I sat in the car and stared back at my parents’ house, the flower boxes, the wooden swing where my dad and mom would sit in the evenings while my brother and I ran around in the front yard, where my mom would snuggle with me while she pushed gently against the porch railing with her foot until I fell asleep against her warm body. My mom was going to wonder why I hadn’t driven away, but I needed a moment to think, to brace myself before I went home. The seat belt was too tight around my waist. I tried to tug it looser, but the locking mechanism wouldn’t let me. I pulled and yanked while tears rolled down my face. Finally I gave up and slapped my hands down hard on my steering wheel. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”
There was noise beside me, a bird chirping in one of the apple trees. I rolled down my window, inhaled the crisp fall air. The days would get colder soon, Andrew would come home earlier, and maybe his work would slow down. Maybe he wouldn’t need to drink so much and things would get better. He loved Christmas. I clung to that thought, remembered how he always got up at the crack of dawn like a little kid and made waffles for us, how he couldn’t wait for Sophie to open her presents. Last year he’d built her a dollhouse, even all the little furniture inside, and given me a maple jewelry box he made in my dad’s workshop. He told me that those hours spent with my dad were some of the best times he’d had in his life.
I looked back up at the house, thought about my parents relaxing on a cruise, everything taken care of, and how much fun they’d have. They needed this. They’d done everything for me, sacrificed so much. I had to stay with Andrew. Leaving wasn’t an option. Not right now.
I put the car in gear and drove home. I’d make soup and roast beef sandwiches. He liked those.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOPHIE
DECEMBER 2016
May 19, 2016
To Andrew Nash,
C/O Rockland Prison
Hi, my name is Sophie and you’re my father, but you probably already figured that out. Right now you’re probably wondering why I’m writing you, so I’ll get to the point. My English teacher gave us an assignment and we’re supposed to contact someone who had the biggest impact on our lives and tell them what they meant to us, or how they changed us. I think it’s supposed to be someone we admire, or like our hero, and I guess you used to be that for me when I was kid, but I chose you for this project because you changed a lot of people’s lives. Not just mine. And hey, maybe I can get an “A” for having a dad in prison. Okay, stupid joke.
So, for this part I’m supposed to tell you how I feel when I think about you. Sometimes I feel sad, but I’m mostly still really angry at you for drinking and driving that night. I think about that woman all the time. She was trying to get home to her family and now she’s dead. After you were arrested, we had to move all over the place and Mom worked two jobs. I hardly ever saw her and I didn’t have a dad anymore. Now it’s been so long. Eleven years. That’s more than half my life. You’ve missed everything. I don’t even know who you are now.
I don’t know what else to say.
Sophie
That’s how it started. I got that assignment and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to tell my dad how he ruined our lives. I talked it over with Delaney, the only one who knows about my dad. It’s bad enough that everyone knows my mom has a cleaning business. She cleans for some of their parents. I mean, how weird is that? My mom makes their beds and scrubs their toilets. I helped her clean in the summer and it was disgusting. I hated how some owners stuck around while we worked and went about their lives, giving us apologetic smiles, like they’re just too busy or too important to clean up their own messes. I want her to get a different job, like in an office or something, but she says she prefers working for herself.
Delaney thought it was a cool idea to write my dad and agreed that she’d be my drop-off point. She mailed the letter for me, and I used her address in case he wanted to write back.
Two weeks later I got a letter.
May 29, 2016
Dear Sophie,
The best day of my life since I’ve been in prison is when I got your letter. I must have read it six times already. You have every reason to hate me, but I hope you can find it in your heart to give me another chance. I’m not the same person. You’re right, I have missed everything. I can’t believe you’re almost eighteen.
Your mom didn’t want you to visit me until I got myself together, and she was right, but I want you to know that I never stopped thinking about you. It’s taken me a long time to accept responsibility for my actions and I’m sorry I haven’t been a good father to you. I was just so full of anger for so long, I couldn’t see my way clear of it all. But then something happened in here and I hurt someone again. He jumped me and I was defending myself, but it didn’t matter. I realized if I didn’t straighten up, I might never get to see you again.