Beautiful Boy

by Leddy Harper

  I didn’t need his idea of a purpose.

  I didn’t need his version of structure.

  I only needed Novah.

  “I’m doing perfectly fine here, Dad.”

  “And what is it you’re doing here?”

  “I have a job. I run a company. I own a condo. My life is here now. I understand your logic and why you believe I should go home, but it’s not realistic. I can’t just uproot everything, pack my bags, and move six hours away.”

  “Don’t you have a partner to handle the business in your absence? Can’t he pick up the slack while you’re gone?”

  “I deal with the administrative aspect of the company, and he handles the legal side. I can’t ask him to take over the whole thing. It doesn’t work that way. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  He picked up the straw wrapper I’d discarded and rolled it into a tight ball between his fingers. “Nolan…I am happy you’ve decided to try and make something of your life. After so many years of watching you beat yourself up, it makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on your own two feet again. But we need you. The campaign needs you.”

  My stomach grew weak and threatened to leave me ill. No matter how many years had gone by, how many miles I put between us, my father still had a twisted way of controlling me. I may not have seen it when I was younger, but I saw it now.

  You’ve decided to try and make something of your life. I wasn’t merely trying…I was making something of my life and myself. Not an attempt.

  It makes me proud to see you making strides to stand on your own two feet. He hadn’t even been around to know. For all he knew, I could’ve been standing very tall and strong on my own. Making strides?

  “You’re not listening to me, Dad. I don’t want to. I don’t have any aspirations to be hands-on in the election. I don’t want to learn how to campaign, and I don’t want to move. I have no desire to have any part in this.”

  “So your plan is to stay here and do this for the rest of your life? Be an admin for a company when you could be a leader? Share responsibilities with someone else when you could have it all?”

  I clenched my fists beneath the table, my foot bouncing with the amplified frustration rolling through me. “I own my own business. Yes, I share responsibilities, but only because it’s in the best interest of my company.”

  “You want to catch shoplifters forever?”

  I huffed, defeat slowly consuming me until I didn’t believe I could do or say anything else to get through to him. “It pays the bills. It keeps me employed. I live in a very nice condo, drive a luxury car, and never have to worry about anything.”

  “You share the company with someone else. And from what you’ve said, you’re nothing more than an administrator. Why can’t he take over your part? What else is keeping you here?” His harsh, penetrating gaze held mine, not relenting. It was his way of asserting control.

  I’d fallen for it every single time before.

  Not again.

  Never again.

  “I’ve started getting back into photography. I have a darkroom set up in my house. And I’m looking forward to getting some use out of it.”

  His fiery red cheeks were not surprising. He’d never liked the idea of me taking pictures. “You can do that anywhere. Just walk down the street and see the completely self-absorbed population with their phones aiming at their puckered lips.”

  My short fingernails cut into my palms. But before I could say anything else, he cut off my thoughts with his own.

  “Have you ever thought about being a photographer for the government? You could do that for a living and not have to sacrifice something you love…”

  “I don’t want that.” I forced my words through my terse lips, feeling them burn my esophagus and singe my tongue on the way out.

  He flattened his palms on the table in front of me, calling my attention to the fine lines on his fingers. He didn’t have the hands of a workingman. Would my hands look like his when I’m his age?

  “There has to be another reason you don’t want to leave here. I’ve given you many alternatives to your job and to photography. What’s keeping you here, son?” he asked, sounding every bit the caring father he’d meant to portray.

  “I’ve been seeing someone.” My words were quiet, yet he’d heard them. I wished I could’ve taken them back, because the last thing I wanted was for him to start insulting Novah. But it was already out there, and I had to stick by it. “And she makes me happy. For the first time in fifteen years, I’m not drowning in misery every second of the day. I won’t give her up.”

  “Who?” The way he asked told me a few things.

  One, he had no idea I’d been seeing anyone, which meant the media hounds hadn’t begun to sniff around yet.

  Two, for whatever reason, he had an intuition as to who it was, and it left him displeased. It made me question if it could’ve been his primary motive to get me away from here.

  And three, he clearly didn’t care one iota about my admission of being miserable for half my life.

  “Her name is Novah Johnson.”

  I watched carefully as his nostrils flared and his eyes turned to slits. His deep breaths were meant to contain his anger, but they hadn’t done their job.

  “Absolutely not, Nolan. No.”

  I wanted to get up and leave. I even shifted in my seat in a small attempt to do so. But he pushed his hand across the table, silently warning me against it.

  “Listen to me. It’s in everyone’s best interest if you didn’t see her. And I think you’d agree with me. If my opponents dig into her past, they’ll eventually find out what had happened all those years ago. They’ll uncover what you did to her.”

  “Even if she’s supporting me, standing by me now? Doesn’t her devotion mean something?” Even my tone sounded like a man with no hope. And right then and there, I already knew he’d won.

  He always won.

  My dad shook his head solemnly. “No. Unfortunately, they won’t care how she feels about you now. All they will show to the public is a high school yearbook photo of a fifteen-year-old girl with the caption ‘victim.’ And next to it will be a recent photo of you. No one cares to listen to details anymore these days. They’ll see a teenager and a thirty-something-year-old man with a headline about child pornography. Are you willing to put her through that kind of humiliation—again?”

  Thinking of what it would do to Novah twisted my gut and left me with the desire to heave. No matter how many years had passed, or how far I had come since returning, that one day, the one decision I made all those years ago, would always come back to haunt me.

  It would always come back to harm her.

  “We can fight it,” I said desperately.

  “How do you even know that’s something she’d be willing to do? Huh? I’m sure she wouldn’t want her image or name being dragged around again. I’m not talking about whether or not she inhaled marijuana when she was eighteen. This is about something personal. Something damaging. You’ve damaged her enough for one lifetime. Don’t you think? She’s destroyed enough of your life. It’s time to let it go. I know you want to rectify what happened, but dating her and ripping her image apart isn’t going to resolve anything. It’ll only make it worse.”

  I nodded and then glanced around the nearly empty restaurant. That’s when I realized I hadn’t seen the waitress since we first arrived. She’d brought us both glasses of water, but since then, she’d kept her distance.

  It suddenly all made sense. My dad had no desire to share a meal with me. He didn’t invite me here to eat—it’d all been a ruse. Nothing more than an excuse to get me alone and listen to his demands under the guise of helping me.

  “So what is it you want me to do…besides move to Tallahassee? Because it’s not going to happen any time soon.”

  “There’s a banquet dinner Tuesday night in Tampa. I’d like you to be there. I will be announcing my candidacy the following day at the college. I would appreciate it
if you’d attend and show your support. Alone.”

  Alone. Of course he had to add that.

  “Nothing else?”

  “For now,” he said with his spine as straight as a board. The muscles in his face were tight, but other than that, he gave nothing else away in his emotionless expression.

  I nodded, unable to say anything more, and stood from the booth. I didn’t even bother to glance back at him, shake his hand, give him a hug, or anything else before walking out and leaving him behind. He knew as well as I did I’d be there Tuesday.

  Because I didn’t have any other choice.

  It was what I had do, much like everything else in my life. And I’d do it with very little complaint.

  By the time I made it back to my condo, my mood had worsened. Everything became so dark around me, in me. I could’ve called Novah to let her know I would be free for dinner, but I decided against it. I didn’t even know how I’d face her after everything my dad had to say.

  And his words wouldn’t leave me.

  They swirled around in my mind, causing a headache. My stomach twisted and knotted and left me dry heaving alone in my bathroom with nothing but his voice in my head.

  You’ve damaged her enough for one lifetime.

  She’s destroyed enough of your life.

  I stripped off my clothes and removed the titanium leg, preparing to take a shower in the hopes it’d clear my mind. All I needed was to relax and calm down. But once I settled down on the tiled bench, the textured floor beneath my foot and the demeaning voice in my head became worse.

  It wouldn’t go away.

  It grew louder and louder, harsher and meaner, until every ounce of hope vanished from inside.

  I’d never be free of him.

  “I can’t handle his moods anymore,” my father said in a hushed, yet stern voice. I’d gone downstairs for some water to take my medicine, but I stopped at the door when I heard him speaking.

  “He only needs some time, Doug.”

  “He’s had enough time!” A loud clap filtered through the small crack in the door—probably his hand on his desk. “He’s been back for five years. When will he get better?”

  “He’s getting better. He just needs more time.”

  I hated it when my parents talked about me behind my back, because it was always “he” this and “he” that, as if I was some nameless person they cared nothing about. I knew it wasn’t true with my mom, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was how my father felt.

  “He doesn’t need time. He needs help. Real help. More than what he’s been getting. I can’t do this anymore. How can I possibly focus on my career when I have an invalid in my home? How can I do my job and take care of the people who depend on me, when I have to deal with that?”

  I wanted to be angry…but I couldn’t. I felt too weak to be enraged over his words. It was clear he cared more about his job than he did about me—his son. People who depended on him? What about me? Did I not depend on him? He’d sent me off to war, and I came back…an invalid. Fuck. I wanted to be pissed. I wanted to barge in there and yell, shout, throw things until he understood exactly how damaged I really was. But I didn’t. I only stood there, unable to move, unable to say anything, and listened to him complain about his disfigured, crippled, invalid son.

  “Doug, don’t talk like that. He’s doing the best he can. Most young men never come back after what he’s been through.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m fully aware how thankful I should be he’s alive.”

  “Should be?” my mom asked the same question running through my own head.

  “Am. How thankful I am.” It didn’t matter if he’d corrected himself; the damage had been done. “But something needs to change. He either needs to show some vast improvements…or he needs more intense treatment. Our lives have been put on hold for five years. It can’t go on like this for five more.”

  Intense treatment? I didn’t even want to contemplate what he meant by that. And I hated to hear him talk about how many years his life had been put on hold. What about mine?

  I couldn’t take it anymore and moved away from the door. I almost made it to the stairs before my mom came out of the office, noticing me.

  “Everything all right, Nolan?”

  I nodded, my words stuck in my throat.

  “Why are you using the crutches?”

  “The new leg is bothering me.”

  She came to me and halted my steps, keeping me from going anywhere. One of the biggest things I hated most about crutches was if people stood in your way, you couldn’t get around them.

  “Let me see.”

  “No, Mom. I think I’m just going to soak in the tub.” It disgusted me to have her look at my stump. I didn’t want anyone to see it. It was bad enough the doctors had to see and touch it regularly.

  She helped me up the stairs, which I loathed and loved. I could only take one step at a time, and the process was painstakingly slow. But I felt better having her with me to ease the fear of losing my balance and falling backward. I didn’t fear falling down the stairs to my death…my worry was over falling and breaking my neck, and then being completely immobile.

  Once we got to my room, she started the bath for me and helped get clean clothes out. It made me feel useless, like I couldn’t grab my own clothes out of my own drawers. Worse than a child, completely helpless.

  Before she left, she moved the material of my shorts aside until she could see my thigh. I tried to push her away, but she wasn’t having it. So I finally quit fighting and let her see a part of me I wished to hide from the world.

  Her gasp hurt worse than my leg did.

  “After your bath, call for me. I’ll put some lotion on it. This is from your new leg?” She looked up at me, but I didn’t meet her eyes, only nodded and waited for her to finish examining me. “Have you tried adding more socks?”

  “Mom, if I add any more socks, it won’t fit. I’ve tried fewer socks, more socks…nothing works. I told Dad this leg is painful, but all he’s done is tell me how expensive it is and I need to adjust to it.”

  She shook her head slowly. A tear slipped down her face, but she caught it quickly with her finger. Mom hated to cry in front of me, but I knew without seeing the tears how distraught she was over this whole situation.

  “We’ll go tomorrow and have something done about this, okay? I don’t care how much it was…you won’t be forced to use something that leaves you in this much pain. There are other options, possibly better ones. And this time, I’ll be with you. I’ll let you make the decisions.”

  I nodded and sat still while she kissed my cheek and then left the room. Nothing she said made any difference at all, because I wouldn’t be with her the next day. Or the day after.

  I grabbed my dad’s revolver, the one I’d stowed away in my nightstand, and headed for the bathroom. I’d end it all. My father wouldn’t have to put his life on hold any longer. My mom wouldn’t have to cry. And I wouldn’t have to live in pain anymore.

  The water turned cold as it ran off me and swirled down the drain. I hated reliving that day, hearing his words. I hated it even more knowing how no matter what I did, nothing ever seemed to change with him.

  I turned off the water, grabbed the towel I’d slung over the frosted door, and wrapped it around me. My body convulsed from the frigid temperature, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even bother dressing in the clothes I’d pulled out before my shower.

  After drying off and putting on a pair of boxers, I stood in front of the mirror with my crutches and leaned against the counter. I stared at myself, my dad’s words turning into dark clouds inside my head.

  Words from years ago.

  Words from today.

  They wouldn’t go away. They grew louder, more obnoxious…more heinous. Some of them I wasn’t even sure were his, but possibly my own damaging thoughts.

  I blinked and realized I’d been holding an old bottle of pain medicine. I didn’t even remember pulling it out of t
he drawer, but I must have because it was in my hand…and the top was off. One pill fell into my palm, and then another. And then the whole bottle.

  End it now.

  Finish it.

  I took one more look in the mirror at myself—the disfigured man before me. And I did the only thing I could. The only thing that would make it all go away.

  I put an end to it.

  Seventeen

  “Shari,” I whispered and pulled my friend aside, away from the girl in the studio. “How old is this girl?”

  I’d picked up a client who could only come in this morning—a Saturday—because she was an elite gymnast and couldn’t make it to the studio at regular times. So I had Shari come in and set up for me while the girl filled out the release forms. That way, all I had to do was come in and take the photos and be done for the weekend. But when I arrived, I quickly questioned the client’s age.

  “Eighteen. Almost nineteen in a few months. Why?” Her brow creased heavily as she stared at me, curiosity brightening her brown eyes.

  I shook my head and peeked through the door at the girl, watching her stand in the middle of the room while she extended a foot and pointed her toes toward the floor. “She looks so young.” I turned my attention back to my friend. “Is this a sign of old age? When I look at an eighteen-year-old and assume she’s twelve?”

  Shari laughed at me and swiped the air with her hand. “You’re one to talk. Don’t you still get carded at bars?”

  I rolled my eyes and checked my phone once more. Nothing from Nolan. I’d sent him a text this morning before heading to the studio, but he hadn’t responded. I figured he might’ve still been asleep, so I locked the screen and stuffed it into my back pocket before returning to the room for the photo shoot.

  “Hey, Adrianna.” Shari walked in ahead of me. “This is Novah. Why don’t you tell her what you’re looking for?”