Dad is sitting on the couch when I open the door. He gives me that look that I grew to hate and have never forgotten as he turns off the television. It’s a look that can’t hide his anger, a look that says he’s trying to contain it but it’s spilling all over that face of his.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks me.
It’s almost been a year since we left, and not one single word has come from this man, and that’s what he asks me.
Lily is already heading home. I told her I didn’t want her dealing with this drama.
I also told her that I wanted—that I needed—to make up for tonight. Somehow and in some way.
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek in response.
“Chris?”
“What are you doing here?”
He stands up and looks me over with questioning eyes.
“I’m here because your mother called and told me what had happened. She wanted to make sure you had ‘called’ me.”
“Yeah. I know. I lied.”
“Why?”
I rub the back of my neck and don’t look at him. A year and nothing. No “How are you?” or any of that. Just riding me like he always did.
He looks the same. Dark hair parted on the side, a square and rugged face with lines on the forehead. I can see stubble from not shaving, something that rarely happens.
Something about him looks different, however. Yet I refuse to look at him long enough to figure out what.
“I think it’s obvious.”
“Chris—your mother has been in trouble—for some time now. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I could say the same thing.”
“I’ve been talking to your mother on a regular basis. As much as she would let me. Sometimes every week. I’ve always—always asked how you were doing. Always wanted to talk to you.”
I look at him and know he’s not lying. Christians don’t lie, do they? At least they’re not supposed to.
“Did your mother tell you that?”
“No.”
He sighs as I pass him and go to the refrigerator.
“Chris, we need to talk.”
“We’re talking.”
“So, what—were you not going to tell me what was happening with Mom? With her drinking?”
“Nope.”
I pour myself some orange juice.
“She almost killed herself.”
“Yep.”
“You should’ve called.”
I want to tell him about the lack of having a phone, or a connection, or a life. But I don’t.
I keep my mouth shut.
“You had to go to summer school?”
I nod.
For a while, my father looks at me. The eyes that aren’t that wide to begin with seem to sharpen like a knife.
“You’re grounded.”
“What? You can’t do that.”
“I’m your father, and I can make any decision I want when it comes to you.”
“Not anymore.”
He tightens his jaw and lips, and I see it, the anger and the frustration on his face. Just like always.
You haven’t changed a bit have you.
“You should have called me.”
I stand there not far away from him in this suddenly very crowded and very stuffy cabin. There are a thousand things I want to tell him he should have done. But I’ve learned that silence is sometimes the worst thing for someone.
“A part of me says I should just take you back home to Illinois.”
A couple months ago I would have said “Please!” But not anymore. Not since meeting Lily.
“Chris, listen,” he finally says. “You can’t just shut me out like this.”
“We left almost a year ago.”
“And your mother has been making sure I had very little contact with you.”
“You’re an adult. You could have figured out how to get hold of me.”
This seems to be a total slap in the face. He just stands there, the anger suddenly disappearing. He seems speechless. Which is a wonderful thing.
“Your mother said that Uncle Robert hasn’t been around either.”
I laugh. “Uh, yeah.”
“She’s been lying to me this whole time.”
“About what?”
“About him being here.”
“Are you serious?”
“All this time, I thought he was here.”
“So that made you feel better, knowing there was a man in the house with Mom?”
“Listen, don’t you—”
Then Dad stops and holds the rest of his thought.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“I didn’t want this, Chris. Any of this.”
“Yeah, well, it looks like it still happened.”
“Your mother is stubborn.”
I look at the man across from me, the one who used to be a lawyer and supposedly a very good one. Someone who did his job and made a great living making sure that he proved his point. And he always seemed to prove his point.
“Yeah, I know,” Dad continues. “I’m stubborn too. And that was the thing—one of the things that was so hard. But I didn’t want to lose your mother. Or you. I mean it, Chris.”
I just nod, trying to show no emotion.
He looks at me, and I raise my eyebrows as if to ask Are we done here? Then he nods and I head upstairs.
He might have not wanted to lose Mom and me. But he did.
And we’re both gone.
Long gone.