I get up while Laurie opens the door, stopping halfway up when I hear Laurie's voice. "Wood residence, can I—"
"So you're the little parasite," a slurry, drunken voice says, and suddenly, Laurie is running back to me, her eyes wide with fright, and she leaps into my arms, yelling in fear. In the back of the house, I hear Whitney drop her comb and her bare feet running on the carpet, emerging from the back still only half-dressed, stopping when my father staggers his way down the hall. "Hey, sugar tits."
"What—who?"
I cross the living room, putting myself between Dad and Whitney, and hand Laurie to her. "Go to the bedroom and call the cops. It's my father.”
I'm surprisingly calm saying this, and Whitney nods, her eyes full of concern and fright, but holding our daughter, she finds the courage and strength to retreat at least semi-calmly while Laurie cries on her shoulder. I turn around, not saying anything until the door closes. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I came for some more help," Dad slurs, and at this distance, I can smell it. He reeks, and his clothes are filthy, encrusted with what looks like puke and maybe some blood. "For my medicine."
"You need to get the hell out of here before the cops show up,” I say, trying to maintain my calm. "Get out, and don't you ever come back.”
"This is my fucking house, and you are my fucking son, you worthless piece of shit!" Dad yells, trying to bully me. Maybe it worked when I was in high school, but this is now, and I have a woman and a daughter whom I have to protect. "You bring them in, give them the good life because she gives you some anchor baby, and leave me in the cold? Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!” Now that he’s back drunk again, he’s back to his favorite line—you worthless piece of shit.
"Randall. Leave. Now," I say again, my voice going hard. "You and me? We're done. You may have contributed some DNA and a last name to me, but you aren't my father. You never have been. I should have known better. Now get out."
Dad swings drunkenly, and I catch his arm, twisting it behind him in a little self-defense move I remember from a freshman PE class I took at Clement, and grab him by the scruff of the neck and the wrist. Lifting him up to his tiptoes, I escort him to the door, which is still standing open. Reaching the front lawn, I literally throw him out of the house, where he lands in a heap on the lawn.
"For eighteen years, you made me feel like I wasn't worthy of love or affection. You made me feel like shit!" I yell, and I notice on the periphery of my vision that the neighbors have come out again, and behind me, I can feel Whitney standing in the doorway, Laurie still holding onto her mother's leg. "You beat me—you nearly killed me! And now you come trying to mooch off me again, scaring my daughter and the woman I love? Get lost!”
The cops pull up while he’s still holding his arm and sobbing on the lawn, drunkenly screaming curses at me and claiming that I'd crippled him. Maybe he does have a broken wrist or a dislocated shoulder. I don't know, nor do I care. It’s with a certain sense of ironic satisfaction that I see that the cop who gets out is George Walters, and he already has his handcuffs ready. "We got a call of a disturbance, Troy. What's going on?"
"He frightened my daughter and verbally assaulted Whitney before taking a swing at me. I threw this piece of . . . this person out of my house," I say, correcting myself. "This time, I'm pressing charges."
George nods and rolls Dad over, ignoring his cries of protest as he hooks him up and yanks him to his feet, hauling him over to his cruiser before pushing him into the back. George closes the door, then comes back over. “It's not that I don't believe you, but if Randy claims otherwise, I'm going to have to arrest you too. This is technically a domestic violence case."
"No, George," Whitney speaks up, and I turn my head to see Whitney holding up her phone. "I got the swing and part of it on video."
George nods, and Whitney pops out a data card that she passes over. "The selfie generation sometimes has benefits," George says with a smile. "All right then. Troy, I would like you to come down to the station still, to make a statement. Miss Nelson, you don't have to, but you can if you want.”
"What I'd like most is to calm my daughter down," Whitney says, stroking Laurie's hair. She’s stopped crying, and when I kneel, she lets go of her mother's leg to come to me, and I hold her tightly, tenderly kissing her forehead.
"Shh, it's okay, Laurie. I'll always protect you."
"That man scared me." Laurie is looking at me, her blue eyes so large and still shimmering in tears. "I thought he'd hurt me or hurt you."
"Never again," I promise her, kissing her again. "Besides, if all of the Bolts can't hurt me, what chance does one old man like that have against me?"