air, choking me.
“Why are you in Nashua, Dad?”
Her use of the word Dad almost makes me jolt, but I hold it in. I’m very accustomed to restraining emotional reactions. My guard
goes down when I'm with Amanda, but Leo isn't her.
And Dad isn't a word I’ve heard her say directly to any man.
Ever, until today.
A shaky smile dissolves and he nods slowly. “I had some choices. Guys like me don't get many, so when we do, it's scary. I came to this place.” He nods in the direction of the halfway house. “It's close to home.”
I assume by home, he means Boston.
But I'm pretty sure he also means my wife.
“And me,” she says, courage coming forth.
“Yes, Mandy. And you.”
“Do you...” Her voice breaks. My heart goes along with it. “Do you think we'll just suddenly have a relationship, Dad? I tried. I tried to come to the prison to see you and you refused.”
An oh, shit look takes over his entire being. I sit up taller, leaning toward Amanda.
Not that she needs my strength. She has plenty of her own.
Leo's eyes close, his throat spasms with a thick swallow, and his nostrils flare as he inhales. The non-stop nodding is a tic, maybe learned in prison, a stalling technique for time.
The guy isn't rushing to give an answer.
And we have all the time in the world.
When he finally opens his eyes, decades of pain shine in them.
“I couldn't face you, Mandy. I was so ashamed. Didn't know how to be a dad in prison. It was easier to pretend you didn't exist than to face up to what I'd done and be human. I'm so sorry. I should have done more. I understand if you want to pretend not to have a dad.”
“I don't… I…” Amanda stammers.
Leo stands, hands flat on the table, head down, shoulders curled in. It's a stance of pain, of a wounded warrior struggling to re-center.
“I'll leave you. Grateful you came at all, Mandy. And those babies are so lucky to have a mom like you.”
“Dad, wait.” Amanda touches the back of his hand. “This isn't all or nothing.”
He flinches, then lets out an enormous sigh. He was holding his breath.
“You sound like the therapists in group. Is that what you do for a living?” he asks with a tender smile.
“I run the market research department at Andrew's company.”
“Yeah?” Grateful for a less fraught topic, he looks at me. “What's your company do?”
