by Ally Derby
Pax grabs my bag from Liza and then my hand. “Don’t want to be late.” He opens the door.
“Drive safe,” Mrs. Willows calls after me.
“Hook. Up,” Liza calls behind me. “Make it happen.”
I slam the door to the car behind me, feeling my face burning with embarrassment.
Pax gets in without saying a word. He turns the key, firing up the car, and quickly does a U-turn, speeding off down the driveway.
Once we hit pavement, he glances over at me, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He smiles. “You shocked to see me?”
“Um, yes, very.”
“Your dad needed some sleep.”
“Okay, but how do you know what my dad needs and why?”
“We talk once in a while.”
“Why?” I ask again.
“My dad and Sondra moved out of town right before graduation,” he says, glancing over at me. “When I stopped by to grab some things, he was fixing the rest of the fence, and the lawn was mowed, so I asked him why. He said he doesn’t start a job he doesn’t finish, and well, I admire that.”
I don’t say any more, although I think about the fact that, even though Dad was honest, it usually takes him a long time to finish a project.
“It made me think that I hadn’t finished the job I started, so I left, went to the new place, told the folks they needed to drop the charges, that you had paid for something that wasn’t your debt to begin with. I also let them know what Steve—your dad—had done and told them all about the times I had gone to Tryon and how wrong they were.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“How could I not?” He waits for me to say something, but when I don’t, he goes on. “They refused, and I left, went back to Blue Valley. A day later, my dad found me, and I told him what I thought: that my mother would be rolling over in her grave if she knew what he was not only allowing but pushing for. He got pissed and left. I worked with your dad to finish a project he needed finished. When I felt like I could, I returned to the new house and told my dad I wasn’t going to college if he didn’t make this bullshit go away.”
“You have to go to college, Pax,” I begin.
“I am. I already started, just home for the long weekend. Well, not home, but—” He stops. “Doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re out and now, dammit, you need to breathe.”
I shake my head. “Why? Why would you do that? Why do you keep telling me to breathe? Why can’t you just leave it—”
I grab onto the dash as he skids to a stop and pulls over on to the gravel shoulder of the road.
He turns toward me with an emotion almost like anger on his face. “My mother was an angel, Hadley. She was an amazing woman, kind. She was a teacher, and not just in her professional life, but every day, she taught me something that made me want to be a better person. When she got sick, she didn’t complain. When she found out she had ALS, she didn’t curl up and feel sorry for herself. When she couldn’t breathe anymore, she fought through it for me.
“She told me once that breathing was under-rated.” I close my eyes and shake my head. “Do you know who else said that same thing to me? Do you?” He hits his dashboard, and I jump. He clenches his fist and sits back in his seat. “You did. You said that. God help me, Hadley, but since that day, you have made my days brighter. And God help you because I won’t walk away until you realize you didn’t deserve this any more than she deserved ALS. I begged her to breathe, and she stopped. Please don’t do that to me.”
“I’m sorry about your mother, but I am no saint,” I say with as much sincerity as I can.
He looks straight ahead, throws the car into drive, and hits the accelerator, causing stones to fly up from under the tires of his new sports car. When I grasp on to the dash handle and the one above the passenger window, he sees me and slows down.
“Sorry, Hads, didn’t mean to scare you.”
When he pulls up to the house, I thank him, and then, as politely as I can, I ask, “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here. I need to be alone.”
He nods. I think he understands.
~*~
I haven’t seen or heard from Paxton Jamison since the day I got out of his car and walked into my dad’s house where I found him passed out on the couch. Obviously, he is having a “hard time.”
When I get here today, the day before Thanksgiving, he is sober.
“Wanna sit down for a minute?” he asks, so I sit. “Look, the home visit didn’t go well. They said the place needs some maintenance. I am gonna work on it, but—”
I look around, seeing what they are talking about. The place is disgusting. There are holes in the walls and dust on every piece of furniture, even the broken pieces of furniture.
“So I won’t be moving home?”
“Hads, I—”
“Jesus, Dad, just keep it together for a visit, could ya?”
“I am not in a place to take care of you the way you should be.”
“So is it the house or you that needs maintenance?” I ask.
He looks up at me and then away quickly.
“I’ll be in my room.”
And that is where I spend the entire four days I am here except for Thanksgiving dinner. For that, I cook a turkey breast, instant mashed potatoes, boxed stuffing, plop out a can of cranberry sauce crap, and bake a frozen pumpkin pie.
Yummy.
chapter eighteen
One month later …
After Thanksgiving, I take the bus home every week. I push Dad to help me clean up. When he doesn’t, I do it for him—no, not for him, for me.
It’s two days before Christmas when I look out the window because I hear old Noah bark twice, and pulling up the drive is my father in his old truck.
Mrs. Willow walks out with my bags in her hands, “Merry Christmas, Hadley.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m gonna let your father tell you.” She smiles. “Come in, kids. Say goodbye to Hadley.”
“Write me, call me. I put all my info in your bag.” Liza smiles and waves.
I say goodbye to the Willows and the honorary Willows, then meet Dad on the porch with my bags in hand.
“Hello, Hads,” he says calmly, as if the last time we talked wasn’t a vicious fight when it was. I was so angry at him. I can tell he has been clean for a few days because he’s a mess.
“Hi, Dad,” I say back, copying his calm and sophisticated stature.
“Home for the holidays?”
“Yeah, sure.” I have no idea what is really going on, but I know not to get my hopes up.
No more words are spoken for the entire ride. When we pull in, I look at the ground. It will be a green Christmas, the first one without Mom. Nothing is right in the world.
He gets out of the truck, “Let’s head inside, okay?”
I push past him into the house. There are dirty dishes in the sink, boxes of crackers and cereal on the counters, and too much more to even describe. He pushes some things off to the side of the table, sits, and then gestures for me to sit in a chair across from him.
“Hads, I can’t have CPS come in right now. I am trying, though. I promise. Bee’s family offered to take you in. You know I’m a mess, but I promise I’ll get better.”
“Yeah, Dad, you’ve been ‘getting better’ for years.” I am overwhelmed, knowing right now, if there is a Heaven, Mom is looking down, and I am making her unhappy. Regardless, it’s true.
He breaks again when someone needs him. I’m about to go back to that school where I am a villain and will be hated, tormented, and mocked. Then, at the end of that hellhole of a day, I have to go home with one of the best friends of the girl who died, which the entire town blames me for, and he won’t sober up enough to be there for me? Merry freaking Christmas.
“At least I’ll be closer to you, right? I can help make it look like you’re trying by cleaning up this place.”
“I’m gonna get better, Hads, I promise.”<
br />
“Okay. Can I go to my room?”
“Yeah, sure.” He stands. “Oh, and Hads, Merry Christmas.”
“A little early for that, but thanks.”
He smiles slightly, but it’s genuine, I suppose.
I walk in my room to find the bed. He finished my bed. Not only that, but a matching dresser.
“You like it?” I didn’t even realize my dad had followed me in.
I nod, fighting back tears.
“Sorry I couldn’t wrap it and put it under the tree, Hads.”
I move my head up and down. “Beautiful.”
“I promise I’m trying. Don’t give up on me, please.”
I hug him as I think of the smile my mom must be wearing. “I know, Dad, and I won’t.”
~*~
On Christmas Eve, I drag the artificial tree from the attic and put it together alone. Mom and I did that a lot. While I am contemplating whether to actually decorate it, there is a knock on the door. Since no one visits here, fear overtakes me as I walk to the front of the door.
I can’t open it. I just can’t. It could be anyone.
They knock louder, and I take in a deep breath, the first in a long time. Then I stand to the side and push the curtain open a little to peek out.
His head is hung down low and covered with a hat. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his eyes are closed. Then he peers up, and his eyes meet mine. He cocks his head to the side and takes in a deep breath.
I unlock the chain link and then open the door, just a little.
“Are you lost?” I ask, as my heart feels like it’s about to come out of my chest. I don’t know why he is here.
“You could say that.” He smiles vaguely. “It’s cold out here, Hads; can I come in?”
I nod and stand back, opening the door.
He stomps his feet off then walks in, even though there is no snow on them. “How are you?”
“How are you?” I ask back.
He gives a silent laugh. “No idea.”
I shut the door, then stand against the wall, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Good to be home?”
“Depends on the day?”
He looks around and sees the tree that’s not yet decorated. “Need help?”
I think about it for a moment because I’m not sure now what I was thinking by putting it up in the first place. Habit? The want to be closer to Mom? Or am I just trying to depress myself even further. Either way, I’m not doing it in a private anymore.
He kicks his boots off, then takes his gloves and coat off. He throws them on the back of the couch, then looks down to see my father sleeping.
“Tired?”
“Always,” I answer. “Look, you don’t have to be here. It’s Christmas Eve. You should be with—”
“Mom’s gone, Lana’s gone, and Sondra is about as lively as him”—he points to my dad—“and Dad… Well, he’s pissed at me, so maybe I could help you get through this tree decorating detail and pretend both of us don’t have pathetic Christmas plans filled with self-loathing moments, and we’re not feeling sorry for ourselves,” he says as he opens the box of decorations that I have been staring at for an hour because I am afraid to open them.
“I’ll take the silence as a yes, and just so you know, I am okay with a story about each of these homemade decorations. All the ones I used to use to decorate with my mom ended up in a drug-induced bonfire that Sondra started when she came across the ones Lana made for her while in grade school.” I must look horrified because he laughs. “We all have scars, Hadley, but tonight, on Christmas Eve, I’m hoping I can help you avoid any more.”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, but he holds his hand up, then pulls out a pinecone. “Spill it. Make it good, and if you can’t, for God’s sake, make it up.”
He is pushing me, and although I don’t really like it, knowing he is in need of a friend right now and that he is here makes me almost smile, almost. “Mom and I spray-painted it in the freezing cold a few years ago when Dad brought home a tree that was much larger than normal. We needed to fill it up.”
“Perfect.” He smiles and takes another. “Now this one.”
“Fourth grade.” I roll my eyes when I see the picture of me with a Popsicle stick frame. “Orphan Annie hair. I hated it straight and begged for a perm.”
“As your friend, I would suggest you never try that again.” He laughs as he hangs it on the tree.
Friend? He still wants to be my friend? Okay…, I think. “Lights first, smart ass.”
“You talking to me?”
I try not to smile, but it happens. “Yeah, I am.”
He stares at me. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Smiling, Hads, and this”—he holds up the ornament—“I’m keeping it.”
“No you’re not,” I laugh, then immediately cover my mouth.
“Oh, I think I have to now ‘cause now it’s attached to a Christmas miracle. It’s very”—he pauses and looks at the picture skeptically—“special?”
“Oh my god, you are not picking on me—”
“Sure am and I’m gonna keep doing it if I even think I’ll get a smile and a laugh out of it.” He smiles as he looks in the box of ornaments and grabs another homemade one with an equally horrific picture. “Make it good, Hads.” He chuckles.
And guess what? I laugh, too.
An hour later, the tree is lit up and decorated, and we stand in front of it, admiring our handy work.
“Are we done?” I ask.
“Not yet. I’m trying to figure out how I am gonna pick you up and put you on top of it.”
“What?”
“The angel goes on the top, Hadley Asher, and regardless”—he pauses—“of what disillusioned thoughts you have about yourself, you are pretty damn close to one.”
“Yeah, right.” I force a laugh.
As he turns and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips, I feel my whole body heat up from embarrassment. “You have been mine tonight. Thank you.”
“Well, I did have to clear my social calendar for you, but I guess it was worth it to get through what I know I couldn’t have done alone.” I look down and sigh. “Pax?”
“Yeah”?” His voice is different, his eyes soft and comforting.
“Thank you.”
“I’m gonna hug you.”
And he does, tightly, for a long time, and it feels so good.
He steps back. “I have something for you.”
“What?”
He pulls a little box out of his pocket.
“No, Pax…”
“I was going through pictures on my camera. I took one of Dad while he was grilling. Then I zoomed in and saw you and your mom in the background, both laughing. I don’t know what event it was at, but I wanted you to have this.” He opens the box, and inside is a little locket. “The picture’s inside.”
I hear Dad grumble.
“I’m gonna take off. My number hasn’t changed—”
“I can’t accept this. I have nothing for you.”
“You gave me more than you’ll ever know tonight. A smile, a laugh, and a Christmas Eve I will never forget.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and stands beside me, holding it out. “You smile for me, and I promise not to show anyone.”
“What?” I smile, and he snaps a selfie.
When he leaves, I look inside the locket and smile as I look at the picture of Mom and me in a very happy moment.
Dad rolls over, then is back to snoring.
The phone rings a moment later, and I almost don’t answer it, but something tugs at me.
“Hello?”
“Hadley?”
“Mrs. Keller?”
“Hey, I just wanted to see how you were and wish you a Merry Christmas. Is it weird? Am I—”
“No, Mrs. Keller, the only thing that’s weird is you seem, I don’t know, weirded out.”
“Well, it’s a weird situation. I am so happy you’
re home.”
“No, not yet,” I say with annoyance in my voice.
“He’s working on it, Hadley.”
I gasp. “You keep in touch with my father?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now it’s weird,” I say.
“He’s gonna get you back, Hadley. He is—” she begins.
“Now that we are breaking the rules, can you tell me how Seanna is?”
“She is doing great, finishing her time at a step down program. She spent four months living with the family who adopted her baby, breastfeeding.”
“Breastfeeding?”
“Yep, they got the judge to agree that it was best for her and the child.”
“Is she doing all right?”
“She asked the same about you,” she tells me, and I can tell there is a smile in her voice.
“She did?”
“Of course she did, Hadley. You helped change her life.”
“Did not,” I whisper.
“You sure did, Hadley.” She is quiet for a moment, and then I hear her clear her throat. “Your father has my home number. I want you to know I am still here in your corner whenever you need me, okay?”
“Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Hadley.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Keller.”
~*~
Christmas morning, I make breakfast while Dad is still asleep. When he wakes sometime after eleven, he comes in and gives me a hug.
“I don’t know how you did it, Hads, the tree.” He points to the living room. “How is my girl stronger than me?”
“You’ll get better. You have to.”
Christmas is okay. Dad grills dinner, and JJ comes over. We have dinner together, even smile once in a while. I decided last night that is my gift to my mother. I would make a valiant effort today, and I am.
After dinner, we go into the living room, where there are two small boxes under the tree, one with each of our names on them, so we open them.
New phones.
I cringe inside.
“We all have the same plan, and I want you to call whenever you want.” Dad smiles. I know he’s proud of himself. “Hads, it’s not on fire, okay?”
