by S. Cook
“Daddy, he’s not crippled. He was injured in the Army.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You're home now and it's time to fix this mess. Hey, what happened to your damn face? Did he hit you? I’ll fucking kill him.”
Dad spoke about Gabriel like he wasn't in the room, and it was both insulting and embarrassing.
“Did you hit my daughter, you piece of shit?”
“No, I didn't. I would never do that. Unlike you. You did that to your daughter. While you’re at it, look at the bruises on her neck where you choked her in a drunken rage.”
“You’re a fucking liar,” Dad snarled.
“Daddy, stop it,” I warned and shot an apologetic glance at Gabriel, but he was too busy concentrating on my father’s every move.
With good reason, because last time they met it wasn't exactly a family get-together. His eyes started to darken again, as they had that night, and I stepped in between them.
“You don't remember what happened?”
Dad shook his head.
“I'm not going to get into your business, but if he's hurting you, you shouldn't keep with him,” Dad said.
I stood in the doorway, staring at him in disbelief.
“You did this to me. You came into the bar and were upset about the foreclosure so you beat me up. Gabriel stopped you. You were choking me and he pulled you off me. You might have killed me if he hadn’t come in.”
He shrugged as if it were nothing.
“I might have slapped you, but I didn't do all of that. I wouldn’t do that. You know I wouldn’t. You’re my baby girl. It’s always been you and me since your Mom and Terry left us. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“But you did,” Gabriel snarled behind me and I glanced at him with a pleading look. He immediately backed away and I turned to my father.
“No, Dad. Stop trying to deny it. You did this. Did you fix the window? Lock the place up?”
He nodded.
“Someone had to. You were gone. Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on you. But it will be different now, I'll help out more. I can even cut back on the drinking. If you’ll help me, I can do it. I’m sure.”
I closed my eyes.
This was so fucking hard. How many times had we played this same old song?
He continued, “Is he a friend of your brother? Terry used to send pictures. I knew that boy looked familiar.”
“Terry sent pictures?” I asked, almost not believing what I’d just heard.
“What happened to the money that Terry sent?” Gabriel suddenly asked, giving Dad a hard look.
“Why are you still here, boy? Don’t you have somewhere to be? You need to get the hell out of here and let me talk to my daughter alone.”
“Answer the question, Dad.”
My father's face dropped and then he smiled to cover up the lie he was fixing to tell. I’ve seen the look enough times to tell.
“It was never much, Lynette. Hardly anything. Come on, we can fix this. Call the bank. We can work something out.”
I shook my head and avoided Gabriel’s eyes. I still hadn't told him about the foreclosure, but now he was sure to suspect that I had been keeping it from him.
“Dad, how could you lie like that? All those years.”
My father looked confused.
“Lie about what?”
“You lied about Terry and you lied about hitting me and you've been lying about the bar. You could’ve taken care of all this, but you didn't. You left me to run this mess while you drank yourself into a stupor every chance you got. I've been the one holding this together. I’m done with you.”
The words spilled from my mouth. A ten-year flood of frustrations. I was yelling and crying at the same time. My father frowned at me, unsure if I was serious.
“I’m finished with you and your mess. You don't deserve me as a daughter.”
“No, I deserve much better than you. That’s for damn sure.”
My blood boiled in my veins.
“You’re a piece of shit and you’re the one who should have died instead of Mom. She should’ve been here with me instead of you.”
There, I said it. It took me years to say it, and now I finally did.
For a moment my father looked hurt, but then his eyes caught fire and he marched up to me. I could tell that he wanted to hit me again. The doctor was right. Once that door opened, it never shut again.
“Don’t you ever,” he hissed and pointed his finger at me, “say that again or I will strangle the life out of you, little girl. Do you hear me?”
“Do it,” I challenged him. “If you think you’re man enough, do it.”
By this point, we’ve both forgotten about Gabriel.
It was only Dad and me.
Without any hesitation, he wrapped his hands around my neck, still looking into my eyes. I refused to look away, or even flinch, because that would mean I lost, and I wasn't losing this time.
Fuck him.
“Freeze,” two voices called out behind us. Dad loosened his grip on my throat in surprise.
“Put your hands up,” one of them said and I turned around.
Gabriel stood in the kitchen doorway, flanked by two police officers who had their guns pointed right at Dad.
Everything happened in slow motion. Dad put his hands up, the officers cuffed him, and took him away. One of them drove me and Gabriel to the station where we had our photos taken and they took our statements.
We were taken to separate rooms, but I knew that my injuries and my statement, as well as Gabriel's would be more than enough evidence to have my father locked up for assault.
Afterwards, Gabriel drove me back to the apartment. I couldn't look at him, so I just sat in the car, staring at my hands on my lap. It all seemed like a bad dream that I would wake up from if I sat still and did nothing or spoke.
He reached over to touch my leg.
“Don’t,” I muttered as I pushed his hand away.
“What?” he asked in surprise.
“I can’t believe you called the cops when I told you to not get involved.”
“Are you serious?”
“You can’t fix everything. I told you that.”
“I want to, but you just won’t let me all the way in.”
“I can’t. You wouldn’t understand everything that has been happening in my life.”
“Then tell me,” he said softly. “I want to help you. I can help you if you’ll only give me a chance.”
I shook my head and a tear ran down my cheek.
“I know about the bar,” he said after a moment.
“Yeah, only because Dad mentioned it.”
“No, I’ve known for a while.”
“Who told you?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you didn't tell me about it.”
“And what the hell would you have done to fix it? Buy the bar? Go pay off the loan for a rundown dump that was soaking up money?”
“If that’s what it took.”
“When are you going to learn that you can’t save me?”
“You’re right, because only people who want to be saved, can be.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I think you’re perfectly content living this miserable life because it’s all you’ve ever known. You’re too scared to take a chance, even if that means making your life better. You like to wallow in your pit of self-pity, because you feel safe, even if that means being miserable your entire life. It feels comfortable to you.”
“You don’t know a thing about my life and what I had to go through to get where I am now.”
“And where is that? In a beat up apartment with a beat up face, and a beat up life?”
“Fuck you!”
“Right. Screw me. Is this the thanks I get for trying?”
“Are you kidding me? You got my dad arrested.”
“He attacked you, he verbally abused you, and he threatened to kill you. He got himself arrested. My hand was on
my cell phone the second we walked into your apartment. The second he made a move toward you, I called the cops. It’s past time you stopped making excuses for him. He’s an abuser, verbally, emotionally and now physically. If you can’t see that, then you need professional help.”
“I guess now I have no one.”
“You had me, but I guess that wasn't good enough for you either.”
“Stop.”
“Why do you do that? Why do you push away the one good thing in your life?”
“Because I know I’m not good enough for you.”
“Isn’t that for me to decide?”
“Just go, please. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Dammit,” he said, hitting the steering wheel in frustration.
I opened the door and stepped out, not looking back. Once inside the apartment, tears streamed down my cheeks and I collapsed into a pile of self-loathing.
For hours, I stayed in bed, hidden under the covers.
Then I picked myself up like I always do and went back to work.
The police called me later, to ask more questions about the attack. They wanted to talk to Gabriel again and seemed a bit suspicious that he had abruptly left town. I assured them that he’d gone back to Maine for work.
I didn't care.
It was over.
I called the window repair company and they came sooner than I expected. They replaced the broken window and I cleaned up the bar after they left.
I tried to come to terms that my father was in jail, Gabriel was out of my life, and now I was completely by myself. It was a lot to take in at once, and I found myself fighting back tears as I swept the dusty floor of the bar area. I needed to make some hard decisions. And I needed to do it soon.
I glanced over at the picture frames on the shelf behind the bar and sighed. My favorite was a picture taken when I was nine years old, years before my mother died. My mother and father stood in the forefront with me and Terry, with the bar in the background. The bar was still in good shape then, and Dad looked so proud.
I frowned and wondered where it all went wrong. We were such a happy family. Sure, we weren’t the richest family in the area, but we had everything we needed, and that was enough.
We were happy.
I was happy.
A tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. There were too many things that I needed to do to be spending time crying.
I picked up the phone and sent a text to my two remaining employees.
We're closing. Effective immediately. I'll give you references if you need it.
I hit send. Within five minutes I received texts back from both. Neither of them argued, they just said okay and that was it.
My bar life was over.
I felt numb.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Gabriel
When I arrived back in Maine earlier than expected, my parents were surprised, but didn't ask questions. They didn't quiz me about what had happened. They didn't walk on eggshells around me either. They just carried on like they normally would, engaging in conversation as usual. They knew when I was ready, I’d talk to them.
For now, I wasn’t ready to talk.
I couldn't even pinpoint the exact emotion to describe what I felt inside me. I was disappointed that Lynette had blamed me for her father’s wrongdoings. I was angry that she blamed me for her life falling to pieces. I was outraged that she thought she wasn't good enough for me.
Most of all, I was heartbroken that she had chased me away, ending our relationship.
If it was a relationship.
Maybe it was all a fantasy I’d built up in my mind. From the moment one of my Army friends had talked me into writing letters, I’d felt close to Lynette in an odd way.
Super Charlie we’d called him.
Charlie Delaney was from Connecticut and in his mind, he was the bomb. He bragged about all the women he had slept with and his confidence had no end. He was one of those guys who would one up everyone else as soon as we started exchanging stories. That was how he earned his name, Super Charlie.
Everything we could do, Super Charlie could do better.
We never questioned or disputed his stories, and he really wasn't a bad guy.
In fact, Charlie was one of the most loyal people I had ever come across. He was always willing to lend a helping hand, and when it came to missions and tactics, he was the one who had the best ideas.
If only he had taken the reigns on our mission before we were all blasted to smithereens. Maybe then Terry and the others in our unit would still be alive today. Maybe then Charlie wouldn’t have lost his arm and one eye in the process.
Even in the hospital he’d make jokes, convincing himself that chicks would still dig him, because whether he had one hand, or two, he could still get the job done.
“Sympathy sex, Gabriel,” he’d say. Then he’d wink his good eye. “Chicks dig it.”
We’d spent many nights talking, especially after Terry died. He was the one who encouraged me to write a letter to Lynette, even if I never had any intention of sending it. One letter turned into two, and before I knew it, it became a weekly thing.
It was like therapy to me, to talk to someone who I’d never met, who wouldn’t blame me for his death, and who would listen.
I kept them all, and again, Charlie urged me to send them to her.
And I did.
Eventually.
I sighed and lowered my gaze, staring at my hands. The cool Maine air was refreshing, but it made me feel empty, cold and lonely. I heard my father open the door and come out on the porch with me. He sat down beside me on the wooden bench. I wondered what he must be thinking.
“I’m sorry,” the words finally formed on my lips.
“He speaks,” Dad said.
I turned to look at him.
“What are you sorry about?”
“For making you and Mom worry so much.”
“We’re your parents. It’s our job to worry. What else would we do with our time?”
“No, I didn't mean about this. I meant about everything,” I said and looked away. “About joining the Army when I knew you didn't want me to, for going to war, for getting injured, for almost dying.”
“It was your choice. An admirable one at that.”
“A choice I sometimes regret.”
“We couldn't stop you. That’s not what parenting is about. We support you whatever decisions you make, whether they are right or wrong. That’s what parents do. They support their kids. They help them pick up the pieces. They help them put themselves back together again.”
I looked at him with a frown.
“I know you’re hurting,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes, and I know you’re as stubborn as a mule, because you get that from me. I also know that you tend to bottle it up inside until it becomes so much that you eventually either explode or break down.”
He was right. I was like him, even though I knew that it did more harm than good.
“You know that I am here for you whenever you need me, but your mother and I feel a bit powerless when we don’t know what’s going on in your life. We want to help you and that’s all I’m here to say.”
I let out a long sigh.
“It’s a long story.”
“It doesn't matter if it takes six hours to tell me. It’s eating at you, and I will not allow my son to carry such a burden in his heart.”
“Thanks.” I hesitated a moment then decided to spill it. “Lynette’s dad attacked her.”
“He did what?” Dad gasped. “His own daughter?”
“Yeah, when I went down there I found her with her father. I first thought it was a burglar or someone trying to kill her, but it was her dad. He beat her and tried to strangle her too.”
My voice trailed as the memories of that night replayed in my mind. The anger and the hate returned full force. I composed myself because I didn't want to get angry in front of Dad. Not now.
“I got ther
e just in time. He would’ve killed her. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“He was drunk and angry. He had heard stories about us and didn’t approve of it. Plus, they’re losing the bar due to financial problems.”
“That’s taking it a bit far, don’t you think?”
“Of course, but there is no reasoning when it comes to an alcoholic.”
“That’s true.”
“I took her to the emergency room, they stitched up her hand and I let her stay with me in my hotel for a few days. She insisted on going back home, and I took her back. Her father was there and things started to get ugly again.”
“Please don’t tell me you beat him into the hospital,” Dad said.
“I wanted to, but I think I did something far worse.”
“What did you do?”
“I called the cops, and they arrested him.”
“How is that worse?”
“According to Lynette it was. She yelled at me and then chased me out of her life.”
“I’m sorry. What a mess. You know, I’m not an expert when it comes to love, or relationships-”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been married to Mom for almost thirty years. I’d say you’re more than qualified.”
“Those thirty years weren't without speed bumps and obstacles. Your mother and I have been through deep ditches and rough waters. Just like every other married couple that we know. It isn’t all rainbows and unicorns.”
“But you’re still together.”
“In the end that is all that matters, really. It’s not about how many times you fight with each other. Only about how many times you fight for each other.”
Dad was as profound as he was stubborn. The kind of wisdom that only comes from years and years of experience. I was grateful at that moment, and happy that I still had him on my side, even after all these years.
Even after all my mistakes.
“And sure, we worry about you, and the choices you make, but you are our son, and we could not be prouder of the man you have become,” he said and motioned to my leg. “Bum leg and all.”
I smiled slightly, fighting the tears forming in my eyes and put my arm around his shoulders.
“You have no idea how much you mean to me.”