His Ordinary Life

by Linda Winfree

  He hadn’t been able to go the whole way, ears buzzing, vision clouding as remembered horror rushed in on him.

  “Del, you don’t have to do this,” she’d whispered against his ear, drawing him away. “Let’s go.”

  He’d allowed her to lead him back to the pickup. Rain had started to fall when they reached the truck, drumming down on the cab, and he’d buried his face against her shoulder, giving himself over to the soothing magic in her soft touch, losing himself in her. Damn, he’d cost her so much.

  His eyes burned and he cleared his throat, looking away. Dwelling on this crap wouldn’t change anything. He needed to suck it up and move on. Barbara obviously had. It was his turn.

  Not looking back, he pressed the accelerator hard and drove on.

  *

  His cell phone rang, the beginning notes of an old Merle Haggard song filling the truck. He picked it up to find Tick’s cell number flashing on the caller ID. For a second, he thought about not answering then punched the call button. “Hello.”

  “Hey.” The distinctive sound of Tick’s truck rumbled behind his voice. “Where are you?”

  “Old Lonely Road,” he lied, not wanting to admit he was a scant couple of miles from where Will had died. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on my way to lunch with Tori. Thought I’d see if you wanted to join us.”

  “Yeah. You mean you want me around to take the heat off you.”

  Tick chuckled. “That, too. Come on, meet us at the Hickory House.”

  “I’m not really hungry.” Barbara’s laser-sharp barb and his little trip down memory lane had pretty much decimated his appetite.

  “Then come sip sweet tea and save me from our sister.”

  Moving on. He didn’t have the family unit he’d created with Barbara anymore, but he could find his way back to his other family. “All right, I’ll come.”

  The Hickory House’s parking lot overflowed with vehicles. Del maneuvered the Explorer into a tight spot at the edge of the adjacent pecan grove and climbed out of the SUV. Tick’s truck sat at the end of the low, squatty building, Tori’s sporty little silver Miata a few spaces away. As usual during the height of the lunch hour, the line of farmers and local businessmen extended outside the screen door, and congenial conversation flowed through pairs and small groups. Despite the length of the line, it moved quickly, and within a few minutes, Del stood before the cashier’s counter, surrounded by the rich aroma of hickory-smoked meat.

  “What’ll you have?” The pretty cashier, whose blonde hair was too platinum not to have come from a box, smiled at him, pad and pen poised.

  Del scanned the menu on the wall above her head, ordered, and handed her a ten. Pocketing his change, he threaded through the several small, crowded dining rooms, searching for his siblings. He found them at a corner table in a room decorated with an overflow of ceramic pigs.

  “Hey.” Tick rose to take his hand and pull him into a quick backslapping hug. “Glad you could make it.”

  Tori, her bright grin reminiscent of Lyssa’s, jumped to her feet to throw her arms around his neck. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  A surge of affection warming his chest, Del tightened his arms around her and pulled away with a smile. “You, too.”

  Tossing back her fall of dark brown hair, Tori settled into her chair. “Are things better with Blake?”

  Del grimaced. “Well, he hasn’t slammed any doors today.”

  “If you need the name of a counselor, let me know. We have a list at the crisis center.”

  “You know, we’ve tried that a couple of times. He didn’t respond well.” At this point, he was willing to consider anything though. “But I’ll call if we need it.”

  She surveyed him with a critical expression. “You look tired. Are you sleeping all right?”

  Tick sputtered on a swallow of iced tea. Del glared at him. “I was up a lot last night. Every little sound, and I was checking on Blake.”

  “Barb could have an alarm system put in,” Tick said. “Major deterrent to anyone trying to sneak out. Or break in.” A ghost of his teasing grin flirted with his mouth. “Then you wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

  Tori glanced between them, curiosity and irritation sparking in her brown eyes. “Wait a minute. You’re staying with Barb?”

  Del leaned back to give the waitress room to set down their plates and his tea. “Yeah. Why?”

  “God. Men are clueless.” Tori shook out her napkin and laid it in her lap. “Give her a chance and she’ll have her claws in you again.”

  Anger simmered along his veins, his skin hot and itchy with the emotion. Words in Barbara’s defense leapt to his lips, but Tick’s disgusted snort cut him off. “Stop being a brat, Tor. And what do you know about men, anyway?”

  She wiggled her nose at him. “More than you’d like me to. Heavens above, Tick, I’m twenty-four, not ten.”

  “You make decisions like you are. You have the absolute worst taste in guys.”

  “Do I need to mention your last love interest? You know, the one who was younger than I am?”

  “She’s not—” Tick bit the words off. “We’re not dissecting my life. Focus on him.” He tilted his tea glass in Del’s direction. “He actually has a problem for you to tackle.”

  “He has a teenage son who’s dealing with a broken home. That’s tough on any kid.”

  Del pushed his plate away, untouched. He hated that phrase, broken home. It always left a hollow nausea in the pit of his stomach. “He is sitting right here, in case you forgot.”

  Tori covered his hand and gave an affectionate squeeze. “But Blake’s a good kid, and with a little guidance, he’ll be just fine.”

  “Glad you’re so sure.” He wished he could share her confidence. At this point, he still felt he and Blake teetered in the dark on a shaky tightrope, one that could twist in any direction and send his son plummeting to disaster.

  “What have you done?” Tori asked, sprinkling salt and pepper on her loaded baked potato.

  “Grounded him. Tried to talk to him. Laid down some rules about slamming doors and using a respectful tone of voice.”

  Tick nodded his approval. “Sounds good.”

  Del slanted him a cynical look. Easy for him to say—he didn’t have kids.

  Her gaze filled with a familiar wistfulness, Tori rested her chin on her hand. “So how would Daddy have handled this?”

  Del’s stomach dropped. He didn’t need the comparison to their father, knew he could never measure up to those paternal accomplishments. “He wouldn’t have had to,” he said with a weak chuckle. “None of us would have dared slam a door in his house or talked back.”

  One of Tick’s eyebrows lifted. “He wasn’t that strict.”

  “Not with you.”

  Tick rolled his eyes. “Lord, don’t start that again. We had our share of disagreements.”

  Sprinkling a packet of sugar into tea he was sure he wouldn’t drink, Del snorted. “Over what?”

  “The number of speeding tickets I brought home, for one. He took my keys on more than one occasion.” Tick paused, using his knife to draw a pattern in the barbeque sauce on his plate. “The way I treated you and Will for another.”

  “What about the way you treated them?” Tori leaned forward, her eyes bright and curious. Del darted a glance at her, sensing her palpable hunger to hear about the father and brother she had only hazy memories of. She’d been seven when Will died, only a year older when they lost their father.

  Tick’s gaze flicked up, met Del’s for a moment, then centered on his plate again. He cleared his throat, a raw, uncomfortable sound. “Daddy and I were close, and he thought I lorded that over them.”

  “You did. Rubbed our faces in it.” A humorless chortle slipped past Del’s lips. He and Will had gone out to the woods that day, the day Will died, because Tick had taken off with their father and the jealousy had eaten at Will more than usual. The old familiar queasiness turned over in Del’s sto
mach. He shook his head. “So you got chewed out for speeding and being a jerk. Big deal.”

  It didn’t come close to the silent treatment he’d gotten for causing Will’s death or the dressing down he’d received for getting Barbara pregnant.

  Disgust flared in Tick’s eyes. “Everything that happens to you is ten times worse than what goes on in everyone else’s life, isn’t it? Get over the damn pity party, Delbert Ray.”

  “Climb off your high horse, Lamar Eugene.”

  “Oh, good Lord,” Tori addressed the ceiling, “they’ve started on the full names.” She pinned them with a look. “The first one who calls me Victoria Jean gets smacked.”

  Still glaring at Tick, Del ignored her attempts to lighten the atmosphere. He waved at his brother. “So what was your last conversation with Daddy about?”

  His mouth pinched with grief, Tick shook his head. “This is pointless.”

  “Come on, Lamar, what was it about?”

  “I wanted to go to Atlanta with him and he said no. I needed to be in class.” Remembered pain roughened Tick’s voice. “He told me to be careful going back to Athens, and he…he said he was proud of me.”

  Del laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “What was your last conversation with him about?” Tori asked, her tone soft and tentative.

  He wanted to say he didn’t remember, but with the words etched in his mind, the lie was beyond him. “About how I’d ruined Barbara’s life and mine.” Another harsh laugh escaped him. “He definitely wasn’t proud of me.”

  Silent, Tori dropped her gaze, her posture uncomfortable. Tick continued to watch him. “Did you ever bother to look at it from his point of view?”

  “What?”

  “You’re so hung up on his initial reaction, but you never bothered to look beyond the words. Hell, didn’t you ever think he was afraid for you, that he didn’t want you going through what he did?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Tick?”

  “Damn, Del, you failed English, not math. Do the numbers.” Tick jerked a hand through his hair. “Mama and Daddy got married in November and I was born in June. What does that tell you?”

  Tori stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “I thought you were premature.”

  “At eight and a half pounds?” Wry self-derision twisted his words. “Somehow I doubt it. You weren’t even eighteen yet, Del, and he knew what you were facing. He had to be scared to death for you.”

  Their father afraid of anything? The foreign concept left Del speechless for a moment. Delving into his memory of that conversation, colored with his own anger and fear, he tried to pull up his father’s voice. Had there been something else under the fury?

  What did Blake hear in his voice? In the last couple of days, anger and condemnation, what he’d thought he received from his father. With a muttered curse, Del rubbed a hand over his mouth. Sure as hell, Blake felt as shut out as he had at seventeen.

  “Del?” Tori’s soft voice pulled him from his reverie. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand down his thigh. “I—”

  The baleful notes of a Merle Haggard song cut him off. Del pulled his cell phone from his belt. “Hello?”

  “It’s Barbara.” Her voice trembled with stress. “I need you to meet me here at school.”

  “What’s wrong?” He sat up straighter in his chair, adrenaline pushing into his bloodstream.

  Her shaky sigh drifted over him. “Blake’s been caught skipping.”

  “Damn it!” What was that kid thinking? Okay, he knew the answer to that. He wasn’t. “I’m on my way.”

  He disconnected the call and clipped the phone back on his belt. Rising, he pulled a couple of ones from his pocket and tossed them on the table.

  “What’s going on?” Tick asked, genuine concern in his eyes.

  “Blake’s skipping class.” Del leaned down to brush a kiss over Tori’s cheek. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see y’all later.”

  *

  Outside the high school counseling office, Barbara perched on a sapphire blue chair and stared at the Monet print over the bank of computers designated for student use. In the ten months she’d taught at Haynes-Chandler High, she’d been in this waiting room on countless occasions, passing time before parent conferences. She’d expected at some point to be here as a parent, but in terms of Blake’s college planning or the girls’ enrolling in high school. Waiting to talk with an administrator about her son’s discipline problem wasn’t what she’d had in mind.

  She studied Blake. He leaned forward in an identical chair and stared at his feet, his face expressionless. No remorse, no fear, just a blankness more frightening than his anger. She stared at his profile, as if she could see into his mind, see what was going on with him. Fear gnawed at her, uncertainty opening a wide chasm before her. She’d hoped having Del around would help, that he’d be able to turn their son around from whatever path beckoned him.

  Obviously, she’d been wrong.

  The heavy glass door swung open and Del strode in, his face grim, his hair tousled. Her first impulse to jump up and run into his arms, Barbara forced herself to remain seated, her hands clenched together in her lap.

  He stopped a few steps away. “Hey. I got here as fast as I could.”

  She allowed herself to rise slowly, smoothing her gray slacks. “Thank you for coming.”

  His gaze flickered toward Blake and back to her. “What happened?”

  “He went to homeroom and first period.” She glanced over her shoulder. Blake continued to stare at his feet, his fingers linked, his only movement the rhythmic turn of his thumbs over one another in a slow circle. “The attendance reconciliation showed he didn’t turn up for second or third period.”

  Del blew out a disgusted sigh. “Blake? You have anything to say for yourself?”

  A negative shake of his head.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.”

  Blake lifted his head, his eyes dark and void. “No. Sir.”

  Del rested his hands at his waist. “Well, don’t that beat all.”

  Behind him the office door opened and Rachel Simmons appeared. She smiled at Barbara. “I’m sorry y’all had to wait. Come on in.”

  Staring at his feet again, Blake rose and moved toward the office. At the door, Del reached for his arm, stopping him so Barbara could precede them. In Rachel’s familiar cubicle, she settled into one of the chairs facing the desk. Del guided Blake to the other and pulled up a plastic classroom chair sitting by the wall, but remained standing until Rachel had returned to her desk.

  “Normally, Mr. Miller, our assistant principal, handles discipline,” Rachel said, her blue eyes warm with compassion, “but he’s in a called board meeting.” Her gaze moved to Del. “I’m Rachel Simmons, Blake’s advisor. You must be his father.”

  “Del Calvert. Nice to meet you.” Del leaned forward to shake her hand, his shoulder brushing Barbara’s arm. She refused to edge away, even as his clean scent enveloped her.

  “I did talk with Mr. Miller earlier and I’ve already talked with Blake briefly. Normally, skipping is an automatic suspension. However, Blake doesn’t have any prior discipline write-ups, except for that minor scuffle with Bo Henry last month, so we’re going to make an exception. We try to treat each child and situation individually.”

  Blake lifted his head, but remained silent. Rachel smiled at him and continued. “Instead of an out-of-school suspension, he’ll have to serve two days of in-school suspension.”

  Barbara breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t lose academic credit for the in-school suspension.

  “Blake, I want to talk to your parents for a few minutes. You’ll start your ISS tomorrow and spend the rest of the day on cleanup detail. Mr. Martin is waiting for you in the cafeteria.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His voice was nearly inaudible. He rose without looking at any of them and slouched out.

  Rachel waited until the door had closed
behind him. She smoothed back her highlighted brown hair and smiled. “He wasn’t very forthcoming when I tried to talk to him earlier.”

  Del leaned forward, his clasped hands dropped between his knees. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. He’s elevated being noncommunicative to an art lately.”

  “That can be a typical teenage trait. Blake is a great kid—smart, hardworking, generally respectful, but I’m concerned. I’ve talked to some of his teachers and he’s not the same boy we saw last year.”

  Foreboding shivered down Barbara’s spine. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s quiet, withdrawn, where before he could be very sociable. A couple of the teachers tell me that he’s slipping academically, acts distracted, has developed a sullen attitude. Yesterday, he snapped at Ms. Travelle, his history teacher, because he had his head down and she asked him to sit up.” Rachel perused the open file on her desk. “I know the two of you are separated. You’re aware, of course, that children experience the stages of grief during the divorce of their parents, and that can be exacerbated in the teen years. That may simply be what’s at work here with Blake. Has anything changed recently in terms of his living arrangements, custody, visitation, anything like that?”

  “No.” Barbara shook her head. “We—the kids and I—are still living in the same house and they’ve spent as much time as ever with Del lately.”

  Rachel nodded. “What about tension between the two of you? Has it been worse recently?”

  “No.” Del’s voice was curt.

  “One last question.” An apologetic smile graced Rachel’s face. “Can you tell me what the circumstances of your separation are? Say, a lot of ongoing conflict?”

  The ache in Barbara’s throat expanded, threatening to choke her. The circumstances of their separation. How could she say that out loud, admit Del’s leaving had been because she wasn’t enough for him? That he’d changed his mind about what he wanted? She blinked away a rush of burning tears. “Our decision to separate was amicable.”

  Del cleared his throat. “We…wanted different things.”

  Barbara glared at him. How dare he say that? Arms folded in a tight embrace across her chest, she shifted in her chair, putting as much space as possible between them.