Big Daddy SEAL

by Mickey Miller

  Part of me felt like a drama queen, but the other part felt justified.

  I wanted to forgive him, or even better, believe Chandler’s story. But the fact was I just couldn’t. Cheating boyfriends were something I’d had to live with my whole life, and now I heard him, the one man I thought I could trust, talking about his fucking son?

  Maybe I was reading too much into it.

  The night before I was leaving with Chandler to go visit his dad, I called my parents and talked around the topic with Mom first. I just wanted to hear their voice even though they’d just left last night and were back in Joliet. After a while, she passed me to my dad, who immediately knew something was off.

  “Your head doesn’t hurt any more?” he asked.

  “I feel fine. Really.”

  “Amy, I love you,” he said, in his dad voice. “But you hit your head on a damn desk! That has me really worried, I’m not going to lie to you.”

  “It’s fine, Dad. I’m fine,” I repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I’ve just been working a lot this week and not eating properly.”

  I heard him take a deep breath and exhale. “I don’t want to have to pull the ‘if something is bothering you, you can talk to me about it’ schtick. But I will if I have to.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” I cracked a slight smile. “But Dad, you don’t have to worry about me. Honestly. I just wanted to call and say hi, and that I appreciate you and Mom. I haven’t been doing that enough lately.”

  He paused for a long few beats. “Okay.”

  My smile broadened. I knew he was holding back, resisting digging for more information about what was upsetting me. My dad knew me like no one else in my life did.

  I felt a little better after our conversation and was able to force down some chicken soup that night while I watched a movie. The fact was, butterflies swarmed in my stomach as I thought about Chandler picking me up the next day.

  I both longed to see him and wished I would never see him again. Once he came back into my orbit, he would pull me in like a force of nature. Telling him off in the hospital, though necessary, was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  Plus, I felt responsible for having unleashed Pandora’s box on him. What was I even thinking that I thought it was a good idea for me to push him to meet his biological dad? Who was I to make that decision for him?

  I swallowed down another bit of broth. The heat of the chicken soup felt good on my throat. I checked my phone, wishing he’d text me. The truth was that I missed living in the same space as Chandler, as short lived as our little adventure had been. My phone dinged and I rushed to check it.

  It was Andrea, asking if I wanted to come by and watch a movie. With spring training for Jake starting, she’d been very busy lately trying to nab some new clients for us while I supported the back-end of the business in the office. I told her thanks but no thanks that I was going to bed soon so I could be rested for a trip tomorrow. I didn’t tell her who it was with.

  I still wasn’t taking my meds, even though I’d told everyone I was. I knew that was wrong of me but even though I was mad at Chandler, just knowing he was in the same city as me had buoyed me. That he’d dropped everything and flown in to see me as soon as he’d heard…it meant a lot to me. It still wasn’t enough. I’d do this one thing with him, for him, and wish him well. It was for the best, I knew that and he’d realize it too. But I went to sleep, hoping I wouldn’t be completely shattered and destroyed once he left me again—but this time, for good.

  The next morning, I stood outside in the freezing cold while I waited for Chandler to swing by. I was enjoying the relative quiet of the early hour and the warmth of the paper coffee cup in my hand when I heard a loud, loud buzz approaching.

  A huge F-series pickup truck that looked like it was plucked straight from the country and dropped in Gold Coast Chicago appeared in front of my block. The window rolled down and I saw Chandler. He wore only a white T-shirt even though it was well below freezing.

  “Get in,” he grumbled in a low voice, his breath visible in the cold air.

  I obeyed, draining my cup of coffee then having to jump up a step to enter. “Where the hell did you get this monstrosity?” I asked, setting the empty cup in a holder.

  He laughed. “I rented. Figured since we were going out to the country I’d get a truck like the old one I used to have in high school.” He shrugged. The faintest hint of a smile nipped at his mouth. “Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too.” We took off, driving through light traffic in the early morning hours of Saturday. I felt more nervous than I’d ever felt around him, for some reason. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and chewed on a toothpick as he looked straight ahead, focused on the road. His face was well stubbled. I wondered what he’d been up to for the last few days since he called me, but I didn’t want to ask.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he said, after we’d been driving in silence for some time. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I did have to.” I explained to him that I felt this whole path he was on was my fault, in a way. He didn’t disagree.

  “It was going to happen sooner or later,” he went on. “The crazy thing is, I think you’re right. For a man to be fully present in the moment, he’s got to have explored all aspects of himself, all vulnerabilities. Who the fuck knows what Jack Whitehead is up to in fucking Murphysboro, Illinois.”

  “Murphysboro,” I repeated, pulling up the town on my phone. “Wow. It’s way down there. Did you let him know you were coming?”

  “Actually, I don’t know for certain if he’ll be there.” His jaw tensed. I saw the toothpick snap in his mouth. “He sort of…comes and goes.”

  I hated the idea that his dad wouldn’t be there when Chandler was putting forth so much effort but from what I knew already, a man like Jake Whitehead wouldn’t give a shit, and that made me mad a little. For Chandler’s sake. “Did you let your mom know you were coming here?” I asked, keeping my voice mild.

  His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  I waited. “And?”

  “Said to drive safe.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, a little incredulous.

  “Pretty much. She did confirm he was my father, but didn’t say too much aside from that. Sounds like she’s blocked him out of her life even more than I have.”

  The ride to Murphysboro was far, but Chandler drove like a maniac. The roads were clear of ice but the fields were covered with a thick layer of snow. Traffic at this hour was busy but not congested.

  We didn’t talk much, just listened to country music on low. After about four hours of driving, we got off the highway and pulled past the city limits sign, and into the town. I typed in the address and helped navigate him. It was a typical small to mid-size town. It had a town Centre, a fire department, a bar, and a courthouse.

  We pulled past a river, and empty, frozen cornfields on both sides of us that went on for miles. Soon, we came across an old, dilapidated one-story house that sat fifty feet back from the road. A single, huge tree grew to the left of the driveway. A long rope dangled from the tree. The tire, however, had been detached. Though leafless in the winter, it was massive.

  “This is it, I guess,” Chandler remarked when we got out of the truck and stood side by side in the driveway. He just stood there, in the cold, staring. He’d grabbed a jacket from the back seat of the truck, but didn’t even put it on in the freezing weather. I’d never seen him this off. I took a glove off and wrapped it around his bicep.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  After a long pause, he looked at me. “Yeah.” He blinked a few times and then reopened his eyes. “Fuck. I feel weird.”

  “You still want to go in?”

  He nodded.

  I let Chandler lead the way. He knocked on the door a few times, loudly, but no one answered. He knocked a few more times but still, no one came. I went to a dirty, small front window and tried to peer in. It was dark but wh
at I could see was a hovel. It saddened me, the state of this man’s house. I didn’t want to feel sorry for a man like Jack Whitehead, but it was clear this man was as alone as this house was alone in the middle of nowhere.

  “Guess no one’s home,” Chandler said, his expression blank as he scanned around us. “Sorry for the bother.”

  I walked back to him and gave him a hug, which he immediately returned, fiercely. “Let’s wait a bit?” I suggested. “Maybe he’s…getting groceries?”

  He gave a short bark of laughter and let me go but kept his arm around me. I burrowed in deeper. “I doubt it…but we can wait a little bit,” he said, sitting down on the broken concrete steps. I sat next to him, his arm wrapping me up, and as I looked at the cold, barren land, in nowhere Illinois, I was glad to be here with Chandler.

  After an hour though, I was getting a little bored. Chandler was in a quiet mood and not very talkative and his body heat made me sleepy. When I heard something, a soft bang, I gave a start.

  “What is it?” he asked, peering down at me.

  When I heard nothing, I yawned. “I thought I heard something.”

  He pointed to the horizon. “A tractor.”

  “At this time of the season?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Could be hauling grain, or making sure the tractors ride okay,” he said, and I suppose being a country boy, he’d know. “Things rust out here like crazy if you’re not careful.”

  “Oh…” I sat up straight when I heard it again, a muffled ‘clank’, somewhere from behind us, and the house. “What the hell?”

  “What?” Chandler called after me, when I got up and sprinted towards where I thought I’d heard the sound. “Dammit, Amy! Don’t run off like that!”

  I looked behind me just as Chandler caught up to me. I pointed. And wouldn’t I know it. A half a mile behind the house was a small wood barn, also dilapidated. I could make out the tire tracks coming from it that merged into the main driveway.

  When we both heard the ‘clank’ sound, we looked at each other, and raced toward the barn or garage or whatever the building was. Chandler beat me with his damn long legs, and had me stay a few yards back, just to make sure it wasn’t a wild animal or anything. When we clearly heard a man’s voice swearing, and then the sound of metal loudly banging against metal, I knew it wasn’t the usual kind of animal Chandler might have entertained.

  One side of the door hung off its hinges, the bolt rusted and busted. The other side of the door was partly ajar, and Chandler forced it open, using his strength to push it aside.

  The older man inside gave a yelp of surprise, holding up a metal tool in his right hand, ready to fight.

  I looked at him and knew it was him in an instant. Jack Whitehead. At some point, the man that Chandler’s mom had fallen for had been good looking but years of abuse and not taking care of himself had done its toll, and God only knew what other vices had hastened his run-down appearance. He was in a thick coat, the hood of the car propped open and he eyed us suspiciously. I walked up, cautiously.

  He was in his mid-fifties with long, blondish brown hair, a mustache, and lots of stubble. Blood-shot eyes with an overall tired, haggard look about him. He looked ill, like he might keel over any second. His once robust, tall body was now too thin, almost wasted away.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he growled.

  Chandler just stared, his mouth moving but not a sound coming out. I stepped forward. “My name is Amy,” I introduced, then looked at Chandler. “And this is…”

  “Chandler,” Chandler finally said, blinking. “Chandler Spiros.”

  Nothing. Jack scowled at us, still holding up his tool like he might use it on us. “You’re on private property!”

  “Are you…Jack Whitehead?” Chandler asked, his voice raspy and low.

  He gave Chandler a sour expression. “Who wants to know?” he asked, furtive and defensive.

  “I’m your son,” Chandler said, just barely audible. I went over and stood next to him. “I mean, one of them…”

  Jack just glared dolefully at both of us but seemed to realize we weren’t going to do anything to him. He moved to the side of the car and set the tool on top of the roof, next to a six-pack of beer. He swiped a can, and drank from it like it was water. It was barely noon.

  “Whadda want?” he snapped. “I’m busy.”

  “You always this pleasant or do you work at it?” I quipped.

  His gaze narrowed at me, then turned…appraising. My skin crawled at that point and Chandler stiffened. He brought me into his body then slightly behind. I wasn’t going to resist and stayed put.

  “So Jack,” Chandler began. There was a nervousness, a vulnerability that I’d never heard in his voice before. “This is strange, I know, but I recently found out you’re my biological father. I don’t know if you remember Stefana Spiros?”

  Jack shrugged and pursed his wrinkled lips. “Don’t know her, don’t care, and what the fuck you wanna know at this point?” He squinted at us while he chugged his beer. When the can was emptied, he squeezed it, threw it deep in the back of the garage, and took another from the six-pack. “Fuck if I remember all of the women I was with. That was a long time ago.”

  I watched Chandler. As much as I wanted to be able to relate to him, right now, I had no idea what was going through his mind.

  “So you don’t remember my mom,” Chandler inferred. He was fishing for Jack to disprove him.

  The man scoffed. “Son, I barely remember what day it is, let alone all of the goddamn women I was with back in the day. When I was your age, I had any woman I wanted.” His smile was positively evil, his eyes lingering on me again. “You must take after me, too.”

  Chandler’s jaw tensed. “I don’t need a commentary. Or how well you played the field.”

  “Well then, what the hell did you come all this way for?” he bit out. “You came here for something. What?”

  I glanced around the garage, and it was as filthy, ratty and disorganized as what I’d seen through the front window of his house. As the man before me, as well. I wondered how anyone lived so slovenly. I kept my mouth shut, instead letting Chandler do the talking.

  “I don’t know what I wanted, exactly,” Chandler said, at a loss for words. Then he shrugged, then looked him in the eye, suddenly resolute. “But I do want to ask you a question. Why didn’t you just pick one woman and stick to her?”

  “Son, according to my last count, I supposedly have seventeen kids. Seven-fucking-teen, but who the hell knows the real number. I sure wasn’t keeping track,” he said, derisively and proceeded in draining his second beer in only a few seconds. “If that ain’t a symbol of a man who did his duty on this earth to spread his seed, well, I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. Look, not everyone gets to have a father. That’s just the way life is. My dad was dead before I could have memories. The fucking farm raised me. Anything else you want to know?”

  Seventeen kids. Where had I heard that figure before?

  Chandler took a deep breath. Jack slammed his second beer on the top of his beat up, rusted, dilapidated car, and cracked up a third can. The man knew how to drink.

  “Yeah I just have one more question,” Chandler said. “Are you happy?”

  I swear I saw Jack Whitehead snap to attention at that one. I did too because I hadn’t expected that question at all. He swallowed. “Son, happiness ain’t got much to do with the world.”

  Chandler seemed to take that in and I couldn’t tell by his expression what the answer meant to him. He looked at the suitcase and the car. “Going somewhere?”

  The hard grit to Jack’s eyes returned. “Always.”

  Chandler nodded. “Thanks for meeting me,” he went on. “I do appreciate it. We’ll be going now. We won’t bother you again.”

  Chandler was already heading for the door and dragging me behind him by my hand. I looked back. Chandler didn’t. I wasn’t sure how that’d gone.

  As we walked to the truck, a light snow
began to fall.

  “Want to go get some food?” Chandler asked once we were back in the car. “I’m starving. And I couldn’t stand to be by him for another minute.”

  “Sure,” I answered, eying him and going with the flow, for now. He seemed strangely calm.

  “Great, can you Google something in the town?”

  I found a four-star lunch place on Yelp called The Southern Grille and we headed there. We pulled up to a red light and Chandler slammed on the brakes so hard I jerked forward and almost hit my head on the dashboard.

  “Hey, what’s gotten into you?!”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I just found out my father has seventeen fucking kids running around. That he knows of. So that means I have seventeen half siblings running around out there. And I bet they’re all as fucked up as I am!”

  Delayed reaction much? I put a hand on his knee, trying to get over my near-death experience to comfort my…boy…friend. I looked at him. “You’re not fucked up,” I told him, and let him see it on my face, hear it in my voice, that I wasn’t feeding him a line. I believed what I said.

  He arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m not fucked up. Really?! C’mon, Amy, you know me better than anyone else. You know what I’m like. You know me to the fucking bone, and even you don’t trust me because you know my past. I’m just like my father. I’m fucking doomed. I’ve got the Casanova genes running through my blood, and the only girl who I’ve ever cared about enough to quell that behavior—the only girl I’ve ever loved—she’s left me fucking heartbroken.”

  I didn’t breathe from the time he’d said the L-word to when the light turned green and we traveled a quarter mile. By then, I was gasping for air. I blindly watched the small town of Murphysboro go by. The snow was falling harder now, and Chandler turned on the windshield wipers. I replayed what Chandler had said in my head and my breath caught. “Did you just say you loved me?”

  “Yes,” he said, in a matter of fact way. As if he’d considered all the options, the ones that included liking me, or liking me a lot, and the only logical emotion left was love. We found The Southern Grill and pulled into the parking lot, but neither of us budged. He took big breaths and looked me in the eye as he spoke. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t love me back. I’m done playing coy with you and trying to be your amigovio or some ambiguous thing. I need more. I want more. You.”