to meet next Saturday after
I finish up here. I’ve got a week to figure out what to say.”
Another curt nod, and like
the last, it means she wants
to offer unsolicited advice.
Maybe you should just listen and decide how to respond after that. Not that you asked.
“I don’t mind. You happen to be
right. Meanwhile, better get back to work. I need to earn my pay.”
Two more things. We’re having a holiday party next Saturday night. Aunt Peg’s planning it, so it should be amazing. Lots of food and a band from Sac. I’d love for you to come, and you’re welcome to bring a date—or your mom— if you’d like. Second, I’m aware you might need a place to stay for a while. We’ve got lots of spare rooms if it comes to that. I’m serious.
At least till you figure things out.
First her car, and now this?
“For real? Wow, Hillary,
that’s incredibly generous.
I don’t know what I’m going
to do yet, but my options
are limited. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Please do. You don’t have to carry this alone. One last thing.
There’s strength in forgiveness.
I Would Never Have Believed
I could like Hillary Grantham.
But she really is a decent human being. I’m glad she and Gabe hit it off. They deserve each other.
I go back to riding and she goes back to whatever it is she’s got planned for the day after taking the time to try and improve mine.
By the time I finish, my rear
end’s sore, but my brain
is functioning on a higher level, and that’s a good thing because now I’ve got to go and see what remains of the place I’ve called home for the last eighteen months.
The Focus is parked just outside the barn, with a note on it saying it’s okay to drive, despite a few scratches on the driver’s side.
Just as I’m about to leave, Peg arrives on scene, waves me over.
Oh my God. What did I do now?
And why is this the first
thought to pop into my head?
But she is kind. Hillary confided what’s going on with you.
I just wanted to affirm her offer of a place to stay with us here.
Too kind. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll have a few days to work out if that’s
something I’ll need.”
Wonder exactly how much
they know. What did Gabe tell
Hillary, and what information
did she pass on to her aunt?
I understand the tenuousness of your situation. Advice is cheap, but for what it’s worth, I don’t recommend hasty decisions.
You’ve lost the majority of your life to subterfuge, but there are a lot more years ahead of you.
Make the wrong choice now, there might be no turning back around. I speak from experience.
You’ve got all the time in the world.
Consider carefully. Regret is an illness.
I Drive Home Slowly
Thinking
about forgiveness.
Is there strength in it?
Idiocy?
Defeatism,
perhaps?
Where would I even start?
Who would I even start with?
Why would I even want to?
Next, the concept of regret.
This one
I’ve had no time for.
This one
I’ve had no need for.
This one
I’d rather not make room for.
The Driveway Is Empty
No sign of Dad’s car,
which offers both relief and a sinking feeling.
For once the front door
isn’t locked, and on the far side of the threshold,
all the suitcases are gone and the house is winter-cold, no shoes lined up beneath the thermostat. I wander room to room, absorbing
what’s left of Dad’s presence— the scent of his deodorant over the sweat, oil, and booze BO it never could quite conceal.
And more than a trace
of tobacco. It permeates every room in the house.
There are even butts,
stomped on the floor. Why not?
It’s not his home anymore.
He Didn’t Leave
A good-bye note except for seven words, scrawled on the wall by the door in black Sharpie: FUCK YOU
YOU MADE ME
DO THIS
Fuck who, Dad?
Fuck me?
Fuck Maya?
Fuck the whole goddamn world?
And what did I, or any of us, make you do?
Make you leave?
Make you kidnap me?
Make you decide to try and kill me?
Oh, how I wish I knew if that’s what you had in mind.
I Still Can’t Quite
Bring myself to believe it.
Not enough evidence.
Not enough witnesses.
Way too much shared past.
Well, at least he eliminated my need to decide whether or not to move on. I crank up the heat. Why not? Who’s going to tell me I can’t?
That’s the little kid left in me. The emerging adult does ask who’s going to pay the bill. Since it’s in Mark Pearson’s name, it won’t be me. And it won’t be Dad, either.
Should I feel guilty? All I feel at the moment is warm. I go into the kitchen, see what’s left to eat in the cupboards and fridge. Not a whole lot, but then there rarely was.
The alcohol, I notice, is all gone, which is probably good.
If I’m going to do this on my own, I’m damn sure doing it right.
That means getting up for school tomorrow morning and practicing basketball tomorrow night.