I squeezed Luca’s hand as my father fought with himself. His grip was so tight on the wall his back muscles bulged against his shirt. I prayed for God to allow my mother to help him. He needed her. He needed to be reminded of who he was when he was with her. That was who God created him to be—not the lie who stood before us.
He groaned and practically pushed himself into the stairwell. From there, he sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was running, not from us, but from whatever was hidden in his office: the lies that offered false promises.
Upstairs, in his room, the room he had shared with my mother, there was a chance to remove the darkness—a chance for peace.
Twenty-Five
My sisters, Luca, and I retreated to my father’s office, where we lit a warming fire and Lisieux read some of Avi’s favorite stories aloud. Happy, silly stories about a pig and an elephant or a dog and a bear. In spite of herself, Avi giggled and so did Lisieux.
While they were doing that, I was casually yet systematically searching through drawers and behind books to find all that my dad had hidden in this room. Whenever I found something, Luca expertly slipped it out of the room and threw it in the kitchen trash or down the kitchen drain. On one of his trips, Luca returned with a bag of marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate.
“I don’t want a s’more,” Avi said gloomily, suddenly remembering that she was upset.
“Awesome, more for me.” Luca winked at her and quickly began making a s’more.
He wasn’t kidding. He could easily eat the entire bag of marshmallows and all that remained of the graham crackers and chocolate.
After about his third s’more, my sisters each ate one and after that, I did too. Dad was right. There are few things that the combination of gooey marshmallows, melted chocolate, and crunchy graham crackers could not at least temporarily alleviate. In the back of my mind, I wondered how my father would react when he learned that his stashes of alcohol and pills were gone … or at least all that I could find. It didn’t matter, I told myself as I escaped into sugary goodness, someday this would be my house. Mine and my sisters’, if they wanted it, and I would not have those things in my home. Not now, not ever. I would not enable him in that way. If he wanted more, he’d have to buy more, and I’d search his office and dump it again. I’d do this as many times as I needed, until they didn’t return.
After we ate a few more s’mores, Sam called us for dinner. Luca spread the logs and watched until only glowing embers remained. Then he joined us for whatever leftovers were in the house.
Soon after dinner, Lisieux and I tucked Avi into bed. My father’s bedroom door was closed. None of us wanted to disturb him—or maybe none of us wanted to face him. Gigi, too, remained absent. As much as we loved each of them, we wanted nothing to do with either. Not tonight.
After we said our short prayers and kissed Avi goodnight, Lisieux and I left her room. Lisieux gave me a quick side hug before she slipped into her room. I showered, the heat of the water washing the day away. But it couldn’t wash away the memories. I didn’t want it to. Washing away memories was what my father was trying to do with the various chemicals he put into his body. Pretending the past hadn’t happened was not the way to deal with life. Allowing it to overtake your every thought was also not the way to do it, I told myself as I exhaled the weight of the day. Somewhere there was a balance.
After my shower, I put on pajamas, grabbed my robe and slippers, and left my room. My damp hair made me cold as I trod down the hallway. I pulled the collar of my robe snug around my neck. My father’s door was cracked open. No more secrets—that’s what he was saying by not latching it shut. I pushed on it; it moved easily, swinging open enough for me to peer inside.
He was on his knees, rosary in hand, a single candle burning in front of a picture of my mom. The crucifix they’d received as a wedding gift hung on the wall above the picture. It was the last picture taken of her … the morning she died. He’d been in a silly mood and clicked a candid picture of her cooking breakfast. After she died, he printed it. It was the most beautiful picture of her we had. The morning sunlight caught the soft waves of her auburn hair, her emerald-green eyes glowing with love for each of us. Her smile … so warm, peaceful.
The sight of him on his knees in front of her and our crucified Lord, begging each of them for forgiveness, caused emotion to catch in my throat and tears to brim.
He didn’t notice me. How could he, when he was focused on the love of his life?
I crept away, closing the door softly behind me.
Next to his room was Avi’s. I stepped inside. Jackson’s head jerked up from the rug he slept on, his eyes glowing with the reflection of the hall light.
I listened to her slow, heavy breaths. We were so different, she and I, and yet … I wondered what gifts she had. Gifts she didn’t even realize were gifts. Her ability to walk into a room and understand all that was going on almost immediately was not typical. She realized Dad was falling apart. She hadn’t known how. How could a young child have any understanding of the evils of the chemicals he was using to numb everything he felt, everything he remembered? Still, she’d sensed it when the rest of us hadn’t.
I petted Jackson, and he put his head down. I was grateful he kept watch over the littlest in the family.
Next door, Lisieux’s light was off. I didn’t enter. She was not a young child who needed her big sister to check on her. She too was gifted in her own nerdy way.
Luca was afraid of gifts. I couldn’t blame him. But all gifts were from God. Why we had them, I didn’t understand. Was there something God wanted me to understand, something he wanted me to do? If not, why show me glimpses of evil? Why swamp my mind with horrors of the long-ago past?
You asked to see the world as it was, the small voice inside me answered.
Yes, I thought, recalling my prayer at Thomas’s funeral. I did ask for this gift. I leaned against the railing that led downstairs. Never did I expect to receive an answer to that prayer when so many others went unanswered.
You cannot fight what you don’t believe in. Now you believe. Now you can fight.
The voice caused me to slide to the floor.
It was right. Even after Thomas, I tried to pretend the demons didn’t exist. I wanted the world to consist only of what I could see and touch—that world was dangerous enough. I sighed as I pulled my knees toward my chest. I guess I got what I wanted. Now I could see evil; my very touch brought it to me.
I couldn’t fight when there was nothing, in my awareness, to fight. But now I understood. I realized every ounce of life was a battle—a battle that mattered more than any military battle ever could. This was a battle not for territory or even worldly freedom. This was a battle for eternal freedom.
Twenty-Six
In the morning I woke rested. The night had been peaceful, more than I had expected, given the last few nights. I was grateful. I dressed quickly, wondering if my family was going to church. We never missed Mass, but nothing about the previous few days or weeks had been typical. Luca would go, of this I was sure, and I’d go with him. He’d help protect me from the stares. As I left my room I realized I was up earlier than I typically was on a Sunday, the effect of actually sleeping the entire night for the first time in several days.
The kitchen was quiet; my father sat at the table. I hesitated. Should I slip quietly back up the stairs? I decided not to be a coward. Gone was the chipper father who had greeted me with freshly made French toast the day before. In his place was a haggard man with swollen eyes and an unshaven face. He was holding his coffee mug, his hair a mess.
I wondered, based on how red and puffy his eyes appeared, if he’d be able to cry even if he tried to. If I ever had a child, I’d tell them of this day—the day and night when their grandfather faced the truth of his life. The full weight of his choices had fallen on him and he had not run from it.
“Thank you … for cleaning out my office.” His voice was hoarse.
“I’m not sure,” he said, rubbing his thumb against his coffee mug, one my mom made for him with pictures of Lisieux and me as little kids. “I guess because you were the one who saw me passed out on the couch.”
“I’m glad it was me and not Lisieux or Avi,” I said.
He grimaced at the thought. “It’s bad enough having one daughter realize the extent of your sins.”
“How did you know the stuff was gone?” I asked, wanting to believe the change I felt in him was real. But if he was looking for what I’d taken, he was no different.
“I was going to do it myself, or at least try,” he said, his voice tired. I doubted he’d slept. “You were very thorough. I found a lone bottle of pills. They’re in the trash—it’s okay if you want to check.” He rubbed his hands together.
I went to the trash and slid it open. On top, under a single paper towel, was a plastic prescription bottle full of tablets.
“I’m glad you did it for me. I couldn’t have handled all the others,” he said.
I noticed his legs bouncing beneath the table. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I will be,” he said, though his skin was pale and sweaty.
“I don’t want you to be in pain, but that’s not the way,” I said, feeling bad for him.
He sniffed, holding on to his arms. “You’re right. This will pass. Your mom will help me.”
“Did she help you before?”
“No. That’s not how it works—not at the beginning of a relationship. She could never have fixed me, and she was too smart to try. I was sober for several years before we met. If I hadn’t been, she would’ve had nothing to do with me.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me. I told her on our first date. It’s why we went to that pottery studio instead of a bar.”
“She loved that you took her there.”
“God knew what he was doing,” Dad said, his body rocking slightly. “She told me if I wasn’t sober and going to remain sober, she wanted nothing to do with me. I never let her down, even after she died, never. … Until now.”
“His death wasn’t your fault,” I said.
“It was,” he said, nodding subtly. “This scar, your memory, it all points to my helping my great-grandmother. It explains so much of my life, of the nightmares,” he said, rubbing his neck.
“Can you tell me about them?” I asked, wondering if the shrieking demons had tried to attack him too.
“So many. Many of the inn, of the fireplace, of her. Of the center stone going into a metal box. I thought it was all a dream. I didn’t realize it was memories breaking free gradually, over the last forty years. They used to haunt me.” He shook his head. “They continue to haunt me.”
“Is that what was in the box?” I asked, nerves tingling, making me feel like an electric current was running through my body.
He traced some scratches on the kitchen table, the result of Avi using it for her homeschooling desk. “I believe so. My blood must’ve been what she wanted, what tied her to me … to us. I gave something so precious, with so little thought, or none, I suppose,” he said sadly.
“She tricked you,” I said, only partially believing I shouldn’t hold him fully accountable for all that had happened.
“I was a fool,” he said bitterly. “Even after her death … the foolishness didn’t stop. Hence the items you removed from my office. The nightmares,”—he pushed against his skull—“they’re the reasons I began using when I was a kid.”
“You can’t hide from the past. It will find you,” I said, thinking of how it had found me.
He stared at the pictures of Lisieux and me that encircled his mug. “I can’t … figure out how to fix it, how to correct what I’ve done,” he said, shifting his gaze out to the yard.
The sun was making the earth come to life and with it the rumblings of waking people above us.
I said, “Some things can’t be fixed.”
He sat taller, his eyes losing their lack of focus. “There must be a way to fix this. Thomas is gone, I understand that. Your mom,”—his voice faltered—“is gone. I understand that too, but there can’t be more deaths from this. It can’t continue.”
Avi and Gigi came downstairs. Avi at first appeared afraid of our dad, but when he rose and went to her, she opened her arms and allowed him to scoop her up. She trusted that he was different. Gigi noticed a spot of spilled coffee on the counter. She wiped it and then opened the trashcan. She hesitated, taking a long, deep breath before throwing her paper towel on top of the one my father had placed there.
While I could tell she was grateful the pills were gone, she would’ve done nothing to remove them. Why? Why would she put up with something she so clearly hated? Why would someone who was so often outspoken, not speak her mind about the awful things her son was doing to himself?
“I’m glad you’re dressed,” Dad said to Avi, who, out of habit on Sunday mornings, had put on a sweaterdress and leggings. “I’m going to run up and shower. First, I’ll make sure Lisieux is awake.”
“I wasn’t planning on our family attending Mass this morning,” Gigi said dryly.
“Why not?” Avi asked as Dad put her back on the floor.
“I believe Brenda and Phil will be at this service,” Gigi said. “What happened at the funeral doesn’t need to be repeated.”
Dad hesitated, but then said, “There’s no point in trying to avoid them. It would be impossible. We live in the same town, worship at the same church. It is what it is.”
It was unusual for Dad to disagree with Gigi about something like this, and definitely in the last two months. It was a small decision, but one that meant he was making a decision, actually being our parent.
“Come on, Avi, you and I will check on Lisieux,” I said, deciding it best we leave the kitchen.
“Luca wants to go too. I’ll make sure he’s awake,” Avi said, racing up the stairs ahead of me.
I knocked on Lisieux’s door and Avi went to Luca’s. Both were already mostly awake.
Within the hour we were pulling up to our church. My father held Avi’s hand. Lisieux, Luca, and I walked beside one another. Gigi trailed us. She’d made it clear she thought it best we attend a different service or possibly drive the hour to the next closest Catholic church. Dad disagreed.
Gigi wasn’t wrong. There would be whispers, or worse. But Dad was also right: it was what it was. We couldn’t undo what happened. We had no control over the past or the future, only the present.
My father didn’t stop at the back pew, as I expected; he went up to our regular pew in the second row. The rest of us followed obediently.
“It will be okay,” Luca whispered as he and I knelt, my knees hurting a bit against the pressure. I focused on them as I tried to tune out the not-so-quiet whispers.
A second later, the bell in the back of the church rang, signaling the beginning of Mass. We stood along with the rest of the congregation. Father Luke came down the aisle, led by Beth’s little brother carrying the cross high above his head.
That meant that Beth was likely here. My face burned as I remembered the waiter from the BayTree. What had she told him? Friday night, I’d been terrified. Today, in the sunlight, next to Luca, I was not afraid—I was angry.
During the readings and homily, when I should have been focused on what was happening in front of me, I was thinking of Beth somewhere behind me and wishing I could confront her before I lost my nerve. Luca must have sensed my distraction because, as Father concluded his homily, Luca nudged me—a gentle reminder to still my mind and heart. I inhaled and exhaled, focusing on God in front of me in the tabernacle. It would be much easier if I could actually sense the change that happened during the consecration, as Luca could. I’d prayed to see the world as it was; I hadn’t meant the darkness of the past. I’d hoped for beauty.
If that portion of my prayer wasn’t answered, there must be
a reason.
God did not allow something that could not bring at least some minuscule amount of good. He would not have allowed me to witness my father slicing his arm or the terror-stricken children just because. There must be a reason and it must be for some good.
I was in line now, on my way to receive the Eucharist. I prayed fervently to focus on God, begging him to purify my heart and mind and help me understand what he wanted me to understand, to forgive all that I needed to forgive. Luca was behind me, but even so, I could sense him fall to his knees in front of the Eucharist, a contrast to me and almost everyone else in the church who simply bowed. He rose quickly and followed me to our pew. He had not received—he wouldn’t until he officially entered the Church at Easter.
He was staring at me. He did this every time after I received Communion. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Jesus inside me. It was a little eerie, like he was watching God’s essence spread through my veins.
“How do you not simply float away?” he’d asked me the first Sunday he came with us.
I’d whispered back that some saints did levitate and a few priests even today have to hold on to the altar with one hand during Consecration to keep from rising into the air. To many, these must seem like bizarre lies; to Luca, they made perfect sense.
I slid back into the pew, Luca’s fingers grazing mine.
At the end of Mass, Father dismissed us and added that there would be donuts and coffee in the parish hall. It was funny that he always announced this. We all knew there would be coffee and donuts, but I supposed it was nice to invite any visitors who might be with us.
We waited for Dad to exit the pew. The rest of us would follow. He didn’t move. He was staring at the crucifix.
After another few minutes, he shifted his body to face the rest of us sitting in the pew. “I think we should go eat some donuts,” he said.
“I don’t want any,” Avi said glumly.
“I meant at the parish hall,” Dad said, his voice reflecting it was more of a question. He thought this was what we should do, but wondered what the rest of us thought.
Gifted (Awakening Book 2) Page 20