I was getting groceries on the way home when I saw my parents in the store. I stopped, my hands gripping the cart, and watched them making their way through the produce section. I hadn’t seen either of them for years, not even a photo. My father looked a little stooped in the shoulders and his brown hair was almost all gray now, but he was still tanned. I’d seen his truck around town a few times since I’d been on parole, so I knew he was still working, but I suspected he was managing the guys more than he was swinging a hammer. A couple of times I’d fought the urge to visit him at one of the job sites with his construction signs. It looked like Mom was dyeing her hair now, a soft brown she’d pulled back in a loose ponytail. She was still in shape, small like me, like Nicole had been—too small to fight off her attacker—but she looked healthy, not gaunt like the last time I’d seen her. She was wearing a scoop-necked pale blue shirt with jeans and white flip-flops. If I blurred my eyes for a moment, I could almost see Nicole.
My father was making his way around to a barrel of potatoes, motioning to Mom, who was putting some apples in a bag. I imagined them having some friends over for dinner, maybe clients. Or was it just the two of them? Sitting silent over their dinner, thinking about their daughters. My father looked up and caught my eye. I’d let myself muse too long. I was stuck. My mom had been saying something to him, but when he didn’t answer she followed the direction of his gaze. She startled, her cheeks flushing when she recognized me. Her eyes shot around, checking to see if anyone was watching, then she stared back at me. She didn’t look happy. I should have walked away, but Dad was wheeling the cart over now. Mom hesitated, then he glanced back at her and she followed, slowly, still carrying the bag of apples.
“Toni, how are you?” Dad said when he was closer. He gave me a tentative smile. His hand lifted slightly off the cart for a moment like he wanted to reach out, wanted to touch me, but then it dropped down.
“I’m good. Things are really good.” I wanted to say, I saw Ryan. He thinks he can prove we’re innocent. Would you believe him? Would you still hate me?
“I heard you were working at the restaurant,” Dad said.
“Yeah, Mike’s been great. I’ve got a boat too. Down at the marina.”
Mom didn’t know where to look. She was glancing at me, then at Dad, then around to the other shoppers.
I turned to her now. “Mom, you’re looking well.”
She startled again, then spoke hesitantly, like she was trying to think of something to say. “You … you too. You look good.” Her gaze flicked to my fauxhawk, the tattoos. And I was the one who was supposed to be the liar.
We were all quiet. I hated the heavy tension in the air, the moment stretching out like a live wire that I wanted to snap, even if it burned.
“It would be great to see you guys sometime.” My face felt hot. “I have a dog, and I help out at the shelter.” I knew I was almost babbling, my voice breathy from nerves, sensed that my dad knew how uncomfortable I was, that he wanted to make it better but didn’t know how. I kept talking, my gaze flitting to my mother, trying to think of something that might make her look at me, really look at me. “And I go to programs, for substance abuse.” She finally held my gaze, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I said, “I’m not the same person. I’ve changed.”
My mom set down the apples she’d been holding in the cart with a thump. She stared down at them for a moment while Dad and I watched her. I knew she was going to say something, and so did Dad. He reached out to her. “Pam…”
She shook her head. “No.” She held her hand out in the air just in front of him, as if pushing him away. “I’m not doing this. I’m not pretending everything’s okay now.” She looked back at me. “I wish you well, Toni, I really do. But I can’t do this. I can’t see you or speak to you.” She rested her hand on her heart, her voice breaking as she said, “I can’t forget—what you did.” Then she shook her head again, quick movements that looked painful as she blinked back tears.
Tears were flooding my own eyes, my throat tight with words that I couldn’t get out, could never say. I didn’t do it. Why won’t you believe me? I just want you to love me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Mom turned to Dad and said, “I’m going to get milk,” then quickly walked away. I saw her hand wipe across her face, erasing the tears, erasing me. Dad and I watched her for a moment, then he turned back to face me.
“Toni, I’m sorry, she just … can’t.”
“Yeah. That’s obvious.” My hurt turned to anger, my voice bitter. “She still hates me.”
“No.” He smiled sadly, studied his hands on the cart, then reached out and held my hand for a moment, gave it a squeeze. I almost pulled away, surprised by the unexpected human contact. “She hates what happened, and you remind her too much…” He didn’t have to say the rest. I reminded her of Nicole, I reminded her of everything that had happened that night.
I looked at my father’s hand on mine, saw the age there, in his skin, wondered how much time we had left, if I’d ever be able to put things right.
“I miss you, Dad. I’d like to see you, now that I’m out. Can we…”
I held my breath, scared that he’d say no like my mom or that he wouldn’t want to see me because of her. He looked in the direction she’d gone, and I felt the tears build in my throat again as I waited for the rejection.