“You’re the king of the castle,” he said. “So how’s everything been going?”
Right then I knew it was a good idea I’d left Pops’ revolver in the saddlebag and hadn’t carried it inside with me. I turned and went into the living room in search of Cindy and the girls.
All three of them were in Cindy’s and my bed. The girls were sitting up against the headboard on either side of Cindy, watching some Nickelodeon show on the little TV on the dresser. Cindy was laying on her back with her arms crossed over her chest, hands tucked into her armpits and her feet crossed at the ankle. She looked at me in a kind of a squint and her mouth never twitched out of its hard, thin line.
The girls said “Hi, Daddy,” but otherwise they were doing their best to mimic their mother.
I came inside and sat on the edge beside Emma. “What’s this?” I asked. “A SpongeBob convention?”
She said, “It’s not SpongeBob, it’s T.U.F.F. Puppy,” and Dani said, “Grandpa’s here.”
“Don’t call him that,” Cindy told her.
I asked the girls a couple of questions about how their day was, then I suggested they go to their own bedroom and decide where they wanted to go out for dinner. “No fast food,” I told them. “You two go decide. Either the buffet at KFC, or pizza and salads at Joe’s.”
“Pizza!” Emma said.
“Go talk it over, okay? You both have to agree. I’ll come see you in a minute or two. Please close the door on your way out.”
The moment the bedroom door was closed, Cindy jerked her head around to look at me and said, “I did not invite him here.”
“I’d never think you did. Not unless you were standing here with a smoking gun in your hand.”
“I wish I had one,” she said.
All I could do was nod. Then, “What brings him here out of the blue all of a sudden?”
“Claims he came to see his grandchildren. What a bunch of bull that is.”
I sat there thinking the same thing I always thought on the other occasions I had seen her father. I never understood how Cindy could be so decisive and even tough when necessary, with me and everybody else, yet so, I don’t know, crumpled up and passive around her father. Early on I had asked her a couple times why she could barely speak to him without gritting her teeth, but the most she’d ever tell me was, “I hate him. I hate the sight of him. He makes me sick to my stomach.”
Of course I had a fairly good idea why a girl would hate her father with that kind of intensity, but I long ago decided to respect her privacy about it. I figure if she wants to tell me anything, she’ll tell me. I don’t have to know every little secret to love her. And I hope she feels the same way about me.
“What do you want me to do?” I said.
And she said, “I want him out of my house.”
I didn’t even pause on my way through the kitchen. “Out back,” I told him.
I stood up against the rail on our little patio deck, looking out into the yard. When your wife hates her father as much as Cindy did, I think it’s natural for her husband to hate him too, even if he’s not sure why. From what I’d heard, a lot of people seemed to like Donnie, claimed he was a friendly, decent guy. All I knew about him was that he appeared to change jobs a lot, and that he struck me as a cross between a used car salesman and a lawyer. He had the same soft way of talking and same greasy smile I’d encountered in men of those professions, though I’d dealt with a lot more used car salesmen than lawyers.
Truth is the only lawyer I knew was a guy who lived down the road from us in the first house on our street. He had a sign out in his yard that said WILLIAM GRAYBILL, ATTORNEY AT LAW. The first time Cindy and I ever came down that street, looking for a house to buy, I had pulled the bike over right at his curb so that Cindy could look at the piece of paper in her jeans pocket that had the address on it. While we were checking the address with the house numbers, he comes walking up beside us.
“Can I help you?” he said, and not in any friendly kind of way. More like we were trespassing on his property instead of sitting on the side of a public street.
“No thanks,” I told him. “We’re looking for a house that’s for sale.”
“End of the cul-de-sac,” he said. He was talking to me but smiling now at Cindy.
Then he walked up closer to her, still smiling like he was running for governor or something. “Is that a wedding ring on your hand?” he asked her. “You don’t look old enough to date yet, let alone to be tied down and married.”
I was about to let the guy know how sleazy he was, flirting with a man’s wife right in front of him, but Cindy beat me to it. She looked him dead in the eye and gave his smile right back at him.
“Married with two children,” she told him. “And couldn’t be happier about it. You wouldn’t believe how many slimy old creepers have been hitting on me while my husband was fighting in Iraq. Thank God that’s over with. I mean I don’t like that violent temper he’s got, but it does come in handy sometimes, you know?”
His smile turned a little sickly then, which brought me no end of pleasure.
But that was over eight months ago, and now I’m standing on the deck, not even wanting to look her father in the face because I’m afraid I might haul off and punch him. Instead I study my grass for half a minute. Then I say, “So what are you doing here, Donnie?”
“I came to see my grandchildren. Is it okay if I smoke out here?”
“No,” I told him. “And your oldest grandchild is seven years old. She’s seen you twice so far.”
“Okay,” he says. “Truth is, I’m hoping to make things up with Janice. Figured if I could get Cindy’s blessing on it, she might put a good word in for me.”
“I’m fairly certain you can add ‘blessing’ and ‘good word’ to the long list of things you are never going to get from Cindy.”
“I don’t expect it to happen overnight,” he says.
“And where did you plan to camp out while you’re working on this miracle?”
“I guess I was hoping for an invitation from somebody with an extra room.”
I nodded. I thought about it. And then I turned to finally look him in the eye. “How’d you get here, by the way? No vehicle, no luggage?”
“Car’s a couple streets over at the convenience store.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what,” I said. “You go get your car. Then drive on out to the interstate. Six motels within a quarter mile of each other. Lots of empty rooms out there.”