A sudden burst of air floods my
lungs. Pressure on my chest. Air.
Pressure. Air. Pressure. Air.
I’m breathing. Not drowning.
Atta girl. She’s coming around.
My stomach roils, like I gulped
lavender seawater. I lean over
the side of my bed, jet a big stream
of opiate-laced Wild Turkey.
Good girl. Get it all out.
And now I’m in Daddy’s arms.
I squirm, but he won’t let me go.
Limp. Fall limp. My eyes wander
past his face, to the face of my angel.
Hannah. Of course. Who else?
Her hand is cool against my face.
What did you take, Kaeleigh?
Tell? Don’t tell? Who cares?
“Percodan.” No need to mention
Daddy’s OxyContin. The Wild
Turkey, they can smell. Hannah sighs.
How many?
Her voice, sugared, irritates
me now. If heaven’s host sounds
like her multiplied, I’ll stay
home. “N-not sure. A dozen?”
Hannah points to the gross
disgustingness next to the bed.
She should be okay, but…
Oops, Too Late
She said the magic word: okay.
Daddy gulps in air like it might
disappear any second. Like I might.
He gushes, Are you sure?
Hannah has been fussing over
me, as any good nurse would.
Her vitals are good, considering….
Good enough for Daddy.
Thank you so much, Hannah.
But Hannah’s not quite finished.
She needs to go in for monitoring.
I won’t be monitored, won’t answer
questions. I just want to be left alone.
Daddy’s got that covered. I don’t
think that’s necessary. And I know
you know how important it is to keep
this right here in this room.
If she doesn’t know, she definitely
understands Daddy’s directive.
But she dares question him.
May I speak to you for a minute?
They Move into the Hallway
But I’m not really sure why.
I can hear every word,
despite their lowered voices.
Hannah is worried about me.
A dozen painkillers, washed
down with whiskey. That
wasn’t an accidental overdose,
Ray. Your daughter needs help.
Duh. Serious help. But Daddy
won’t admit it. I think we
can handle this in-house.
I’ll make some calls.
But Hannah isn’t satisfied.
Look, I know this isn’t something
you want spread in the tabloids.
But I’m just not sure…
Daddy can be very persuasive.
I appreciate your concern.
You wouldn’t be a good nurse
otherwise. But leave this to me.
She has to give it one last shot.
Please think seriously about
getting some help for her.
Your daughter is disturbed.
Yep. Disturbed semiregularly,
by her pervert father, a part
of the story she’ll never know.
And even if she should find out,
Daddy apparently holds a trump
card. I promise to think about it.
Oh, and your problem with your
ex? Consider it solved.
I have no idea what the problem
could be, but Daddy’s reach
is long. Almost as long as
the silent pause right before
Hannah acquiesces. Okay,
I’ll back off. But please keep
an eye on her. If she follows
through, I’ll never forgive myself.
Following Through
Isn’t something I can think
about right now. I’ll put it
on my back burner checklist
of things to think about
later.
My head hurts, far beyond
the dizzy left inside it. It hurts,
like my heart does. When I do
let myself think about tonight,
I’ll remember
a whiteout of emotions.
A rush of anger, at my mom,
my dad, my screwed-up life.
A blush of love for Ian. Oh,
how
I wish that I could give him
what Daddy takes so easily from
me. But it would be a tainted gift.
Sadness now, and I wonder how
it feels
to live without a constant fog
of sorrow, a breeze of loneliness.
Complacent, I wait for my daddy
to come and punish me for trying
to die.
Raeanne
I Can’t Believe
Kaeleigh had enough ambition
to down those pills, take dead
aim at whatever might come after.
If Daddy had found her much
later,
he’d have discovered an empty
shell. Seeing her slip down
that long, dark tunnel toward
permanent peace is something
I’ll remember
the rest of my life. It didn’t look
so difficult. Still, I’m not quite
ready to let her go. Needy,
shaky, I lie in bed with her.
How
long it’s been since I’ve felt
this close to her. Her breaths
are shallow, raspy with exhaustion.
“Stupid shit,” I whisper, and
it feels
like not enough. “If you’re strong
enough to look death in the eye,
you’re strong enough to fight
him. Please. I don’t want you
to die.”
Don’t Know
If she heard any of that.
She’s so weighted into oblivion,
she looks as if she did die.
The weirdest thing is,
Daddy has not come to
check on her. You’d think
he’d want to know if she
is still breathing. I’m guessing
he went straight for the Wild
Turkey. Hopefully Kaeleigh
left enough for him to drown
his guilt. Does he feel guilt?
Does he feel
anything
at all?
I Think
Maybe that’s what he’s looking for.
A way to feel.
Something.
Anything.
Even if that something is pain.
Remorse.
Humiliation.
Self-loathing.
What has brought him to this place?
Loneliness?
Greed?
Genetics?
What redemption can there be for him?
Penance?
Prison?
Demise?
It’s Morning Before He Comes
To check on her. Kaeleigh feigns
sleep, but Daddy’s determined.
He shakes her until she opens
her eyes, stares silently past him.
Good to see you’re still with us.
His voice is about as warm as
day-old oatmeal. Don’t you ever,
ever do anything like that again.
Anger fills her eyes. Anger,
and knife-edged hatred. So
much to say, no way to say
it. “I…I…I won’t, Daddy.”
I think it’s best no one outside
Your mother would be very hurt.
He straightens, waits for an answer.
The tears in Kaeleigh’s eyes
reflect denial, but she doesn’t
dare let it spill. “Whatever you
say.” She turns her head away.
You need to get up now and
clean up this mess. He gestures
toward last night’s vomit. And I
will be waiting for your apology.
Almost a Week
Since Kaeleigh tried to off herself,
and believe it or not, she did apologize
to Daddy. She stood, head tilted toward
the floor, shoulders stooped like an old
woman. “Sorry, Daddy. I was stupid.”
She cleaned up the floor, washed herself,
her clothes, her sheets. But she couldn’t
wash away the indelible stench of Daddy.
She wore it to school. To play rehearsal.
To stolen moments with Ian. I watched
as she tried to put “the incident” behind
her. But anyone who ever noticed her
has to have noticed a change inside her.
She’s no longer afraid to die. What she’s
afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.
Daddy Acts
Like it never happened. It’s how
he deals with any trauma in his life.
The accident. The incident.
Mom’s winning the election.
Daddy simply moves forward. One
day, one night at a time.
Hannah has stopped by
several times to check up on Kaeleigh.
She always says the same thing:
Your daughter needs help, Ray.
The reasons behind the attempt are still
there. It could happen again.
Daddy’s answer is the same:
It was just the stress of the election.
Now it’s over, she’ll be fine.
Then he’ll change the subject,
to one he finds much more appealing.
You’ve had some time to
think things over. I hope
you’ve reconsidered. Kay and I
are married in name only.
Hannah remains steadfast.
You’re still married. It was a mistake
to get involved. I’m sorry, Ray.
The Last Time
She dropped by, Daddy wasn’t
home yet. But Kaeleigh was.
I listened in best I could.
Hannah pounced. Kaeleigh, I don’t
know what’s going on in your life
to make you decide it isn’t worth
living. But I’m pretty sure it has
nothing to do with the election. If
it had something to do with your
father and me, that’s all over, and
I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt—
“No. It wasn’t that, so quit blaming
yourself, if that’s what you’re doing.”
Then she made up a half lie. “There’s
this boy who I like, but I know it won’t
work out, no matter how much I want
it to. But I’m over that now. I’m okay.”
Just then Daddy arrived. I vanished
as he stormed into Kaeleigh’s room.
But I could hear every word.
Hello again, Hannah. As you can see,
my daughter is doing well. I’d appreciate
it if you wouldn’t drop by unannounced.
Kaeleigh, please go start dinner.
He Is a Cold-Hearted Bastard
That’s for sure. And suddenly
I desperately need to know why.
Did he not see Kaeleigh, screaming
for help, the only way she could—
wordlessly, helplessly, no one to hear?
I don’t know how to get hold of my
grandmother, and considering
the reception she got from me
last time, I sincerely doubt she’ll
call back any time soon.
But somewhere, buried deep in
Kaeleigh’s journal, is an address
for Theodore Gardella. Grandpa
Teddy. (Pu-lease!) He lives less
than two hours south, in Calabasas.
I think it’s time his granddaughter
paid him a visit. But first she
has to find a ride. I easily think
of exactly one person and pick up
the phone. “Hello? Is Brittany there?”
Operative Word: Easy
Brittany is quite simply the most
easy-to-manipulate person ever.
She had planned to see a movie
with Joel, but when I told her my
grandpa was really sick, she softened.
And when I threw in the part about
filling her gas tank and buying lunch,
I almost had her right there.
Okay, but only if Joel can come
too. We’re a thing now, you know.
Yeah, and if she isn’t careful, there will
be a little thing growing inside her.
If I can persuade her this easily, her steady
“thing” should have no trouble talking
her into whatever. But hey, that’s not
my problem. And now I’ve got my ride.
I MapQuest directions, extract eighty
bucks from my private stash, pop
a single Oxy to steady my nerves,
go to meet Brittany and Joel.
Between Brittany’s Driving
And a traffic accident jam, the hundred-
mile trip takes us over two hours.
Two plus hours of hip-hop, Brittany
giggling, and Joel’s immature, totally
not sexy innuendos. Aaagh!
I’m mostly silent, filling with dread.
What if he won’t see me, let alone
tell me the things I need to know?
Not like we’ve ever done anything
but exchange a letter or two.
So what kind of sick is your grandpa? asks
Joel. We won’t catch something, will we?
“Well, I don’t think you want to come
inside. You can drop me off, go have
lunch—on me, remember?—and come
pick me up. I don’t have to stay that long,
just make sure he’s got his medicine.”
Hey, I know what I want for lunch,
sneers Joel. Tuna! Got any, Britt?
OMG! What a disgusting loser.
I can’t believe Brittany actually
shrieks with laughter. This is why
I don’t maintain friendships. Friends
tell friends what they really think.
We Find the House
Arrange a meeting time, and I give
Brittany forty dollars. “But don’t
leave until he answers the door.”
Last thing I need is to sit here
on his doorstep for two hours.
Brittany waits patiently while
I idle slowly up the walk, noting
his yard is neat but not pretty.
I swallow one more pill for good
measure, steel up my courage.
Reach for the doorbell. Push.
I hear footsteps immediately.
The door cracks, leaking warm air.
Yes? Who is it? The voice
crackles. What do you want?
“Um. Sorry to disturb you. But
I’m your…your granddaughter.”
The door opens wider and Brittany
starts her car. I want to shout, “Wait.”
But I don’t. For the first time,
I look my grandfather in the eye.
“I think it’s time we talked.
”
Long past time, young lady.
But come on inside.
The House Is Small
Gloomy, and like his yard, tidy
but not pretty. No adornments
anywhere. Serviceable furniture,
lacking comfort. Still, I accept
his offer to perch on the hard sofa.
Almost to himself, he says,
I wondered if you’d ever come.
In lieu of small talk, we sit
and stare at each other for
several skeptical minutes.
My grandfather is shorter than
Daddy, and much darker,
with weathered California skin
and gunmetal eyes. Oh, Daddy
got his eyes from his father,
whose own searching eyes slice
into me now. I swear, it hurts,
like he’s dissecting me without
benefit of anesthesia. Someone
has to break the awful silence.
But I can’t think of a single
icebreaker. Luckily, he does.
So what can I do for you after all
these years? You have questions.
It’s a statement, as well it should
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