His Story

by Fiona Druce

  ***

  “Is this it, Dad?”

  Greg glanced down at the eleven-year-old golden-haired child standing next to him. “Yes, son. This is where I live.”

  Robbie toed the ground with his sneaker. “How long are you stayin’ put, this time?”

  Out of the mouths of babes. “I don’t know, buddy. Time will tell, as they say.”

  “Who’s they?”

  Smart kid. Greg answered with a chuckle, then gestured for Robbie to grab his things.

  Inside, the light blue walls and off-white carpet gave a cool and welcoming ambience that Greg hoped would ease Robbie’s worries. The kid had spent the entire drive in a preoccupied silence that included twitchy fidgeting.

  “Your room’s right there, across the hall from mine. There’s only one bathroom, but I figure it’s just us two men, here, so it’ll be all right.” Greg walked down the hall to stand in front of his door, facing Robbie’s.

  Robbie nodded, his head jumping up and down like a hyper jackrabbit. His expression was tight, however, and the inward-tilt of his brows gave hint to his emotional landscape.

  It took a week for Robbie to relax. Greg took him out to ice cream, went for walks with him, took him to the zoo, on and on, but still Robbie was on pins and needles.

  Then Greg got called in to work. With no care set up, Robbie now had to go with him. He decided to call it the beginning of Robbie’s apprenticeship when he spoke to the homeowner. The latter considered the entire concept to be on the up and up and mentioned that Greg was establishing great work ethic in his boy.

  Greg simply wanted to find something to help him bond with the kid.

  “Socket wrench, buddy.” Greg lay on his back, under the kitchen sink of a well-to-do businessman’s house. Robbie sat next to him, on his shins, offering whatever tool his dad requested.

  “So…” Greg cleared his throat. Twice, now, he’d attempted conversation. Twice, now, he’d been summarily silenced. “What’s your school like?”

  He saw Robbie’s arm go up and down with shrugged shoulders.

  Okay. Attempt number four. “Ah. Well. Do you…Like skateboarding?”

  “Nuhuh.”

  Greg waited. Silence. Robbie was done talking.

  He tightened down the bolt holding the sink in place and then wiggled himself out from the tiny compartment. “There. That should do it.”

  Robbie nodded without interest.

  “You, uh…Wanna do the honors?”

  A narrowed suspicious gaze met the question. “You know…Go try the sink. See if we did it right.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Greg assumed that also meant yes, as the boy stood on the toes of his boots and reached for the faucet. Another successful job was checked off as the only water present was currently spilling into the sink and down the pipe.

  “Great, yah? I love it when it all works. I feel like I have this massive…I dunno. Power or something.” Greg stood and beamed pride.

  Robbie just shrugged, again.

  Greg’s smile faded. “All right. Well. That’ll do it, then, I guess.” He called the businessman’s wife in, took payment, and guided Robbie out the door with awkward embarrassment.

  And confusion.

  Greg’s son was a complete mystery. Part of it was Greg’s fault; he didn’t live near his son, so he didn’t know him well. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a member of a union that worked in Southern Florida, so he couldn’t get a job, either. And Natasha refused to go to any school but University of South Florida, which was also only two hours from her parents’ house. So he stayed as close as he could. Which meant seeing Robbie once every few months and hopefully on holidays.

  How did other dads do it? Maybe he should join some sort of single-dad support group, but he figured that was more for dads who had primary custody; not dads that got their kids when their moms weren’t able to take care of them during the summertime.

  No, Greg was more than likely on his own. Every moment felt like a landmine, waiting to go off and take him with it. Would he say the wrong thing? Would he volunteer the wrong activity? Would his kid even care?

  The boy beside him was a blank wall, unwilling to even give a hint to Greg. The periodic looks of challenge in Robbie’s eyes made Greg wonder if he was being tested, somehow.

  If so, he guaranteed that was a test he failed every day, up until now.

  They reached the car, and got inside. Greg fiddled with the rearview mirror until he could clearly see his son. The boy sat staring out the window in dissatisfied silence.

  “I give up, buddy.”

  Robbie’s head spun, sending golden hair flinging out in a halo. “Give up what?”

  “All of it.” Greg shrugged. “I’m trying to talk to you, kid, but all I get in return is silence. I can’t do the right thing by you if you won’t give me a chance.”

  The kid’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Why should I give you a chance?”

  Greg winced from the invisible blow. “Because I’m your dad.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean anything. I don’t need you. Mom doesn’t need you! We’re fine, and all you do is cause problems and mom gets upset and then grandma gets upset and I don’t want to be here. I want to be at home with mom and my friends. Not at some weird guy’s house, fixing his stupid sink.”

  The monologue hit like an automatic weapon, firing over and over into Greg’s chest.

  Words wanted to be spoken, but he didn’t let them go. His valid reasons sounded petty at that moment. Greg might as well have been seated on that couch in Birmingham, again.

  The world needed to slow down. Greg couldn’t keep up. Hit after hit after hit. How had his life fallen so far down? When had he gone wrong? What had he done to deserve such words from his own son?

  Greg narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t done anything wrong to deserve such treatment. In reality, he’d fought to do whatever he could, no matter what Robbie thought. He’d had enough of being put down by the child he’d fathered and continued to work for, even if he couldn’t be with him. “Fixing that ‘weird guy’s stupid sink’ is what helps your mom go to school to make a better life for the two of you. And I’m sorry if you’re ashamed of me, but, damnit, I work hard to keep you and your mom healthy and happy. You deserve that happiness and until you’re able to do it, yourself, I will continue to live in my shabby house, with my shabby job, fighting to keep you in clothes and food and happiness!”

  A vein bulged in his forehead. He felt the throbbing, emphasized with each syllable he uttered.

  Robbie, for his part, mashed himself against the back seat, astonishment on his face.

  It wasn’t enough, though. Robbie simply closed himself off with something about his mother doing all the work and Greg never coming to help.

  Greg clenched his jaw. His son was too young to see how hard things were, for everyone. And until the boy could understand, Greg would be the villain of the piece. In a play where there was really no villain to be had. After all, life was never black-and-white enough to have real villains.

  The next week, the final of their summer-venture, was a roadtrip. Greg’s heart sang the familiar tune of the Kentucky summer. Brilliant blue sky, warm, dusky hues of golds and reds.

  They drove until they hit a small little house halfway through a small town. The shingles of the roof hung precariously at random angles. Shutters decayed on the ground. The wood siding that had been cloud-white was now a mottled grey, splotched with black rot and mold.

  Home.

  Well, what was home.

  They drove past until they reached a parking lot, just outside a tired steepled building. Greg didn’t speak; he didn’t ask Robbie to follow. He just walked.

  Tombstones grew like ragged, rotting teeth from the mushy grass-covered ground. Patches of dead grass marred the Kentucky lawn. Scattered brambles broke up the consistent green.

  Greg continued, navigating a circuitous path until arriving at a single white tombstone, silhouetted in the shade of a tree
.

  “Dad…This is we–“ Robbie stopped. Greg didn’t look to see why.

  Thomas Gerard Charmant. Born April 1975. Died June 2000.

  A breeze lifted his hair and gave his cheeks a cool kiss. Don’t leave me, Tom. His own words echoed. The last he’d really said to his brother. Before Child Services had arrived and he’d schooled his expression. Before his life had completely changed gears.

  Tom stayed.

  Greg had left him.

  Shit. Greg rubbed his chin in an absent attempt to forestall the bittersweet sadness that threatened.

  “Who’s that?” Robbie’s voice was a whisper against Greg’s arm.

  Greg gathered himself with slow, measured breaths. “My brother.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “I have two brothers, actually.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robbie’s face spin his direction. “I didn’t know that. Sad you had to leave.”

  “Sadder that I didn’t find him before he died.”

  “Think he missed you?”

  Tom’s final words echoed: I’m so sorry, little buddy. I…Tried. “Yeah. Yeah, I think he did.”

  The boy looked down. “Where’s your other brother?”

  “I don’t know, actually.” Likely dead in jail.

  “What happened to…To Tom?”

  Greg closed his eyes. “He was killed…In a warehouse fire.” Where he worked for the majority of his life. Alone. With no one to care for him as he’d cared for others.

  Damn, Greg needed to cool down.

  A speculative silence met his answer. Robbie squatted down. “Did he have any kids?”

  Greg shook his head.

  “Bet your mom and dad were sad.”

  “They died long, long ago, buddy.”

  Robbie drew himself to his feet in a slow steady movement. After a moment, he met Greg’s eyes. “You’re all alone, huh.”

  “Think so?” After all, Robbie stood before him.

  Robbie caught on. “Except for me and mom.” He squinted an eye and jerked that corner of his mouth. “Well…Maybe not mom.”

  Greg stood before his beloved brother’s grave, after decades of separation. And yet it was his son’s statement that nearly brought him to his knees.

  Robbie reached up and grabbed Greg’s forearm with awkward comfort. “I’m…Sorry, Dad.”

  “For?”

  “Well, you know. I guess…” He huffed. “I’m sorry you thought you were alone.”

  Greg’s vision hazed under droplets of salty tears at his eyelids.

  Robbie toed the ground, but didn’t release Greg’s arm. “’Cause…I might not like you and all. But…I don’t want you to be alone.” His voice dropped to a childish whisper. “It’s scary to be alone.” He jerked his head down and away, to hide his face.

  The innocence of Robbie’s youth burned bright in those baby blue eyes as they returned to Greg’s face. Greg grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy.” He buried his face in Robbie’s hair. The hair of his child, his son.

  Robbie’s breathing hitched, “Dad…Just…Don’t leave me.”

  Don’t leave me, Tom. “I won’t leave you, buddy. I’ll never leave you. And no one will ever make me.”

  “But when I go back to Florida…”

  “I’ll still be right here. You have always known where I am and you always will.” Greg pushed his son back to make eye-contact. “Being separated by distance means nothing, buddy. It never will. And you just say the word…I’m there. I will always be there. You got that?”

  Robbie nodded, his lower lip trembling.

  “Say good bye to your uncle, Robbie. And let’s go get some ice cream. How’s that sound?”

  “I’ll meet you at the car, Dad.” Hesitation colored Robbie’s voice. He’d come a long way, today. He wasn’t fully sure where he stood. Greg respected his need for privacy and walked back to the car.

  He’d only taken a few steps when the breeze carried the end of a soft, unsure whisper to his ear.

  “…But don’t worry, Uncle Tom. I promise not to leave him, either.”