by Lili Valente
And I suspect he is Caitlin’s dad, a suspicion he confirms when he says in a slurred voice—
“Sweetheart, I have a problem. I need some help from my best girl.”
I dislike him immediately, even before I turn back to see the confident, laid back Caitlin who met me at the door tonight replaced by a pale, vulnerable-looking girl with panic written clearly on her features.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Caitlin
A man takes a drink; the drink takes a drink;
the drink takes the man. –Irish proverb
I jump to my feet, making it around the picnic table and intercepting Dad before he gets close enough to realize there’s a stranger at the table. Chuck lost his last pair of glasses months ago and can’t see for shit at a distance. If I can keep him away from the table, give him whatever he wants, and send him on his way, this shouldn’t have to turn ugly in front of Gabe.
As long as Chuck’s not asking for money you don’t have…
“Please don’t be asking for money,” I mutter as I cross the yard.
“There you are.” Chuck grins down at me as I hook my arm through his and turn him toward the house. “There’s my best girl.”
“What’s up, Dad?” I lead him back across the grass, nose wrinkling at the sour, alcohol-and-garlic-infused smell rising from his clothes.
“Veronica kicked me out,” he says. “She says I can’t come back until I start paying room and board. I think she’s serious this time. She had that look in her eye.”
I sigh. It’s about money. Of course it is.
What else does Chuck ever need from his “best girl?”
“Dad, I don’t have anything to loan you right now,” I say, though we both know this would be a gift, not a loan. For the past year, money has only flowed one way between Chuck and me—from me, to him. “After paying the taxes on the house, I’m strapped. And the kids are going to be out of school soon, and I’ll be paying for daycare… You know that’s crazy expensive.”
“Aw, come on, Kit Cat, you always have a little something stashed away,” Dad says, using one of his many pet names for me, the ones I used to love when I was little and thought that someone calling you a sweet name meant they loved you.
Now, I know better. Words from my dad mean less than nothing. Words are weapons Chuck uses to manipulate the people unlucky enough to be related to him.
“I really don’t this time, Dad,” I say, determined to stand firm. “I’m sorry.”
Gabe and I haven’t hit Mr. Pitt’s house yet, and we may still end up calling off the job. Robbery, I can stomach, but anything else is out of the question. I didn’t like the look in Gabe’s eye when he talked about the punishment fitting the crime.
I liked the fact that something deep inside of me agreed with him even less. I have no intention of becoming one of the monsters in Gabe’s dad’s files, but Gabe and I are standing on a slippery slope, and I have a feeling it would be easier than I can imagine to slide down into the muck.
“I can’t go back to sleeping on the damned couch,” Chuck says, anger creeping into his tone. He wrenches his arm from mine, refusing to let me lead him the rest of the way into the house. “I’ve got a plate in my shoulder and a bad back. I need a bed, Kitty Cat.”
I run a clawed hand through my hair, sneaking a glance back at the picnic table, grateful to see Gabe still sitting where I left him, though he’s watching my exchange with Chuck like a predator debating whether or not to pounce.
I need to get this handled. ASAP.
“Okay, Dad, fine.” I hate what I’m about to do, but I’ve got no other choice. The kids are already sharing rooms and I don’t want Chuck waking them up in the middle of the night when he comes stumbling home drunk.
“You can have your old room back,” I say, the words stinging on the way out. “I’ll set the bunk bed back up in Danny’s room, and Emmie and I can share. She’s old enough to sleep in a big bed, and…I don’t know, maybe I can sell the toddler bed for a few bucks.”
Chuck shakes his head so hard he stumbles before regaining his balance. “I can’t sleep here, Caitlin. It’s too damned hot.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I can turn on the air conditioning if he’s willing to hand over his VA check at the beginning of the month—that check would cover air conditioning and an entire month of daycare, and I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on it before Chuck can drink it away—but he rolls on before I can get a word in.
“I need my own space,” he says, folding his arms over his belly, which has gotten even rounder since he moved in with Veronica, and started eating her Italian home cooking. “I deserve my own space after raising kids for twenty-four damned years.”
I bite my lip, refusing to call him on his bullshit. Deep down, I think he knows that I’ve been doing the kid-raising around here for a long time, and Aoife was doing the heavy lifting before I was old enough, but he’d never admit it out loud. Gabe’s dad has his mental gymnastics, and my father has his. Chuck’s involve casting himself as the long-suffering, hard-working father, whose failures lie at the feet of the wife who left him, the children who never appreciated him, and the government who let him down.
His self-image relies on ignoring that by the time Ray and Sean were born, he was at the bar almost every night, and that for the past few years he’s only seen the kids when he was drunk off his ass.
“Well, I’m sorry, Dad,” I say in my Chuck voice, that calm, lulling tone good for talking down drunks and Gretchen, when she gets her apron in a twist at work. “I can offer you a bed here, but I don’t have any money to spare.”
He scowls, his thick brows shadowing his eyes, transforming his cheery elf face into something uglier, into that sneering mask I remember from watching my parents fight when I was little.
“You’re a liar,” he spits. “Just like your mother.”
“I’m nothing like Mom,” I say, though I know arguing with him is pointless. “I’ve helped you out every time I could afford to, and even sometimes when I couldn’t. The last time I bailed you out with Hal it almost cost me the house.”
“Cost me the house. It’s my house, little girl,” Chuck says, jabbing a finger in my face. “Don’t forget where your bread’s buttered.”
I laugh, a mean laugh I can’t seem to hold in. “Give me a break, Dad. I keep your bread buttered, not the other way around, and you know it.”
“Watch your mouth.” His blue eyes narrow. “I’m good to you, Caity May. Most fathers wouldn’t let a full-grown girl keep hanging around, sleeping under their roof. Most fathers would tell you to get off your ass, and get your own place.”
“Are you kidding me?” I sputter, fighting to keep my temper in check and losing. “You are so full of shit. You would have lost the house and the kids if it weren’t for me.”
Chuck shrugs, his mouth pulling down hard on the sides. “Well…maybe they’d be better off with the state. Maybe I should put in a call.”
I see stars—white hot stars bursting at the edges of my vision—and the next thing I know I’m lunging at Chuck. I’m half my father’s size, but I’m also less than half his age, stone cold sober, and angry. So fucking angry it feels like my chest is going to explode.
How dare he? How dare he threaten this family after all I’ve done to hold us together? It makes my bones vibrate with rage as I slam my palms into his barrel chest and shove.
I push him as hard as I can, but still, I don’t expect him to go reeling backward, tripping hard over the toy truck Sean left out in the grass, and landing flat on his back. Chuck’s cry of pain as he hits the ground makes me flinch and the wave of anger ebb a bit, but I’m still livid, so mad my voice shakes when I speak.
“Get out.” I point a finger around the side of the house. “Get off this property, don’t come back until you’re sober, and don’t you dare threaten this family again.”
“Bitch,” Chuck groans as he rolls onto his side, wincing as he moves.
“An
d I want the money you owe me for bailing you out with Hal,” I say, refusing to let Chuck’s name-calling hurt. He’s called me a bitch before, and he’s always sorry for it when he sobers up. He’ll probably be back here tomorrow begging forgiveness for the scene he’s causing today, but right now I don’t care. I just want him gone.
“Selfish little bitch,” he says, struggling to his feet. “You don’t care about those kids. You only care about yourself!”
“That may be one of the most ludicrous things I’ve ever heard.” Gabe sounds amused, and when he appears at my side, he looks as cool and collected as always, but I can see the tension simmering in his muscles as he steps in front of me, placing himself between me and Chuck.
I take his elbow and try to pull him back—getting in the middle of things will only make this worse—but it’s too late, Chuck has already smelled blood in the water.
“And who the holy fuck is this?” he asks, eyes widening as he looks from me to Gabe and back again. “You moved your boyfriend into my house? Is that why there’s suddenly no room for your own damned father?”
“She offered you a room,” Gabe says. “You turned it down.”
“Shut up, pretty boy,” Chuck says. “You may be fucking my daughter, but that doesn’t give you the right to—”
Chuck’s words end in a gurgle as Gabe grabs fistfuls of Dad’s spaghetti-sauce-speckled shirt, lifting my father off the ground as he spins and slams Chuck’s back against the house. I gasp, hand flying to cover my mouth as I stumble a few steps away, not knowing what’s more surprising—that Gabe is even stronger than he looks, or that, for the first time in my life, I can see fear on Chuck’s face.
Even when Hal was threatening to beat my father’s bar tab out of him if Chuck didn’t pay up, the fear in Chuck’s voice as he begged me to bail him out never reached his eyes. No matter how much shit he brings upon himself, my dad is the kind of person who always believes he’ll be able to slither out of trouble in the end.
And why shouldn’t he believe it? For fifty-three years, that’s always been the case.
The fact that Gabe is the first person I’ve ever seen frighten my dad makes the hair on my arms stand on end, even before Gabe says in a low, menacing voice—
“You don’t talk about Caitlin that way. You don’t comment on our relationship, you don’t critique her choices, and you don’t come back here unless you’ve got money in your hands and an apology on your lips. Do you understand?”
Dad pulls in a breath, wincing as he exhales. “Put me down.”
“Do you understand?” Gabe repeats, the muscles in his arms bunching tighter as he lifts my father higher up the side of the house.
“I’ve got a bad back!” Dad cries out, voice pinched.
“Do you—”
“Fuck you!” Chuck shouts, his words transforming into a howl of pain as Gabe pulls him away from the wall and slams him back into the paneling.
“Gabe stop, the kids,” I say, turning to check on my brothers and Emmie.
“Don’t stop because of us,” Danny says in a shaky voice. He stands not far behind me, hands balled into fists at his sides. His cheeks are pale, but his eyes glitter with a cruel satisfaction I don’t like seeing on his face. Not even a little bit.
“Get out of here, Danny,” I say, flinching as my dad’s back hits the wall a third time and his groan becomes a high-pitched yelp. “You don’t need to see this. Go check on the others.”
“The others are fine,” Danny says, eyes glued to Gabe’s back. “I’m staying.”
I glance toward the rear of the yard to see that Ray has corralled Sean and Emmie into the far corner, near the hole in the fence, and is doing his best to shield them from the scene near the house. But I spot Sean’s wide, frightened eyes peeking around Ray’s arm and I can hear Emmie crying.
It’s the sound of her tears that makes me turn and grab Gabe’s arm, digging my fingers into the tightly knotted muscle. “Enough, Gabe. Put him down!”
Gabe hesitates, holding my dad’s gaze for a long beat.
“The baby’s crying,” I say in a softer voice. “Please, just…let it go. He’s not worth it.”
Gabe’s jaw clenches and for a second I don’t think he’s going to listen to me, but finally his muscles shift beneath my hand and he loosens his grip, letting Chuck slide down the wall. Dad lands in a heap, breath rushing out in a groan as his palms reach back to brace himself against the concrete foundation.
“Get out,” Gabe whispers, nudging my father toward the side of the house with his shoe.
Chuck staggers to his feet, swallowing hard as he backs away. He keeps his eyes glued to Gabe, watching him like he’s a bomb about to go off. Chuck doesn’t glance my way until he’s about to turn the corner, and then only for a moment before he stumbles away, but a moment is enough to see the hurt and shock in his eyes. Hurt and shock, with a kernel of fury at the center.
If I know my dad, it won’t take long for that kernel to sizzle and pop, and for Chuck to start working out a way to make me pay for humiliating him.
“Shit.” I drop my face into my hands, drawing in a deep breath that does nothing to calm the fear rising inside me.
“I’ll make sure he’s gone,” Gabe says from beside me.
“Don’t bother.” I lift my face from my hands, shoving the hair from my face. “He’ll leave, but he’ll be back in a day or two, and everything will be worse than it was before. So…thanks a lot.”
Gabe turns back, a guarded expression on his face. “You sound angry.”
“I am angry,” I say. “You should have stayed out of it. I know how to handle my father.”
“I think Gabe was awesome,” Danny says, excitement in his tone. “I loved that shit. I’ve been dying to see Chuck pinned to a fucking wall.”
“Language!” I shout over my shoulder at my brother, breath huffing out as I try to regain control. “Just…go check on Emmie, okay?”
“But I—”
“Go check on Emmie.” I point a finger toward the rear of the yard. “Now!”
Danny scowls and curses beneath his breath, but he turns and starts toward the corner of the fence. I shift my attention back to Gabe, forcing myself to lower my voice. “I get that you were trying to help, but my dad doesn’t respond well to threats. He’s going to get over being scared, and decide to get even.”
Gabe takes a step closer. “How will he get even?” he asks in a mild voice that makes it difficult to believe I watched him lose it in a major way a minute ago. “Will he make you work two jobs to take care of his kids, while refusing to pay a dime to help? Come begging for money and verbally abuse you when he doesn’t get what he wants?”
“Yeah, that’s funny,” I say in a tone I hope makes it clear I don’t find it funny at all. “But you don’t understand. Things can always get worse.”
“In this situation, I fail to see how.”
“All kinds of ways,” I say. “Once, back when my sister was in charge and she kicked Chuck out of the house for the first time, he hired a crew of guys to come rip up the front porch and leave the pieces in the yard. And then, when the men he’d hired found out Chuck couldn’t pay them, they threw a rock through the living room window. We spent Christmas Day freezing to death and had to pawn Mom’s last piece of good jewelry to pay for a new window.”
Gabe sighs, bringing a hand to press at his temple as if this conversation is giving him a headache. But Gabe doesn’t know what a headache is yet, not until he’s been on the receiving end of Chuck Cooney’s vengeful side.
“Another time,” I continue, “right after I told him I was moving into his and Mom’s old room, since he hardly ever slept here anymore, Chuck showed up at the school and told the office not to release Danny into my care. He told them he was the one with custody, and he’d be picking his son up from now on.
“He picked Danny up for exactly two days before he disappeared and I had to have a meeting with the principal and beg Chuck to sign a bunch of pap
erwork to get approved to pick my brother up again. That cost me two hundred dollars, by the way, because Chuck doesn’t sign anything he isn’t getting paid to sign.”
“You shouldn’t have paid him a dime,” Gabe says.
“I didn’t have a choice, don’t you get that?” I ask, exasperated. “Chuck has custody of the kids. I’m not even a legal caregiver. He knows I don’t have a leg to stand on if he calls the Department of Human Services like he threatened.”
“But why would the state take the kids away from you? Custody or no custody?” Gabe asks. “It should be clear to anyone who takes a second to look that you’re devoted to them, and they’re being well-cared for.”
I cross my arms, shaking my head. “When it comes to the Cooneys, DHS takes kids into custody first, and asks questions later. One time, I ended up in foster care because my mom was taking a nap when the DHS worker showed up. She wasn’t even passed out that time, just sleeping, but the caseworker didn’t care. He took me and my sister, and Danny, who was just a baby, and we all ended up in separate homes.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Gabe says.
“I don’t need you to be sorry,” I say. “I need you to understand that if the state takes the kids, I won’t be able to get them back without Chuck. He’ll have to sign the paperwork, because he’s the one with legal custody.”
Gabe stares at me for a long moment, his blue eyes cool and unreadable, making me wonder if he’s heard a word I’ve said, before he nods. “Okay, then you’ll sue him for custody. My father can start the paperwork. I’ll speak with him about representing you tonight.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Gabe, I can’t sue. I don’t have that kind of money, especially not to hire your dad.”
