by Hamel, B. B.
“Listen, son. I need your help.”
I laugh out loud. “Go to hell.”
“I’m in jail.”
That makes me pause. And I laugh out loud again, this time with pure delight.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbles.
“It’s very funny. Do you remember what you did a couple nights ago?”
He’s quiet for a second. “I’m sorry, son. I don’t. I’ve been… well, clearly I’m drinking again.”
“Clearly.”
“Listen, I messed up. But I need help now. I need bail money, so I can figure out what to do next.”
“There’s no way in hell. I hope you rot.”
“Please,” he says, begging now. “The company. I’ll give it to you if you bail me out. At least come to the jail and talk to me. Please, son.”
“If you stop calling me son, I’ll come talk to you.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, Nathan. Fine, that’s fine. We can work on that.”
“We won’t work on shit. Tell me where you are and I’ll figure it out.”
When we hang up a few minutes later, I can’t help but laugh again.
Poor, stupid, pathetic old man. He came all the way to America to fuck with me and juts ended up going on a bender and getting arrested. Story of his fucking life.
I don’t know why I’m going to go see him. Maybe it’s sentiment, or maybe I know this is my last chance to get this company from him. Either way, this is the last time I’ll see my father. I know that deep down in my bones.
It doesn’t matter what he has to say. That man is as good as dead to me now.
* * *
“I feel like this is a bad idea,” Grace says as we drive over to the jail. “And your arm isn’t healed yet, you know.”
I give her a look. “I’m not going to get in a fight there, you know.”
“Still. Jails have germs. You could get infected.”
I roll my eyes and laugh a little nervously. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”
Although she had a point. My shoulder was still bugging me and the doctor said it probably would be a couple weeks before it felt right again. Still, it didn’t matter. Nothing matters except for this, for finally confronting my father.
Most of the ride to the jail is in silence. We finally get there, and we’re the only ones waiting for visitation. The guard takes our IDs and we sit on some chairs until we’re called back.
We get a small room with glass between us. There’s a phone, like in the movies. “This isn’t what prison’s like,” Grace whispers as we sit down and wait. My father’s not there just yet, but he’s on the way.
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“Prison is just one big communal room, lots of people.”
“I guess people don’t visit jails as often.”
“I guess not.”
We don’t talk again until the doors open. My father comes in, wearing a prison jumpsuit, his hands shackled together. He sits and is allowed to pick up the phone.
He looks like shit. He looks ten years older. He’s sweating, he has bags under his eyes, and he’s twitching nervously. Probably going through detox as we speak. Bastard deserves it.
“Nathan,” he says into the phone.
“You look awful.”
He forces a smile. “Thanks. Say hello to Grace for me.”
“No thanks. What are you in for?”
He hesitates. “Apparently I got confrontational with a police horse.”
“You… what?”
“I punched a police horse, Nathan.” He winces. “It’s a big deal. It’s a felony.”
I can’t help but laugh. It’s such an absurd thing. It’s also extremely fucked up. “Why the hell would you punch a police horse?”
Grace’s eyes bug out at me, totally outraged
“I don’t know,” he grunts. “I was shitfaced, okay? I don’t remember any of it. I guess the cop tried to get me to calm down but I hit the horse and that was it. Apparently, it’s like hitting a police officer.”
“You deserve this, you know. Anyone that would hit an animal like that deserves it.”
He rolls his eyes. “The horse is fine. I’m not.”
“You’re such a prick. When are you signing over the company?”
“After you bail me out.”
“No way. Get your lawyer to sign it over and hand-deliver the paperwork. Once I see and verify that it’s all legit, I’ll bail you out.”
He scoffs. “No way. I can’t trust you, Nathan. I’m sorry, son, but—”
“Call me son again, and I’m leaving.” My voice is low but steady.
He winces. “Fine. Nathan. I can’t do it, I can’t trust that you’ll bail me out once you get what you want.”
“Believe it or not, Calvin, I’m not a total scumbag like you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I’ve met a lot of good people that did bad things out of anger, and you’re an angry man, Nathan.”
That hits home. I wince a little and glance at Grace. She’s frowning at me, clearly worried about this conversation.
The fucking piece of shit. He’s so manipulative, he can clearly see where I’m vulnerable right now, and he just honed right in on it instantly.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say, keeping myself cool and level. “I’m not angry anymore, Calvin. Not at anyone but you.”
He shakes his head. “Still bad, still can’t trust you.”
“That’s your problem then. I don’t need that company. But you need me.”
“Nathan—”
“No, you listen to me.” I stare hard at him. “You’ve made my life a living hell. When we were still in Canada and Mom was with you, I hated your guts for what you did. Drinking all the time, hitting her, hitting me. You were a fucking terror, you know that? We finally escaped you, we had a good thing going, and now you’re back in my life to ruin it again. Why would I ever, ever want to help you?”
He stares at me and for a second, I think there’s actual human sadness in his expression. For a brief moment, I see a little glimmer of humanity. But he looks away and closes his eyes and sighs. “Because as much as you hate me, Nathan, I’m still your father. I know I made mistakes. I’m still making them. But this disease, it’s—”
“Stop blaming your disease,” I snap at him. “You’ve been doing this long enough. How many chances do you get?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m asking for one here. I haven’t asked for anything from you in a long time, Nathan, but now I’m asking for help. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me here.”
His voice sounds afraid. I almost pity him.
“You heard my terms,” I say. “Sign it over to me and then we’ll bail you out.”
“No,” he answers, shaking his head.
“Then keep the company and rot in jail. I’m done with you, Calvin. This is your last chance. I hope you do the right thing.”
“Nathan—”
I hang up the phone. I don’t hear what he says next. He hits the glass and yells, and the guards come in. They pick him up and he fights them, yelling, screaming, as I take Grace by the hand and lead her out of the room.
We get our IDs back and head to the car. We sit there in silence for a long time, just staring at the chain-link fence and the razor sharp barbed wire rimming the top.
She finally breaks the silence. “What’ll happen to him?” she asks.
“Who knows?” I sigh and close my eyes. “I’m finally done getting suckered by him.”
“Really?” she asks.
“Really. No more answering his calls. If he shows up, the cops are coming, no questions asked.”
“Good.”
I look at her and raise an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Good. You don’t have to hurt him anymore, but don’t let him hurt you, either.”
I laugh and take her hand. I hold it tight and she squeezes back.
“You know, sometimes I wish we had met ear
lier. You know, before all this happened.”
“Yeah?” Her smile is a little lopsided. “Do you think we would’ve liked each other?”
I pause. “I think so,” I say softly. “I really do.”
I finally look over at her. God, she’s so pretty, so fucking beautiful. She came here with me even though she doesn’t owe me anything, and frankly, she should fucking hate me. She has every single right to despise me.
I’ve been such a bastard to her. I’ve hated her, cursed her, been a dick for no reason. I accused her of taking drugs, the lowest of the low, and I hate myself for it.
But I wasn’t lying to my father back in that little room. I meant it when I said that my anger is all gone. It’s been drained away, and what’s left is something else, something completely different.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out, simple and pure.
“What?” she asks, a little surprised.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been… I’ve been horrible to you, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry, Grace. I was a piece of shit.”
“I get it. You’re hurting, you lost your mother, you—”
“No,” I cut her off. “No, don’t make excuses for me. I was horrible to you and you know it.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You were. You really were.”
“I should’ve forgiven you from the start. Instead, I used you. I made you marry me because I knew you felt guilty enough to do it. Now you’re stuck with me.”
“I made my own choices,” she points out.
“Still. I was mean to you, so damn mean to you. I’m sorry, Grace. I’m not sorry for some of it, but I’m sorry for most.”
“Yeah,” she says, not looking at me. She lets go of my hand and leans her head against the glass. “You’ve been a bastard. It’s hard to forget about it sometimes, honestly.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, but I know the words are meaningless.
The silence stretches on. I want her to yell at me. I want her to hit me. I want her to be angry for once, so that I might feel a little bit better, just a little bit. I don’t know what else to do. I want her to understand how misplaced it all was and how fucked up I know I was being. I want to beg her, get on my knees and grovel, but the silence just stretches.
Finally, she sighs. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
I nod and start the engine. I don’t know what that means. I guess I don’t deserve more.
We drive in silence together. I wish I could read her mind. Instead, we just head back home. I put my father behind us. I know I’ll never hear from him again. I know he’s too stupid to give me the company back.
Hopefully, he’ll die in prison, but probably not. He’ll probably be out soon enough, terrorizing the world.
I don’t care. I have Grace to worry about, that’s all I need.
24
Grace
I can’t stop thinking about Nathan confronting his father that way. I keep seeing his face, totally calm, as he basically told his father to rot in prison. I was so proud of him in that moment, and I completely forgot about all the other crap between us.
At least for a little while.
But the next day, my parents call. “Hi, honey,” my mom says, “how are you?”
“I’m okay. Just hanging in there.”
“Good, good.” She pauses for a second and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. “We want to visit Patrick again soon.”
I bite my lip. I’m sitting in bed, staring at my computer. It’s a little after six at night and I’ve been holed up here for most of the day. I haven’t heard from Nathan yet.
“I’m not sure… I don’t know.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s hard. It’s not… it’s hard.”
“I just, I want to see him. Just not this often.”
“I know, honey. You don’t have to come. But I’m going to tell you when we go in case you decide you do want to.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I let out a sigh.
“Okay. That’s it. We’re still seeing you and Nathan for dinner tomorrow, right?”
I frown. “Dinner?”
“Nathan called us,” she says. “This morning, actually. Invited us both over. You know that, right?”
I laugh stupidly. “Right, yes, of course. Sorry.”
“So we’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I hang up the phone and sit there for a long moment. This is the first I’ve heard about dinner. I don’t know what Nathan’s up to, but I have a strange feeling about it.
He’s been nice to me. I think he feels bad about the whole drug accusation thing, and I think he really should. Honestly, that was one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through, my brother being a murderous addict aside. I’ve never had someone look at me like that before, like I was some horrible, awful person. And yet he did, and he meant it.
I get out of bed and head downstairs. The kitchen is empty and I open the refrigerator, not really expecting much, but stop myself short.
Inside, there’s a little square container with my name written on top of it. I take it out and read the note underneath.
Grace, if you get hungry, here’s something. - Nathan
I shake my head, mystified, but inside is a delicious-smelling soup.
“What the hell?” I say before pouring the soup into a pot, heating it up, and eating it.
Nathan never did anything like this for me before. It just seems so thoughtful, and he did it even without telling me about it. As I sit down to eat, I can’t help but think about him cooking this and saving some, just for me.
The door opens just as I finish up. He comes inside, hangs up his coat, and finds me sitting at the table. He smiles and leans casually against the kitchen counter.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey, yourself.” I narrow my eyes. “You made me soup.”
“I did,” he agrees.
“Why?”
“Well, I thought you might like it.”
“Nathan.”
He laughs a little bit. “Look, I’m an asshole, okay? I’ve been the biggest asshole ever to you and I think I need to do a little groveling before it can be okay again.”
“Soup is a good start.”
“Soup is just a start.” He looks at me with a weird little smile on his face. “Did you talk to your parents yet?”
“I did,” I confirm.
“So you know they’re coming.”
“Why didn’t you ask me first?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Nathan. Having my parents over isn’t exactly a great surprise.”
He laughs a little. There’s a strange lightness to him right now. I haven’t seen him looking this calm… ever.
This is probably what he used to always look like, before the accident. This is probably the real Nathan, the man buried underneath all that anger. Maybe he’s starting to dig himself out.
“I know,” he admits. “But I promise it’ll be worth it.”
“I really don’t see how.”
“Just trust me. Okay?”
“Fine. If you really want to.”
“Thanks.” He grins a little. “Was it good?”
“What, the soup?”
“Yeah.”
I narrow my eyes. “It was suspiciously delicious.”
He laughs and waves before heading back upstairs.
I sigh and watch him go, but can’t stop the smile that flits across my face.
Soup doesn’t change anything he said or did. Soup doesn’t fix anything.
But it’s a start, at least.
* * *
I don’t see much of Nathan the next day, which is actually pretty worrying. Normally, he spends Sundays in front of the TV watching football. But today, he leaves the house early, and only comes home around two.
I’m sitting on the couch, watching the new Gilmore Girls reboot and cursing HD for making everyone look so real, when he steps in through the front door
carrying like sixteen grocery bags.
“What the heck?” I say.
He laughs at me from behind all the bags and manages to bring them into the kitchen. He drops them on the counter with a loud sigh. I get up and close the front door before joining him.
“Dinner,” he says, gesturing at everything.
“Dinner? This is, like, dinner for a month.”
“Okay, well, I did the full week’s shopping. But this is mostly dinner.” He digs out a whole chicken, some vegetables that look fancy and fresh, and fresh lettuce for a salad. “You’re going to like this.”
“Where did you get it all?”
“Reading Terminal,” he says. “It was a madhouse but they have the best stuff.”
“You didn’t have to do that. My parents would’ve been happy with anything.”
“They’ll be happier with this.” He hesitates. “Besides, I’m groveling.”
“Does your groveling always involve food?”
He laughs a little. “For now. Go sit down, I’ll get cooking.”
I hesitate, but I do as he says. Sure enough, he unpacks the contents of the bag, and he even softly hums to himself as he does it.
Nathan… humming to himself.
It’s the strangest thing. I’m so used to him prowling around the house, looking angry and forlorn and shooting me baleful glares. He’s normally like a pissed-off ghost, except a very real one that might yell at me at any second.
Now though, he’s humming and smiling and cooking. The smell from the kitchen is incredible. I only catch snippets of what he’s doing, but I watch him season the chicken, truss it up, and get it baking before chopping vegetables and making a salad.
I get dressed and ready and my parents show up around five. The food’s cooking and Nathan’s actually wearing an apron, which makes me nearly choke when I see it. He takes it off to answer the door, giving me a little wink.
My parents seem tentative. Nathan greets them warmly, kisses my mother on the cheek, shakes my father’s hand and ushers them inside. Football is on again, which my dad clearly appreciates, and Nathan gets them drinks. White wine for Mom, whiskey for Dad.
“Cheers, everyone,” Nathan says, holding up his glass. “Barb, Scott, I’m so happy you two could join us.”