Sunday afternoon Andrew and I are near the edge of the river. I’m still getting used to calling him Andrew. It feels awkward, like calling a teacher by their first name or something. He’s been showing me how to cast, and I lost a couple of the lures, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’s made sandwiches. The bread is moist as though he took it out of the freezer that morning, and thick, with sliced roast beef and cheddar cheese. I’m pretty much a vegetarian (I’ll eat fish and eggs), but I can tell it’s important to him that I like mine. He keeps sneaking peeks at me. I choke one back, wash it down with the Dr Pepper he brought because he said he remembered I liked it. That was nice too. I don’t tell him that I haven’t drunk a Dr Pepper since I was probably thirteen.
“I’m still learning to cook,” he says.
“They’re good.”
“Not really,” he says with a laugh, and I smile. “The meat is dry. Your mom made the best roast beef.”
He’s circling back around again. Always back to her. I stare down at my sandwich.
“I wasn’t sure if you would still meet me today,” he says.
“Why not?” I glance at him, dancing my feet a little to keep warm. He’s built a fire on the beach and we’re sitting on a blanket on the log, but I’m still cold.
“Your mom was pretty pissed that I’m moving here.” He gives me a look. “I didn’t tell her we had coffee. I kind of got the idea she didn’t know.”
My legs stop moving. “What are you talking about?”
“She didn’t tell you I saw her outside the bank on Wednesday? I was going to tell you the good news about my job today, but I thought maybe she already said something.”
“You’re moving here? Like you’re going to be here all the time?” I don’t know how I feel. I wanted to get to know him again, but what if we don’t like each other? My mom must be so upset. I think back over the last couple of days. She has seemed stressed, but I thought it was because of her business. I was happy that she was distracted. Now I feel horrible.
“It’s a good job opportunity and I’ve missed eleven years of your life. I want to be around more this year, before you go away for university.”
“I didn’t tell Mom I saw you. She’s still really scared of you.”
“I know.” He looks sad, his mouth turning down. “I’m hoping that when she sees I’m not trying to mess up her life, she won’t be scared anymore.”
“You didn’t treat her well,” I say. “You hurt her.” It’s frightening to say the words out loud, but I feel daring and bold and reckless. I feel like she would be proud of me.
“I couldn’t control the drinking,” he says. “Every time it happened, I hated myself for days and I’d think I was never going to do it again, but the second I drank, I turned into someone else. It was like this big dark thing came in and took over and I couldn’t stop.”
“Do you think about the woman?” I almost whisper the question, can feel the dampness of the river and the winter air seeping into my bones. I shiver. I looked her up online, saw the photos of her car, the front all smashed in. Her name was Elizabeth Sanders and she was only twenty-eight years old. They used a photo of her from when she graduated nursing school, looking so happy and proud. I read all the comments underneath. Everyone hated my dad.
“All the time,” he says. “I couldn’t face it for years because I was in denial, but AA taught me about acceptance and forgiveness. One day I sat down and wrote her a letter.”
“She had a family.”
“I know. I wrote them a letter too.”
“Did they answer?”
“No, but I understand. I ruined their lives.” He looks at me. “I messed up yours too.”
“It’s been really hard.”
“I missed you a lot. I didn’t appreciate how good my life was. The stuff I used to get pissed off about…” He shakes his head. “I hate that I scared you and your mom.”
“I don’t remember being scared of you.”
“Are you scared of me now?”
“I don’t really know you anymore.”
“I get that.” He nods, picks up his rod, and walks to the shore. I wait on the log, not sure what to do. I watch him as he casts his fishing lure, and reels it in slowly. Then I push myself up and go over to stand beside him. He glances at me. “So tell me something I don’t know. Your best friend is Delaney. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” I laugh, but the first image that pops into my head is Jared’s face and I wonder why I’m thinking about his sleek black hair or how I might like to draw his crooked nose.
“What about you?” I say. “Do you date people now?” It’s a strange concept, thinking of my father, Andrew, out having dinner with a woman. Would he talk about me? Would she want to meet me? Maybe she’d have kids and then it would be like I had siblings. Then I remember that Mom doesn’t know about any of this. It’s not like I can share Christmases.
“I had the love of my life already.”