by Tess Oliver
***
Dusk and an onshore breeze had whipped the tide into a frenzy, and the Zany Lucy lurched forward and backward, waking me from a deep sleep. I hadn’t taken time to open any windows, so the small bedroom was sweltering from the heat of the day.
My shirt was drenched in sweat. I lifted my hand and the defrosted peas sloshed around the bag. I plucked it off and tossed it onto the floor. The entire ugly day came back to me as I stared at the swollen red mounds that’d once looked like knuckles. But the worst part of the day had been losing the hours on the dock. I would be without a shift for three days, and my bank account was drying up fast. I needed my hand to heal quickly so I could win the prize money at Tank’s.
I got up and walked out onto deck to cool off. My stomach growled, but the only thing in the fridge was a carton of milk that was closer to being solid than liquid. I was in no mood to drive anywhere, so I pulled out my phone to order food. The day had blown up into a crapfest so fast, I’d completely forgotten my dad’s call. I dialed my voicemail with the usual irritation I felt whenever I had to listen to one of his messages. It was always a plea for me to get him more cigarettes or beer. Now that my mom had moved as far away from him as she could get without actually leaving the country, I’d become his personal gopher.
“Dray,” his voice was rough and flatter than usual. “It’s Dad. I’m not feeling too good today. I think I need to get to a doctor.”
“Shit.” I dialed the house, and there was no answer. “Just what I need.” I ran inside and grabbed a sweatshirt and my keys. Traffic would be fucking miserable at this time. He’d called hours ago, and now all I could think was that I should have listened to the damn message earlier.
I frantically redialed my dad’s number all the way to the house but there was no answer. I had to remind myself that he could very well have been passed out drunk on the couch. I’d had trouble reaching him before.
The house was dark as I pulled into the driveway, and his car was sitting in front of the garage. He always pulled it in at night.
I fumbled for my keys and raced to the front door. The light from the cable box cast uneven shadows across the front room. I could see the top of his head over the back of the chair, and his hand was wrapped around a beer on the end table next to him.
I released the breath I’d been holding and flicked on the lights. “Shit, Dad, why the hell didn’t you answer the phone?” The silence that followed grabbed me like an icy hand. The room seemed to grow darker, and the walls closed in as I walked toward him. His fingers clutched the beer can as if they’d been frozen there, and I knew before I even rounded the chair.
My throat swelled up as I crouched down next to the recliner and stared at him. His chin was pressed against his chest, and his eyes were closed beneath his reading glasses. He’d been too proud to wear the damn things until last month when he’d realized that he could no longer read his television guide or the key pad on the phone. It seemed like some of the wrinkles had smoothed, and, for the first time since I could remember, he didn’t look pissed off. His fingers rested against the beer can, but I saw now that they no longer held it.
I stared at his thick, menacing hand for a moment remembering how I’d feared that hand, how I’d feared those fingers when they were bound into a tight fist. How many times I’d wanted the man to die, just to drop dead on the spot. I’d always imagined myself smiling and laughing over his dead body. But I wasn’t smiling as I stared at him, my dad, the man who’d made my life miserable because his life had been miserable and somehow it had made him feel better knowing that my childhood had been as hellish as his.
I stood and the blood drained from my head. I steadied myself on the back of his chair, and the movement ruffled his gray hair. I stared down at him as I dialed the phone.
“Emergency services, how can I help you?”
“Yes, I just arrived at my dad’s house, and I found him dead in his chair.” My voice sounded unfamiliar as it echoed through the eerily quiet house.
“Are you certain he is dead?”
“He called me earlier to let me know he wasn’t feeling well—” my throat seized up on me and I fell silent.
The woman’s voice softened. “Tell me the address and I’ll send the paramedics.”
“I’m at four-hundred twenty Beechwood Street.” I hung up. The severe hunger in my stomach had turned to nausea. I ran into the kitchen and puked into the sink.
His message, his plea for help, replayed again in my head as I splashed cold water on my face. I stood in the kitchen doorway and stared at him. He looked older and frailer than I remembered. I walked over to him and lifted his hand from the beer can. His fingers were stiff and cold. They’d never make a fist again. They’d never threaten anyone again.
I carried the empty beer can to the kitchen. For some strange, fucked up reason I didn’t want the paramedics to walk in and see him with a beer in his hand. I wanted people to walk in and see a peaceful, elderly man who’d died in his sleep and who’d probably led an admirable life as a husband and father.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the window at the dark driveway where his car was parked. From the corner of my eye I could see the long crack in the wood of the kitchen cupboard. Dad had come home from work, tired and steaming with rage about something that had happened on the docks, and I’d been sent home early from junior high after being caught in the bathroom smoking a cigarette. I’d managed to dodge his metal lunch pail as it soared across the kitchen toward my head. The cupboard had taken the brunt of the impact, and I’d always figured my skull would have cracked open just like the wood of the cabinet if I hadn’t ducked in time. I could definitely credit my dad with some of my agility and reflexes in the cage. Because of him, I knew how to duck and weave better than most.
In the distance I could hear the sirens coming up the street. I ran the finger of my injured hand down the length of the crack and then plowed my fist through the kitchen cupboard. I heard a bone break as the wood splintered apart. Pain shot through my arm as I pressed my hand into my stomach and sank down to my knees.
Chapter 6
Dray
The nurse smiled sympathetically at me as she finished wrapping my hand. She looked about the same age as my mom, but that was where the resemblance ended. My mom had never sat and tenderly taken care of my wounds, and there had been plenty of them. She’d spent her days trying to keep out of his way. Mom and I had grown apart trying to fend off Dad’s anger and survive in our own slice of hell. I still hadn’t called her, but I was pretty damn sure her reaction would not be one of grief.
“You’ll need to get this x-rayed.” The nurse dropped her gaze. “Once you take care of things.” Everyone at the hospital had been soft spoken and reassuring to me as if I’d just lost a dad who would be sorely missed. And I’d played the part of the grieving son because it made me feel normal.
The nurse patted me on the shoulder. “Are you alone? Was it just you and your dad? No other family?”
“My mom is in Florida. I haven’t called her yet.”
“It’ll be a difficult phone call to make, but you should do it soon. It always helps to talk to family.”
“Yeah, I will. And thanks for wrapping this.” I hopped down from the exam table. Strangely enough, the break in the bone had relieved some of the earlier pain. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d left a bone to heal on its own. I could still move my fingers some, and I was sure my hand would heal enough by the fight that I could still compete.
Surprisingly, there were only a few papers I needed to fill out. The doctor hadn’t really done anything except sign a death certificate. Natural causes had been written on the line for cause of death. The doctor had said it was probably his heart. All I could think was that the cause of death should have said call for help ignored by son.
It was a moonless night as I walked out of the hospital. The city lights had drowned out the starlight, and the sky looked black as asphalt. And, sudd
enly, I felt more alone than ever.
I slid into the front seat of the car and stared at the wrap around my hand. It had taken a double hit but it’d suffered worse. Once, I’d gone through a round of fights with two broken knuckles. I’d learned early in life to never show pain. It only made you that much more vulnerable. I had perfected a face of steel that always unnerved my opponents in the cage.
The nurse had been right. It would help to talk to family. I pulled out my phone and dialed. I could hear music before the voice and I nearly hung up. Then Nix said my name and my finger came off the screen.
“Hey,” I said weakly. I took a deep breath and forced a normal tone. “Sounds like you guys are having a party.”
“Yeah, just a little one since it’s our last night here. You’re missing out. So did you land some good hours at the dock?” He had to talk loudly over the noise.
“My dad died.” My throat seized up with the words, and I was sure he hadn’t heard me.
There was a long pause and loud music thrummed through the phone. I could hear Taylor’s distinctive laugh in the background.
“Shit, Dray, I can’t believe it. What happened?”
“Doctor thinks it was his heart. He called me while I was standing in the boss’s office so I didn’t answer. I didn’t hear his message until it was too late.”
“Don’t you even fucking think about blaming yourself for this, Dray.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed back the ache in my throat. “Is Cassie still there?”
“No, she left this afternoon. Scotlyn and I can leave tonight. I’ll come out to the Lucy later.”
“No, I’m fine. Sounds like everyone is having a good time. Don’t mention this call tonight, and I’ll see you when you get back to town.”
“Hey, Buddy, don’t forget your real family is still here for you.”
I hadn’t cried since I was eight years old. Tears had never served a purpose or softened the blows. When Cassie had left the first time, I’d felt an ache, a desperation that seeped deep into my bones, but I never cried. Now my eyes burned. It was a sensation that was foreign to me. “I know you are. I’ll see you later.”
The day’s events had drained me and I felt numb, physically and mentally. I didn’t have the energy or will to call my mom yet. My mind was in a heavy fog as I drove down the street toward the freeway. Sitting alone on the houseboat didn’t sound inviting. Then another urge hit me, and I turned onto the next street.
The harsh fluorescent lighting in the entrance of the assisted living home reminded me of the hospital, only here vases of fake flowers lined the walls to force a homey atmosphere. The woman behind the desk glanced up, and her eyes widened in fear at first. I was still wearing the thrashed pair of jeans I’d worn to work. I slid the sweatshirt hood off my head. I hadn’t visited Nix’s grandma nearly enough, but the women at the reception desk seemed to know that when menacing guys with tattoos walked in, they were there to visit Mrs. Pierce, or Nana as we’d all learned to call her.
Nana had raised Nix and his sister after the death of his father in a car race. Nix’s mother had been a lot like mine in that she cared far more for herself than her kids. Only Nix’s mom had gone off to live a rich and privileged life in Europe. My mom had run off to live in a double wide in Florida. Nana’s house had been my refuge, my safe place, and when shit rained down on me at a pace so fast that I thought I might drown, I ran to Nix’s house. Nana never questioned me about things, but she’d always made it clear that I could come to her whenever I needed. She’d never told me, but I knew that twice she’d called social services on my dad. I remember a starched looking woman showing up at the house several times to talk to us, but nothing had ever come of the visits. Dad had always been a good bullshitter.
“Are you here to see Mrs. Pierce? Visiting hours end in fifteen minutes.” It seemed she was just about to tell me to come back another time, but the expression on my face must have told her I needed to see her tonight. “You can go on down to her room. She’s reading the newspaper right now.”
“Thanks.”
Nana’s mind had been going for a year, but medication had slowed her memory loss. And even though her short term memory was completely gone, she still remembered the past perfectly. Thankfully, she still recognized me.
Her fingers looked long and bony as they gripped the edges of the paper. Nana had never been fragile, but tonight, beneath the harsh, yellow light and against the backdrop of the white pillows, she looked as breakable as a porcelain doll. Along with her mind, her heart was slowly losing its strength, and the physical toll of it was starting to show in her face.
She peered up over the gold rims of her glasses and lowered the paper. Her sweet smile was so familiar, and I hadn’t realized how badly I’d needed to see it until now.
“Dray, what brings you at this hour?”
I kept my wrapped hand behind my back and leaned over to kiss her forehead. She always smelled of roses and sincerity and grace. I pulled a chair over and took her hand as I sat down next to the bed. Sometimes, I thought that if it hadn’t been for Nana, the three of us would never have survived our teen years.
She looked toward the door. “Did Alexander come with you?”
It always took me a second to remember who the heck Alexander was. I’d never called him anything but Nix. “No, he’s at the beach with Scotlyn. I came here alone.”
She took off her glasses, and the fine lines around her eyes deepened. “What’s wrong, dear? You look upset. Did you get suspended from school again?”
I smiled weakly. “No, I’m not in school anymore, Nana.”
She squeezed my hand and laughed. “Of course, I’ve forgotten. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday when you three boys would come home, raid the refrigerator and then plant yourselves on the couch for your gory video games.” She peered over at me, and the same look of concern crossed her face. “You look upset, Dray. Has something happened?” I knew she would probably ask me the same question four or five more times before I left, but it never bothered me because every time her concern and interest were as genuine as if she’d asked it for the first time.
“Nana, my dad died today.” Why was it so hard to say, I wondered. The man had ruined my life and yet saying it aloud caused my throat to constrict.
She took hold of my hand with both her hands now. They were soft and caring. Nana had never been afraid to shower her affection on Clutch and me. Spending time with Nana had always reminded me how much I’d missed growing up with dysfunctional parents. Clutch had always felt the same connection with her. While his parents weren’t nearly as vile as mine, they never seemed to care what the hell he was up to, and they’d never appreciated how great he was at business and making money.
“Maybe the man is finally at peace, Dray. He lived such a tense, violent life and now he can rest.”
I nodded.
“How is your mom doing?”
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t relieve the tightness in my throat. “I haven’t called her yet.”
Nana looked puzzled, and I realized that she’d probably forgotten about my mom’s abrupt departure to Florida. “My mom left my dad. She is living in Florida with her sister. I’ll call her soon.”
“I always wondered why she’d stayed with him so long.” she said as if she hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Her eyes rounded and she looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Please, Nana, it’s fine. You knew well enough that he was a man who earned a lot of bad karma in his life. You used to say it all the time, and you were right. And I guess it caught up to him. He died alone.” I’d always loved Nana’s way of saying exactly what she meant, and it had always been wise and spot on, like her last remark. Growing up, I’d wanted more than anything for my mom to leave my dad. I would have lived out on the streets if it had meant not living with him. But she hadn’t worked up the courage until I’d moved out on my own. By then, my dad was too scared to ev
er lift his fist to me. And, as much as I hated the man, I’d never lifted a fist toward him. This last year, after Mom left, it had finally dawned on him that he’d been a terrible husband and father. He’d tried in his own pathetic way to make it up to me. He’d helped me get my first job on the docks, and when I visited we actually talked like two human beings. There was still no emotional connection and sometimes the civility felt forced, but we managed to hold conversations where neither of us were yelling.
The nurse poked her head into the room. “Five minutes left for visitors.”
Nana looked down at my hand that she held almost as if she was seeing it there for the first time in that moment. “What a nice surprise to have you visit, Dray. What are you doing these days?” She glanced at the door. “Alexander didn’t come with you?”
“Not tonight, Nana. I came alone because I wanted to see my favorite person.”
She smiled and squeezed my hand. “How is that sweet girl you sometimes bring to see me?”
She didn’t remember many new people who walked through the door, but she’d immediately taken a liking to Cassie. “She’s going to New York to take pictures.”
“How exciting. New York is wonderful. I traveled there several times when I was working for the university. So much to see and do.” Her eyes glittered as if she’d been taken back into one of her long ago memories. It happened to her a lot. It seemed to be a way to hold on to who she was.
I stood and leaned over to kiss her again. She peered up at me with a smile and then her face softened to one of concern. “Dray, what is wrong? You don’t seem yourself tonight.”
I squeezed her hand and then released it. “I’m fine, Nana. Sleep tight.”
“Even though he doesn’t truly deserve my salutations, be sure to say hello to your dad next time you see him,” she called to me as I reached the door.
I stopped and looked back at her. Sometimes it seemed like she was in bed so much, she was beginning to dissolve into the sheets and pillows. She was thinner every time I came, but she still lit up the room. “I will, Nana. Take care.”
