The What If Guy

by Moss, Brooke

  “Ah, we got used to it.” Cody smiled patiently. “We all took turns taking care of Billy. The women kept him fed until he learned how to make a couple things for himself. And Smartie Guire drove him around until he got his license back.”

  That familiar guilt gripped my gut again. “I hate to admit it, but when I left, I was sick of taking care of my dad. I didn’t stop to think that he’d become the whole town’s problem.” I waved to a neighbor as she dropped some candy into Elliott’s bag. “Add a broken heart and an unplanned pregnancy, and I just couldn’t come back, not even to check on him. I’d talked so big at school, bragging that I was never coming back here, that I’d become a famous painter, that I’d be the biggest name to ever come out of Fairfield. I wish I could take it all back.”

  Cody and Holly exchanged a knowing glance. By the time I’d left town after graduation, my attitude had gotten embarrassingly disrespectful. Hindsight was a real bitch, just like I had been.

  Cody snickered and straightened Trevor’s hat. “I remember that. You actually told the ladies in the school office not to hang your picture on the wall with the other graduates because you were going to be bigger than all of us.”

  Covering my face, I moaned. “I was such a brat.”

  “It’s okay. They put your picture up, anyway.”

  “They did? Argh, my senior picture was a real winner.”

  “At least you didn’t have yours taken with your boyfriend. Talk about overkill.” Holly raised an eyebrow at Cody.

  “I know, right? It’s like screaming, ’Hello. I’m taken.’” I laughed.

  “I thought we looked good.” Cody frowned, his blond eyebrows pinched together.

  Holly shook her head. “It could have been worse. Kyle Norten had his taken with his trombone.”

  “That’s like screaming, ’I’ll never get laid.’” I dug in my pocket for another piece of candy.

  The three of us giggled like kids as we crossed the street with the children.

  “Mommy?” Tanner called.

  “Yes dear?” Holly sang in a sickeningly sweet voice.

  “What does get laid mean?”

  I snorted.

  “Nothing honey, go back to your trick-or-treating.” Holly shook with laughter and pointed at herself. “Mother of the year, right here.”

  “You’re a great mom,” I said. “Five kids, and one on the way. You run a household and a preschool, care for your kids, and help with the farm. You’re supermom.”

  “Whatever,” she chided. “You’re a college-educated single mom, an artist, and a pharmacy clerk. You’re the supermom.”

  I hung my head. “I never got my degree. I worked in a gallery. But as a manager, not an artist.”

  “You never finished your degree?” Cody asked in disbelief.

  I wrapped my arms around myself. “No. I never went back. When Elliott was old enough to start kindergarten, I enrolled him in a private school that focused primarily on the arts. I put in extra hours to send him there, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t have a career painting, but I worked in a gallery and Elliott was happy.”

  “Hmm…” Holly murmured. Cody pecked her on the cheek then chased after Thomas, who was about to urinate in another flower garden.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you try to reconnect with Henry?”

  “He had a bright future ahead. He was going to be a college-level art history teacher. He didn’t need a single mom stumbling back into his life. Elliott wasn’t his child, and I’d broken both of our hearts. I had no right to try to burrow back into his life after what I’d done.” My words weighed heavy with regret.

  She gave me a sideways glance. “But you never stopped loving him?”

  “No.”

  I tried to push thoughts of Henry to the far corners of my mind. Thinking about him made me melancholy. I pulled my coat tighter and plastered on a false smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He hates me—that much is clear. He’s probably off on a date right now.”

  “Or he’s pining for the beautiful redhead he dated years ago.”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “The redhead who got knocked up by a different guy.”

  We walked along, the kids running to each door, begging for candy.

  “How’s Elliott doing?” Holly asked. “Tabitha said he was almost in tears on the bus the other day.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “He’s miserable. His grades are nothing like they were in Seattle, and his attitude is becoming unbearable.”

  “His grades are suffering? Have you met with his teachers?”

  “It’s becoming clear that I need to.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you avoiding it?”

  “Because—”

  Holly laughed. “Because you’re afraid of running into Henry.”

  “Mommy.” Trevor came running toward us. “They gave out the big kind of candy bars here.”

  “Fabulous.” Holly held her hand out. “Hand it over.”

  Trevor paled and hid his Hershey bar behind his back.

  “Run, Trevor. Your mama’s eating for two.” I covered my mouth to hide my giggles.

  When her son sprinted in the opposite direction, Holly frowned. “Damn. I really wanted that candy bar.”

  I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a snack-sized bar, and handed it to her. “Here. Feed that baby.”

  She tore it open. “Let’s get back to this Henry subject.”

  “Let’s not.” I caught Elliott’s eye as he stood on a neighbor’s porch. I smiled, hoping he was happy tonight.

  We approached the center of town, where a hot chocolate and caramel apple booth had been set up for the trick-or-treaters. Almost everyone in town walked around wearing coats and costumes. Little kids squealed with delight, running down the hill toward the crowd. Parents followed in groups of two or three, chatting happily.

  “They do such a good job every year on the Halloween celebration.” Holly adjusted the baby in the pack on her back, who was sleeping through his first trick-or-treating outing, then pointed at Tanner, who’d tripped on the curb. Cody trotted off to help him up.

  We’d almost reached the center of town. Lit jack-o-lanterns lined the sidewalk and Smartie had put out a boom box that played Monster Mash on a continual loop. A few adults danced with their kids, while others clapped to the rhythm of the music. It was cheesy to the tenth degree—and absolutely charming.

  Elliott stormed up the sidewalk toward us, his wizard robes flapping behind him.

  “I want to go home,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “What? Why?” I looked around, confused.

  “I’m just done,” he muttered, not looking me in the eye.

  I glared down the street. “Are those bullies here?”

  Let me at the little bastards.

  “No, it’s not that,” Tabitha said, her Dorothy wig crooked on her head. “It’s Billy Cole.”

  Behind me, Elliott groaned. “Can we just go home?”

  I clutched his arm. “Why? Did you see Grandpa?”

  “He’s over there,” Tabitha said, pointing. “By the haystacks.”

  My eyes followed her line of sight several yards.

  Oh, no.

  My father stood on a hay bale, yelling obscenities out of synch with Monster Mash. He held a half-empty beer bottle and a lit cigarette, which came increasingly closer to the stacked bales behind him every time he flailed his arms. My eyes traveled downward, and my stomach sank to my shoes. On the front of his worn old jeans was a wet spot where he’d urinated on himself.

  I glanced at Elliott, who had tears brimming in his eyes, then scanned the crowd who gathered around the spectacle. A few people tried to coax my father down, but most simply covered their children’s ears and watched him in disapproval. Some kids about Elliott’s age pointed and snickered.

  My cheeks scalded. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked into high gear. If my dad had been in good health, I would have grabbed my son and hit the roa
d for Seattle. But I couldn’t even afford the gas to get there. I had no choice but to stay here and deal with my dad.

  Without hesitation, Holly said, “I’ll find Cody.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’ll take care of it.” I knew how to deal with my father and didn’t need Cody’s help. Heaven knew how many holidays my dad had ruined for me while I was growing up. This was nothing new.

  I looked at El and tried to smile, despite our humiliation. “Alright, kiddo. I’m gonna take Grandpa home. Once he’s settled in bed, I’ll walk back down and join you for a caramel apple, okay?”

  He looked doubtful. “I dunno, Mom”

  I touched his chin. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Stay with Holly—or Tabitha.”

  “Whatever.”

  I was really starting to hate the word “whatever.”

  I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the stares and whispers.

  “Dad?”

  My father let loose a string of expletives so offensive that Smartie, who’d been trying to talk him down, flinched.

  “Hey, Auto,” Smartie said. “Didn’t mean to over-serve him. I thought he was walkin’ home to go to bed.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. “Dad?”

  My father turned around, nearly toppling over, and stared at me as if I were a total stranger, infringing on his sermon on the mount. “Get the hell outta here,” he yelled, waving his cigarette close to my face. “Go take your ssstupid kid trick-or-treatin’, and leave me the hell alone.”

  “You’re embarrassing yourself. Would you please get down and let me take you home?”

  My dad tipped his head back and burst into maniacal laughter, but stopped when he stumbled backwards. “The lady wantsta take me home, folks.”

  My stomach chilled and hardened like a stone. This whole scene reminded me of many Halloweens I’d experienced as a kid. I caught him by his bony arm, but he jerked away with all of the roughness he could muster.

  “Getoffme,” he slurred. “I’ll be home later.”

  “No. You’re going home now. It’s time to sleep this off.” I glanced over my shoulder at Cody, who wrestled with one of his sons, unaware of the commotion. My father spewed another chorus of curse words. I ignored the heat that crawled up from the collar of my coat.

  Everyone’s eyes were on me, and the kids who’d been snickering whispered. “That’s the new kid’s grandpa. Freak.”

  The heat in my cheeks intensified, and I looked back at Elliott, who hid behind Holly with a scowl on his face.

  I wanted to cry for him. I remembered feeling the same way as a kid. But at the same time, I wanted to cry for my father, too. He was a dilapidated old man who’d pissed himself.

  “Dad.” I leaned in toward my father. He swayed back and forth in place, his fingers clawing at the dry straw. “Let me help you get home, okay?”

  Behind me, people spoke in hushed conversations—all of them about me.

  “That’s his daughter.”

  “That’s Autumn Cole. She’s back, you know.”

  “Poor dear, how embarrassing.”

  I wanted them all to go away, to go celebrate Halloween and pretend that my father wasn’t tanked and putting on a sideshow in the middle of town. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone familiar watching me as he approached the scene, sympathy written all over his whiskered face.

  Henry.

  This is about to get incredibly uncomfortable.

  “Come on, let’s go.” I pulled on Dad’s arm, grunting. My father didn’t weigh much, but he was so close to passing out that he was practically deadweight. Elliott came to my dad’s other side and tried to help him down, his wizard hat jostling as he tugged. My heart tightened.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  He looked over his shoulder at the sniggering boys. “They’re gonna make fun of me, anyway. I may as well give them material.”

  “Get the hell off me,” my dad crowed, his breath putrid. He jerked free, then fished his keys from his pockets. “I brought my car… I’ll drive myself home.”

  “I don’t think so.” I grabbed the keys.

  “Grandpa, just go home,” Elliott begged. “Please.”

  “Just like old times, eh, Auto?” an unfamiliar voice called out from the crowd, making the others laugh.

  Go to hell.

  I gave my father’s emaciated arm one last yank. My father reeled backwards, then sideways, and slammed into my shoulder. Without time to brace myself, I skidded, hit a patch of hay on the pavement, then stumbled to the ground, landing with an oof.

  “Okay, that’s enough from you tonight, Billy,” a familiar voice said firmly, making my stomach twist. I looked up. Henry glared at the crowd. “Good grief, everyone, stop staring. Don’t you all have something else to do?”

  The crowd reluctantly dispersed, casting dirty looks at my father. Henry steadied him, his hands underneath my dad’s arms. His healthy physique made my dad look even older and weaker.

  “You all right?” Henry asked.

  I nodded, and he turned to Elliott.

  “How about you, son?”

  Elliott nodded and helped me up.

  “Go get some cocoa,” I said to Elliott.

  “No,” He brushed hay off his robe. “I want to go home.”

  I pointed at the bobbing-for-apples booth, my face still burning. “It’s Halloween. You need to have some fun.”

  He shook his head and stormed away. “I’m going home.”

  My heart ached. I hadn’t fully considered how Elliott would be affected by the shame of being my drunk father’s grandson.

  Henry led my father in the direction Elliott was heading, away from the crowd, toward our house on the hill.

  I followed. Holly intercepted me. “Will you be okay, Autumn?” she asked. She’d apparently kept her kids from joining the staring crowd by lining them up for a turn at the apple-bobbing booth.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Holly nodded tightly. Then, noticing a woman gawking at me, she added, “Good lord, Patsy. This isn’t a circus sideshow. Stop staring.”

  “Coulda fooled me.” The woman flared her nostrils and walked away.

  “Bitch.” Holly shook her head. “You’d better go. Henry’s practically carrying your dad home.”

  “Right,” I said, my voice shaking.

  I hurried to catch up, and it occurred to me that Henry had spoken politely to me. Joy fluttered in my stomach like a moth, but quickly flitted away. Of course, he’d been polite—after I’d been knocked to the ground by my drunk father, who’d pissed his pants. But still, Henry had been polite. It was hard to enjoy the moment with seventy-five percent of the townspeople staring at me.

  Soon, I caught up with them. My father softly sang a country song while Henry half-guided, half-dragged him up the street. I could smell my father from a foot behind, a stomach-turning mixture of alcohol, urine, and cigarette smoke.

  I matched Henry’s pace, and took my father’s other arm. Elliott stomped ahead of us, sullen. I glanced nervously at Henry several times before I spoke. “Thank you.”

  He looked torn between wanting to respond nicely and wanting to tell me to shove it. “Don’t mention it.”

  We walked a few paces while my father snored softly, dozing while we suspended his weight, his feet shuffling robotically.

  “He doesn’t usually do this,” I said, my words tinged with shame.

  Henry gave me a disbelieving glance.

  “I mean, he doesn’t make a spectacle like this very often.”

  “He passed out on the curb outside my house a few weeks before you came to town,” Henry said. “I would say he does this often enough.”

  I tightened my free hand into a fist. “You’ve been in town what, a few months? How would you know how often it happens?”

  He shot me a sideways look. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yes, you did.” I clenched my jaw and readjusted my grip on my dad.

  He sig
hed. “Okay. I did. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re apologizing?” I scoffed. “That’s a miracle.”

  His lips pulled into an angry line.

  “Okay, now it’s my turn to apologize,” I admitted, and gestured at my comatose father. “It’s just that…I’ve been doing this my entire life.”

  Henry nodded.

  We approached my dad’s house. Ahead of us, Elliott slammed the screen door. “This is really hard on Elliott,” I said. “The move, and now living with my dad. It’s upsetting him.”

  “I can imagine,” Henry said.

  My heart twisted. “I don’t know what to do, though. We have to live here. We don’t have another choice.”

  “Is that why you came here? Because you had no other choice?” Henry adjusted his shoulder, and my father snorted loudly.

  “I lost my job. And I couldn’t sleep on my friend’s couch anymore. Plus, my dad needed help.”

  He looked at my drooling father. “I don’t know if it’s the kind of help you can give him.”

  “There’s nowhere else for us to go right now.” I sighed. “So, we’re stuck here for a while.”

  Henry’s eyes searched mine as we leaned forward, talking around my father’s mostly inert form. “You’re here temporarily? This isn’t permanent?”

  I swallowed hard, and looked away. “Nothing’s permanent.”

  We dragged my father under the sagging arbor and into the house. I was immediately ashamed. The same orange and brown plaid couch I’d grown up with sat against the wall, and my father’s beat-up recliner loomed in the corner. There was scarcely a sign of my and Elliott’s presence, with the exception of El’s computer humming in the corner.

  “You can just put him down here.” I gestured toward the couch.

  Henry carefully sat him down, then gestured to the wet spot on my father’s jeans. “Should we help him…?”

  I scrunched my face and shook my head. “No. It’s… I’ll put down some towels.” I covered my father with an afghan.

  Elliott stood watching from the kitchen doorway.

  “Elliott, do you want me to make you some hot chocolate? You didn’t get any downtown.”

  “No.”

  “You sure? I’ve got marshmallows.” I crossed the room with my arms open. “Come here, buddy.”