by S. E. Hall
“What gap?”
“The gap between you being with her, at the state park, to standing here, not knowing where she’s at.”
I hike up one brow. “Since you’ve been staying out of it, like you were told.”
“Is that not what I just said?”
I wonder where Presley gets her stubborn streak from… can’t imagine.
“Spit it out, boy. What’d you do to piss off my Princess?”
“Actually,” I scoff, “not a damn thing. We’re fine. Great. Close to perfect.”
“I’m not followin’.”
“No, you’re not. And that’s the real problem. That’s why she took off to wherever. She didn’t run from me. She ran from… well, you. In a way. Mostly from herself, though.”
Pain flashes in his eyes, very quickly, and then they darken to a lethal shade of angry. His lip curls, nostrils flare, and he speaks low enough for those in Hell to hear. “Come again? You tell me my daughter ran from me; you’re gonna want to explain that shit real fuckin’ clear, fuckin’ fast.”
“Sir, I meant no disrespect, and shouldn’t have said it like that, but… I can’t say any more. I’m sorry. I really am, but I won’t speak for Presley. It needs to come from her.”
He toys with me by nodding, only to say, “Or, you can go ahead and spit it out before I lose what’s left of my patience and kill you. Dead. No longer alive. Up to you.” He hilts a shoulder, as if unconcerned which I choose… because he absolutely does not give a shit which I choose.
Lord knows I’d love nothing more than to hash it out with him; no shortage of questions I want to ask, certain no answer will suffice. For instance, how could he let things get to the point they have? Or, how the hell can he claim to be “Father of the Year,” yet somehow have missed the perpetual pain his daughter goes through life carrying? But I refuse to ask him. Over my dead body, the current threat on the table, will I risk hurting her even more by saying too much, especially behind her back. I just need him to go find her and fix this, once and for all. Help my girl feel whole, so I can love and cherish her wholly.
“Go ahead and give it your best shot, then. But either way, dead or alive, I’m not telling you anything other than this. You need to go to Presley, wherever she is, and force her to talk things out with you. She’s hurting, she’s been hurting, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”
He falls back a step, sweat beading on his forehead as he tugs open the few buttons of his shirt. “Sutton, I don’t say this shit to other men, or lightly, but… you’re scaring me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry for that, I really am, sir. I wish like hell I could tell you more, but, but I won’t betray Presley. Ever. Not even to you.”
I swear I could see a wet glisten in his eyes, and I’m positive I spot the long, hard bob of his Adam’s apple when he gulps. “Is, is she mad at me? Hurt? Did someone do, do something bad to her that I never knew? Please, Sutton, give me something.”
I take a step and lay a hand on his shoulder, speaking with the calming conviction he needs, and deserves. “No, nothing like that, I swear. Presley adores you, worships the very ground you walk on; she’s far from mad at you. Just, just go to her, now. And make her talk.”
“You wantin’ to come with me?”
“Nope, you guys don’t need me in the way. Go get our girl, sir, and bring her back to me.”
“Castello, hush! Whoever it is, we know them.” I groan at my boy to stop his barking at the vehicle crunching gravel in the driveway.
Downside to having a huge, nosy family? At least one of them will always find you, even when you think you left no trace of your retreat to the remote family cabin. Upside to having a huge, nosy family? At least one of them will always find you, even when you’ll never admit you hate being alone and the remote family cabin in the middle of the woods is a little creepy.
Whoever’s here had to know the gate code to pull their car through, so I don’t get up from my lounger on the back deck… they’ll find when soon enough. Maybe too soon, since Castelo ran off to help them.
“Whose dog is this?”
Not who I was expecting, I jolt upright and shove my sunglasses to the top of my head, wide eyes on my dad. “Mine. What are you doing here?”
“Yours? Since when do you have a dog? What’s its name?”
“Yes, mine. Sutton got him for me and his name is Castello. Your turn, what’re you doing here?”
“What the hell kind of name is Castello?” He ignores my question, taking the chair beside me… and patting his leg for the dog he’s so damn worried about, to jump up in his lap. “How about Bojangles? Or Hank? Yeah, he looks like a Hank.”
“We’re not changing his name. He’s still figuring out where to pee and poop; he doesn’t need more confusion, that changing his identity would likely cause. Now will you please stop with the dog, named Castello, and answer me; what are you doing here?”
“You wait ‘til your mama finds out we got a granddog you been keeping from us,” he whistles, “your ass is gonna be grass, Princess.”
“Are you-” I stop myself, and really study him. Granted, my dad is one-of-a-kind; easily distracted by whatever he feels is important, a champion smartass, jokester, and the poster manchild for A.D.D, but there’s something different at work right now. He’s yet to meet my eyes, there’s tension in his shoulders, and his voice… his voice lacks its usual, natural lilt, replaced by an undertone of… sadness? “Daddy?” I, too, say sadly, not yet sure why, “What’s going on? Tell me, why are you here?”
The longer it takes him to look at me, the wilder my imagination runs, an overwhelming sense of dread churning in my gut. No, Presley. You know he’d never do that to you, no matter what.
“Daddy? I asked you a question.”
Finally, he shifts toward me, and gradually brings his eyes up to mine. “I know you did; I just, I don’t know the answer. Need you to tell me. What am I doing here, Princess?”
Some weird, harsh cackle pops out of me and my head shakes itself, as if refusing the eerie suspicion that’s gaining strength by the second. “Wh, what’s that mean? I don’t get it.” My scared giggle skitters.
“Sutton came to see me. He-”
“He, what?” I hiss with the venom of a thousand vipers, my hands curling into throbbing fists.
“Simmer down and let me finish,” he nervously laughs. “He didn’t know where you were, was worried about ya, so he came to ask me to find you.”
“Alright,” I drawl, “then why isn’t he the one here?”
He sighs heavily, readjusting in his seat. “Said it needed to be me. Didn’t say why, and believe me, I threatened death to get it outta him; just insisted I come, alone, and had a talk with ya. So talk, Presley. Now. I’m not askin’.”
“It’s nothing, really. Sutton jus sent you because he couldn’t come himself or he’d lose his footing. I ran from him, again, and he made it clear that he wouldn’t chase me the next time I did, but he still cares about me, so he wanted you to at least make sure I was safe. That’s all.”
“Helluva try, kid. You almost sounded like you almost believed your own bullshit. Now that you got that outta your system, let’s hear round two. I’ll even help ya out some. Sutton isn’t chasin’ ya because, according to him, you didn’t run from him. According to him, you ran from me. And yourself. I need to know what the hell that means exactly, and I need to know now. Cut the shit, young lady, and tell me what it is I should’ve already heard.”
“No.”
He laughs; one loud, harsh sound. “Excuse me?”
“I said no… sir. I’m not, we’re not doing this. I’m sorry Sutton got you all upset with his melodramatics, he’s a deep person, bless his heart, but nothing’s wrong. I love you, and we’re fine. End of story.” I stand, ready to bolt far away from this cabin, this conversation, go search down Sutton, and first, kiss him for caring, so damn much, and after that… I might just slap his face… but my dad stops me from doing any of
that by snagging my arm.
“Presley, that man loves you.” The cool emphasis in his voice calls up goose bumps to dot my skin, a tingle of gravity to zing along my spine.
“I know,” my reply too holds emphasis, but apparently, not enough.
“No, I don’t think you do.” My dad turns his snare on my arm to a slow soothing rub while I keep my back turned to him. “Not really. He may tell you, or you may be able to tell, but I don’t think you have any idea how much he loves you, and if you’ll let him, what all that kind of love will bring. I’m your daddy, of course I’d rather no man ever become number one in your life,” a trace of laughter leaves him, “but because I’m your daddy, I refuse to sit back and watch you sabotage the best damn thing that will ever happen to you. So, whatever it is Sutton sent me to pull outta you, which I figure goes hand-in-hand with why you keep him at a certain distance, just tell me, Princess. Tell me, and we’ll fix it. Together.” I shake my head and try to pull away, but am again denied escape. “Man,” Dad mumbles sadly, “I didn’t think there was anything we couldn’t talk about.”
Kill shot. My damn eyes water, the sincere disappointed hurt in his tone poking my heart. I’m damned either way now — thank you, Sutton. Not telling him will leave him in confused, worried wonder, whereas telling him will leave our own relationship changed, forever, and possibly hurt him irreparably.
“Daddy, we can talk about anything, that needs to be talked about. This isn’t one of those things; I swear. Please, just forget the whole thing. This us; you and I don’t have to dissect our feelings and make a big deal about stuff. That’s what people like Mom and Sutton are for.”
“Okay, I’m through beggin’.” He releases my arm, sets Castello down, and stands. “Sutton told me not to give up until I got it out of ya, but, I’ve been upfront, open, and honest with you since you were old enough to ask questions; I won’t grovel for what I more than deserve in return. When you’re done with your, retreat here, bring Hank by the house to meet your Mama. And P?” He walks to stand behind me, placing both hands on my shoulders and squeezing gently, “Whatever it is botherin’ ya, about to cost you the greatest love you would’ve ever known, I’m sorry. I’m so. Damn. Sorry, for my role in it. I, I never, ever, meant to jade you, or whatever it is I did. Never.”
I stay frozen in place while he descends the deck stairs. I start to cry as the gravel crunches beneath his steps. And the second he disappears from my peripheral and around the corner of the cabin… I give up.
“Daddy, wait! Come back… please.” He cranes his neck back, his expectant, impatient eyes coming into view, and awaits my next move in silence. “You’re probably going to want to sit back down for this.”
“We’ll see. Start talking, keep going, and I will. Not walking all the way back over there for you to spout off a couple of words then stall out again.”
He’s right; if I’m going to broach the subject, even one sentence, then I might as well just drop the fucking floodgate and let it all pour out. And maybe, once I get started, momentum will do the rest for me… so, I take a deep breath, steel my shoulders, and release the first of the demons. “I know I’m not your real daughter.”
Apparently, those were the couple of words to nix his former ruling, ‘cause not only does he come ‘all the way back over here,’ he flies in front of me, deep lines of angry worry spidering out from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t think I heard ya right; say again?” he grunts, eerily calm.
My head drops forward, no longer able to support the weight of regret in my shoulders. Whole body. Soul. “Yes, you did. It’s okay, I’ve known for a long time. And, well, th, thank you… for loving me anyway.”
“Oh, hell no,” he howls? Barks? Quite frankly, I have no idea what the sound is, only that it’s loud and a lil’ scary. “You. Sit.” He points to the lounger. “Me. Here.” He tests the strength of the chair, that somehow survives, by plopping himself down in it. “Presley Alexandra Beckett, you ever thank me for loving you, ‘anyway,’ again, and so help me God…” he closes his eyes, rubs his forehead and uses the other hand to try and still his leg, that’s wildly bouncing.
Fucking Sutton. This is all his fault. I blame him for each and every second that my father remains silent; hurting, angry, sad, all of it — his fault! And yet, at the same time, I also hold him responsible for sticking it out; fighting me on every dip, curve and U-turn until he reached my core, and loved what was left of that core enough to ensure its repair got set into motion.
Yes, he finagled his way around my rules, but to his credit, a quite impressive balancing act — loving and looking out for me without actually betraying me. Forced my hand while still giving me the upper-hand. And while this sucks, really sucks… it needed to happen.
“Dad?” I finally find my voice, urging him to do the same.
He slowly lifts his head, the watery pain in his eyes gutting me. “I don’t… fuck, Princess, I don’t even know where to start. I think, I mean I guess, should we do this with your mama? Go to her? Call her?”
If this wasn’t about… what this is about… I’d be thinking how adorable my tongue-tied, at a complete loss, Daddy is; but… no, he’s still absolutely precious. And I can’t help my tiny grin, knowing that no matter the circumstances, I was just blessed with a rare sight — and by God, when you’re lucky enough to spot a mermaid, riding a fucking unicorn, you cherish it.
And then you snap out of it.
“No, just me and you; Double Trouble. Kinda our thing.” I smile and scoot my seat closer to him, taking his hand. “And I’m not kidding when I say, I’m good if you are. As in, we can stop now and pretend this never happened. Not every little thing calls for a Come to Jesus.”
He shoots me an arched-brow side-eye and scoffs, “That’s my girl, never acting like one, but, I’m thinkin’ this is a biggie, princess.”
I nod, and resolve myself to the fact this is happening. Right now. Really though… fucking Sutton.
“So, you’re angry with me. I understand, but let-”
“What?” I interrupt unknowingly, my head shaking itself. “No, not at all. Why would I be angry with you?”
“Uh…”
Okay, this version of him I recognize. Years of eating his own foot has him trained — never answer a woman’s question for her — let her tell you how you’re “off,” lest you accidentally dig yourself deeper.
“Go ahead, Dad,” I simper a bit, “there’s no wrong answer. Promise.”
“I figured, and it’d be well within your right, that you’re mad at me, us, for never telling you… things.”
My shoulder’s hitched before I can do it myself. “I’m not.”
“No? I’d damn sure understand if ya were, and yeah, maybe I shoulda told ya, and I’m not making excuses, I’ll take whatever I got comin’, but honestly, Princess, after a while, I just forgot. Not about tellin’ ya; I mean, I forgot it. Period. Actually, forgot isn’t the right word either. I just, well… it’s not a fuckin’ thing. It’s just, not. Never was. I don’t, have never, and won’t ever, acknowledge whatever bullshit version of, whatever, some people may think they think they know, and whoever the hell-”
“Daddy!” I grab his shoulder and jerk, hard, stopping him shy of a brain aneurysm. “Nobody told me anything, and again, I’m not mad about that.”
He’s still heaving, catching his breath, but manages to wheeze, “Then what are you mad about? And how’d you find out, ya know, about whatever pretend horseshit?”
“I’m not mad about anything. I’m just sorry; for what it cost you, and Mom, but especially you.”
“Cost me? What’re you talking about?”
“A child of your own, really made up of you, biologically. Maybe even a son, that looked like you, walked and talked like you; your mini-me. I heard them, talking, through the vent. I know how much you and Mom sacrificed, and I’m so sorry, Daddy. I swear though, I never take it for granted. That’s why, that’s why Sutton and I…” I have to stop
and swallow so he won’t hear the agony threatening to choke me, “I can’t give him all he deserves without getting what I don’t. I’d die before slapping you and Mom in the face like that.”
He shoots up out of his chair, knocking it over, and starts pacing the deck, only slowing long enough to rear a leg back and send a now shattered flower pot flying through the air. “You heard who talking, through what vent, when, saying what exactly?” he roars, hands folded behind his neck as he quickens his pacing.
“Aunt Laney always hid the Christmas presents in the very back of her closet; and as unluck would have it, once you pull out all the presents, you uncover the big vent in the wall. The same wall that connects to the family room, where it turns out, Mom and all of the aunts go to have their top-secret discussions.”
He stops cold and stares at me. “How old were you?”
I shrug and look away, the ground an easier audience. “Around nine, give or take a year.”
“Shit,” he groans. “Way too little. Way too long ago. Wish you woulda come to me then. Need to tell me now though, Princess… what’d you hear?”
So I tell him, all of it, the unedited version, crying my way through every last detail of not only that specific day, but its lasting effect on my life. I’d snuck into Aunt Laney’s closet an ornery, impatient little girl, but a totally different person had snuck back out — the conversation I’ve overheard forever changing me, stripping me bare of my identity, security… my “place” and purpose in the world to be questioned each and every day forward.
Through that vent, my ear pressed painfully hard against the metal grates, I’d learned that I wasn’t who I thought I was, who I’d been told, or made to believe, I was — my mom and dad’s miracle, created from love, wanted — but rather, the leftover product, reminder of the worst night of my mother’s life. And because my father loved her, and her selfless spirit, he inherited me as his “do the right thing” obligation.
