I Hate to Stand Alone

by Casey Winter

  He snorts, letting his hands drop. He doesn’t look fierce anymore. “I could have saved her,” he croaks.

  “Dad, it’s an icy goddamn road. It’s not fair. I agree with you, it’s not fair, but—”

  “I killed her,” he yells erratically.

  “Stop saying that,” I snarl, shaking him by the shoulder. “You can’t keep blaming yourself—”

  “Shut up, Luke,” he snaps, coughing back his tears. “Just shut the hell up and let me explain.”

  “Explain what?” I growl, biting back anger. “You’re not making any goddamn sense.”

  Suddenly, the tears stop. He’s dead-calm. “Let me explain how I killed your mother, Luke.”

  “What are you talking about?” I whisper.

  He looks off into mostly-empty lot as he speaks, but I get the sense he’s staring right into the past. “The day before the accident, Evelyn’s car was due to have its tires changed. It wasn’t illegal, the tread … it was just worn down a little, and could do with replacing. I was going to get it done that day, but I’d just finished a twelve-hour shift.

  “So I come home, dog-tired, and your mother—you know what she’s like …” He smiles sadly. She’s, not she was. I don’t think the old man has even come close to letting go yet. “She sees how tired I am and orders me to lie down while she draws me a bath. I had an after-hours deal worked out with the mechanic, but she called and cancelled it. I didn’t argue, son. I was just so tired.”

  “And then what happened?” I croak, though I’m pretty sure I can guess.

  “While I was in the bath, she thought it’d be a nice idea to go and get us something from the diner. She wasn’t in the mood to cook. Only when she got to the diner, it was closed on account of it being refurbished. She forgot things like that, sometimes, but you know Evelyn, she gets an idea in her head, she just can’t let it go.”

  “So she decided to drive to Lorham,” I mutter in disbelief, knowing it’s true. Because she’d done it countless times before when she wanted to make us a special dinner. “To get some steaks from that butcher she liked. The owner was her friend, right, from school. Jesus, Dad … Driving sixty miles for some goddamn steaks, who’d do something like that?”

  Dad groans, nodding. “Your mother, that’s who. She was dead-set on serving me a bang-up meal that night.”

  “And the visibility was low, and her tires weren’t up to snuff, and so when whatever happened, happened—whatever made her panic—she steered right off the road and flipped the car.”

  “Sheriff thinks it was an animal,” Dad murmurs. “She couldn’t hurt a fly, that woman. Some coyote or stray dog runs into her path, she’d steer before she even had time to think about it. It was just a coincidence that Teresa was there. It wasn’t … Jesus, son, it wasn’t her fault. It was mine.”

  He reaches into his pocket and takes out his wallet. Opening it, he unfolds a note, the edges frayed with time. He silently hands it to me. Sighing heavily, I read it.

  Hey, Mr. Hardworker, I’m just heading into town to get you something lovely for dinner. Hopefully you’re still in the tub, soaking those muscles of yours, but if not, well, that’s where I’ve gone. PS. Are they still refurbing the diner? I can’t remember. PPS. I’ll text if I end up in Lorham. Pretty sure Joanne has a two-for-one on right now. Don’t judge me if I come back with a whole wagon o’ meat.

  I stare down at the note, the ink smudged, I’m guessing from tears. “Did she? Did she text?”

  He nods, taking the note back quickly. He folds it delicately and places it carefully back in his wallet. It clearly means a lot to him. “I called her, left her two voicemails. I wanted to tell her she had no business driving to Lorham. I knew the fog was going to set in because old Mr. Daugherty, he’s a weather fanatic, and he told me right down to the minute, pretty much. He was right.”

  “And the fog and the ice killed her,” I mutter, blinking back a single tear. I swallow, hard, removing my hand from his shoulder. “Jesus, Dad.”

  “I killed her, son,” he says. “So if you want to beat me black and blue, it’s no worse’n I deserve. If you want to put a bullet in my head, I ain’t gonna fight you.”

  I wish he’d warned her about the fog before he got in the tub.

  I wish he’d replaced the tires.

  I wish, I wish …

  But that’s unfair.

  “You’re not a mind reader, old man,” I say quietly. “You didn’t know she was gonna leave. You were in the tub, for Christ’s sake. What were you supposed to do? And you’re right. Once Mom got an idea into her head, she had to follow it through. That’s what made her such a great woman.”

  Dad flinches. “I thought you’d be angry.”

  I laugh savagely. “I am, old man. But look at it logically. Imagine this is somebody else’s situation. Are you gonna be as hard on that man as you’re being on yourself?”

  “But it’s not,” he insists. “It’s my wife I let down. It’s my wife I—”

  “Stop,” I snarl. “Don’t say it. You didn’t kill her. Stop torturing yourself.” I stand up, offering him my hand. He looks at it for a moment, and then takes it. Hauling him up, I say, “I’m angrier with the way you’ve behaved since. I think Mom would be most ashamed of that. Treating Hannah, and most of all Teresa, the way you have. Blaming her when you know it isn’t her fault …”

  “Because it’s my fault.”

  “It’s … it’s life’s fault,” I yell. I grab him by the arms, almost hauling him off his feet. It’s only now I realize how much stronger than him I’ve become. “You didn’t know, old man. You couldn’t know. You’ve been beating yourself up for five years, letting it ruin you, when it isn’t your fault. You hear me? It’s not your fault.”

  He shoves me in the chest. “I didn’t expect you to react like this,” he mutters. “I expected a broken nose, truth be told.”

  “Truth be told, there’s a big, stupid part of me that wants to oblige you. But there’s only two of us left now, Dad, and we can’t go on like this.”

  We’re quiet for a long, long time.

  Several people leave and enter Barry’s Park-N-Shop, cars entering and pulling out of the lot. Dad gets his tobacco tin from the glove compartment and rolls himself a cigarette, something he rarely does.

  I wait as he smokes it.

  —

  Finally, he says, “I’ve acted like a complete fool, haven’t I? Not about your mother … say what you want about that, I’ll never forgive myself. But with poor Teresa. I’ve acted like an asshole.”

  I nod. “Pretty much, yeah. But you can still make it right.”

  “I need to go over there like a man and apologize.” He rubs at his face, the tears dried now. It’s hard to imagine he was ever a deflated mess on the ground. “If I tell her the truth about what happened, if I explain myself, maybe she’ll see where I’m coming from. But I think I should start now.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  He steps forward, clapping his hand on my shoulder just like I did with him. “I’m sorry, Luke,” he says fiercely. It means so much, because I know how difficult it is for him to say. “I know you and Hannah have gotten close, and I know I’ve made that hard. It’s funny. I … I guess I’ve been holding all of this in, and now it’s out, I feel lighter, somehow. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” I say, thinking of Hannah, of Helmand, of the suite in Lorham that’s because our personal retreat. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  He lowers his hand slowly. “Teresa has every right to slap me across the face when I turn up at her doorstep,” he says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she kicked me in the gonads for good measure, too. Luke?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Please don’t tell my Army buddies I cried like a child.”

  I grunt out a laugh. “I think it did you some good, old man. There’s no shame in it.”

  “But still,” he persists.

  I nod. “Of course not.”

 
“Or anyone in town …”

  “I’ll take the sight of you blubbering like a newborn baby to my grave, Dad, don’t worry.”

  He laughs, then, the first carefree laugh I’ve heard from him since Mom passed. “Alright, then, no time like the present,” he says. “I’m gonna drive over there right now. I’m gonna say sorry to Teresa and her daughter. Hannah’s a hell of a woman, Luke. If you’re happy with her, you have my blessing. I know you’re not asking for it, but there it is.”

  “Just do me a solid and make things right with them,” I say. “That’s all the blessing I need.”

  “Consider it done,” he says. “But I think I’ll be raking lawns and shoveling snow until one of us moves.”

  I grin. “It’s probably the least you can do.”

  “Yeah,” he mutters seriously. “It is. It doesn’t even scratch the surface. Do you want to come round for some steaks and beers some point this week?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’d like that.”

  He stands up straight and then snaps off a proper salute. “I’m proud of you, son.”

  I feel a little foolish as I do it, but, dammit, he’s my old man, imperfections and all. I snap one back. “I’m proud of you, too,” I tell him.

  He offers me his hand.

  I look at it for a second, wondering if I’m really going to do this. But I think I’ve spent enough of my life being cold and distant. Hannah has taught me that and so much more. So I grab his hand and pull him in for a hug instead, but not a full-on embrace sort of hug, it’s more like we just pat each other on the back and then separate. He nods shortly, clearly a little embarrassed, and then opens his car door.

  “Wait,” I say. “Weren’t you heading into the store?”

  “I was going to get vodka,” he tells me. “But I don’t really feel like it now.”

  “Alright, and Dad …”

  He leans around the door. “Yeah.”

  I love you, old man. But the words won’t come to my lips. “Just, drive safe, yeah?”

  He nods. I love you, too, son. I think I read that in his hardened expression. “I will. See you soon.”

  He gets into the car and drives away, and I return to my Chevy, getting the groceries and climbing into the car.

  I delete and retype the text several times. There’s still a fragment of the keep-your-distance bastard I was before Hannah skated into my life clinging to me. But, in the end, I send it.

  Because life is just too goddamn short.

  I’m here when you want to talk, twinkle toes xoxo

  —

  After dropping off the groceries, I drive out to the rink to do my nightly rounds. I’ve let the employees take care of the day-to-day most of the time, lately, my thoughts and attention elsewhere. But I won’t give this responsibility to anybody else.

  Alexis is locking up when I get there, blue headphones trailing to a rainbow-colored bag covered in Goth stickers. With her newly-dyed hair—electric green, the girl called it—she’s hard to miss. She jumps a little when she spots me. “Ah, Mr. Nelson,” she giggles. “Sorry, boss. I was grooving.”

  “No worries. Any action tonight?”

  I guess I come across as gruff, because she frowns. But, even if I’m being a grownup—or trying to be—about what Dad told me, the anger is still there.

  “No,” she says. “Just skating and giggles, as per usual. Are we still good for the video shoot tomorrow, by the way?”

  “Video shoot?” I ask.

  She almost rolls her eyes. “The music video … my friend is on her way to Little Fall as we speak.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” I say. “As long as Hannah is, I’ve got no problem with that.”

  “Great.” She smiles. “Well, everything’s sorted in there, so is it alright if I head home?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. “Have a nice evening … what’s left of it, anyway.”

  “Hell, Mr. Nelson, I’m gonna be the richest chick on campus with all the hours you’re giving me. I’m not complaining. Best summer job ever. We good for next year, too? I’ll need that dough for college.”

  “Sure.” I smile.

  I go inside and I turn on the lights, and then I check my phone. I have two texts and neither of them is from Hannah. One is from Morgan: Ever heard of Charles Bukowski? Never been into poetry much, but this guy’s pretty damn good.

  I text back: You’re talking to the wrong guy, brother. Is it helping with your writing?

  The other is from Oliver. It’s clearly a drunk text: After all weve fukcing dome for u luke....111 Free agent my as11..1 Freeasshloe more like..

  I sigh, pocketing my phone. I guess it’s a good thing that I know what type of person Oliver really is now. As my employer, when I was making money for him, he was all smiles and handshakes. Now, his true nature has revealed itself. I think that’s what they call a silver lining.

  But no text from Hannah.

  I feel restless, walking around the rink, unable to settle down. I haven’t put on skates since the time Hannah gave me that lesson. But now, I find myself in the skate room, wondering if it could help. I’ve never been much of a skater, not as a kid, and not since I came back to Little Fall to open the rink, either.

  But I remember how Hannah’s face lit up when she spoke about it once. She was standing at the end of the bed in her underwear, balancing on one leg, the other stuck right up in the air, flexible and goddess-like. “It’s not about it being a passion,” she said, biting her lip as she adjusted her stance slightly. “It’s …” She let her leg drop, rocking back on her heels. “It’s like I feel I should’ve been born with wheels on my feet. It’s like belonging. It’s just … perfection. I don’t know. You forget. You fly. I’ve never been very good at explaining it. Is that cheesy?”

  “Sort of,” I grinned, sitting up in bed, the silk sheets clinging to my naked body. “But seeing how passionate and sexy you get when you talk about, be as cheesy as you want, twinkle toes.”

  I grab a pair of skates and head out to the rink. I feel closer to Hannah as I lace them up. Couples have to try each other’s passions, don’t they? I wince. Are we a couple? But then I smile.

  We could be. I want us to be.

  I rise unsteadily to my feet and take a few practice steps around the rink. The way Hannah glides, it’s forgivable to think that skating is the easiest thing in the world. She becomes water on her skates, real Bruce Lee stuff. It’s like she said: born with wheels on her feet. But, hell, I’m a little top-heavy from all the weightlifting. And while my balance is pretty good on the wrestling and Jujutsu mats, somehow that doesn’t translate to skating.

  After a while, though, I get into a kind of flow. I don’t think about anything other than trying to lengthen my stride, trying to glide just a little further. Give a SEAL—or any military man, really—a task, and he’s gonna beat his head against it until he or the task is KO’d. I don’t exactly KO skating, but I make some major improvements. I can’t wait to show Hannah.

  After I’ve replaced the skates, I head up to the office to get some boring admin stuff done. Every now and then, I glance up at the portrait Hannah did of me, remembering that night. And I also glance at the security screen, making sure Jock or his goons don’t return.

  Dad calls me after about an hour of work.

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “Ah, Luke.” He sounds awkward, almost kidlike. “I’ve been fixing to go over there and say my sorry since I got home.”

  “Okay …”

  “But I’m nervous,” he admits. “I’ve been sitting here thinking of what a bastard I’ve been, and, dammit, Luke—”

  “Just … just speak from the heart, Dad.”

  He snorts. I can’t blame him. Who am I to tell anybody to speak from the heart? “I’ll try, Luke,” he says. “They’re still awake. Their light is on. I feel about as nervous as a boy asking his sweetheart to the prom.”

  “You’ll be fine, Dad …” I trail off, narrowing my eyes at the security screen. �
��You bastard.”

  “Can’t a man be nervous?” Dad snaps. “There’s no need to get lively.”

  “Not you,” I say. “Jock or his hired hand. He’s about to key my car.”

  I watch as the black-clad figure jogs across the lot, moving skittishly like a nervous deer, something sharp but small in his hands. He’s heading straight for my Chevy.

  “The Chevy?” Dad shouts. “Get out there, Luke. I swear to God, if he touches that car …”

  I leap to my feet, sprinting for the door. “I’m taking this bastard down,” I bark, jumping down the stairs three at a time and then pounding across the rink. “He’s not getting away with it this time.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff for you,” Dad says quickly. “Don’t take matters into your own hands.”

  “Okay,” I grunt, hanging up.

  I kick the fire escape open, the closest exit to my car. The man in black is leaning down to the Chevy, keys in hand. He pauses, looking up at me. I think his mouth falls open, but it’s hard to tell in the balaclava.

  “Don’t make this hard,” I call across the lot.

  He’s short, way too short for Jock or Will. Plus, Will has shown himself to be a decent man these past few days. We’ve even trained boxing and Jujitsu together a couple of times.

  “Who are you?” I grunt. The man takes a few slow steps back, glancing toward Little Fall Forest. “Don’t do it,” I growl. “I’ll chase you down no problem. Don’t piss me off.”

  “I’m … I’m s-sorry.” the man croaks, sounding not at all like I guessed. He has a stuttering, high-pitched voice. “I never wanted to do this,” he cries, spinning around and running for the trees.

  Clenching my fists, I give chase.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hannah

  Mom’s fallen asleep on the couch and Alejandra has gone home when I settle into the armchair with my Kindle, trying to lose myself in a book. But I’m so caught up with everything that’s happened, I just can’t focus. The words blur and my mind returns to the scene in the parking lot.