Without Merit

“What?”

He nods toward the cops getting out of the car. “They’re the ones who arrested us.”

“Dad,” I say, not wanting him to do anything stupid.

“What’d you do with the dog?” my father asks the officers.

The cop who was driving walks over to the window. “Buried him at Pastor Brian’s church,” he says. “Same place you probably should have buried him.”

“Yeah, well . . . hindsight and all that shit,” my dad says. He waves his hand to Utah. “Let’s go.”

Utah backs up and the cop taps the top of the hood before turning to walk toward the police station. I watch out the window as both the cops start laughing.

“Great. Another rumor to pin on the Voss family,” Honor says from the seat in front of us.

“Technically, it’s not a rumor,” Sagan says. “We were digging in a cemetery without a permit. It’s illegal.”

Honor spins around. “I know that, but now the entire town is going to think Dad was trying to exhume Pastor Brian. Everyone knows he’s an atheist, now there’ll be rumors about him wanting to perform satanic rituals on his dead body.”

“Won’t be the worst thing people have said about us,” my father says from the front seat.

Honor faces forward again. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if most of the rumors weren’t true.”

My father looks at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you saying you’re ashamed to be a Voss?”

Honor sighs. “No. I’m just ashamed to be your daughter.”

“Oh, shit,” Luck says under his breath.

My father turns around. “And why is that, Honor?”

“Dad,” Utah says. “Give it a rest. It’s been a crazy week.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Honor says sarcastically. “Maybe because you don’t know the first thing about being a decent husband or father?”

My father turns back around and unlocks his door. “Stop the van.”

“What?” Utah says. “No.”

“Stop the van!” my father yells.

“Just stop the van, Utah,” I say. If my father is about to have a nervous breakdown, I’d rather he have it outside of the van than inside of it.

Utah pulls over, but before he even has the gear shift in park, my father is opening his door, climbing out of the van. We all watch, dumbfounded, as he starts kicking up gravel on the side of the road. I’ve never seen him this mad.

“Is he okay?” I ask Sagan.

Sagan shrugs. “He seemed fine after we were arrested. He even laughed about it.”

Utah opens the driver’s side door and walks around the car. Honor opens the side door to the van and everyone starts climbing out. Once we’re all standing next to the van, my father pauses his assault on the gravel long enough to catch a breath. He waves a hand across all of us.

“You think just because I’m an adult I have it all figured out? You think I’m not allowed to make mistakes?” He’s not yelling, but he certainly isn’t talking with an inside voice. He begins to pace back and forth. “No matter how hard you try, things don’t always turn out the way you wish they could.”

Utah looks agitated. “Well when you make poor choices, things don’t usually turn out to be sunshine and roses, Dad. Maybe you should have thought about that before you cheated on Mom.”

My father takes several steps toward Utah. He rushes him fast enough that Utah walks backward until he’s pressed against the van. “That’s what I’m talking about! You all think you know everything!” My father spins and takes several steps away from us. He brings his hands up to the back of his head and inhales several deep breaths. When he finally turns around, he’s looking directly at me. Sagan puts a reassuring hand against my lower back.

“Do you want to know why the pills you stole were placebo pills?”

I nod, because I’ve been dying to know since I found out.

“She isn’t in pain,” my father says. “Your mother isn’t in pain, she isn’t recovering from cancer. She never even had cancer.” He walks closer to us. “Your mother never had cancer,” he repeats. “Let that sink in.”

I can see Utah’s fists clench as he takes a sudden step toward our father. “You better elaborate because I am five seconds away from punching you.”

My dad laughs halfheartedly and drags a frustrated hand down his face. His hands then fall to his hips. “Your mother . . . she has . . . issues. She’s had issues since the day she was in that car wreck.” He’s not yelling anymore. Now he just looks defeated. “The brain injury . . . it changed her. She hasn’t been the same, and I know you guys didn’t know her before then but . . .” His face contorts and he looks up at the sky like he’s trying to hold back tears. “She was amazing. She was perfect. She was . . . happy.” He faces the other direction so none of us can see him cry. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.

I clasp my hand over my mouth and wait for him to gather himself. It’s all I can do.