by Paige North
Finally, we arrive in his room and I have to stifle a gasp.
Charlie Frost looks thin and frail. His skin is the color of ash. He’s hooked up to monitors, and a nurse is checking on his vitals when we enter the room. His eyes turn slowly toward us as we enter the room, and it takes a moment for the recognition of his own son to flash in his eyes.
“Hi, Mr. Frost,” I say. “How’re you feeling?”
“Well, pretty damn good now that you’re here,” he says. “And don’t you dare call me Mr. Frost. It’s Charlie. Cole, who is this pretty young thing?”
“Jessa,” he says. “You remember her, Pop. You’ve met her half a dozen times over the years.”
His father frowns. “I’d never forget a face as pretty as this. I think you got your facts mixed up.”
Cole rolls his eyes. “Sure I did,” he mutters.
I move closer to him. “It’s nice to see you,” I say, smiling. The truth is, I have met Cole’s father before, but he was usually drunk or badly hung over. Sometimes he just seemed distant, like he couldn’t be bothered.
And I haven’t seen him lately, probably not since Cole left town.
“This place is the goddamned worst,” Charlie Frost growls, as the nurse checks his IV.
Cole stays by the door as if he’s readying for a quick escape. I rest my hand on Charlie’s shoulder. It’s bony, and cool even through the thin hospital gown.
“But you know,” Charlie says, his voice scratchy, “maybe I wouldn’t mind being laid up in the hospital more often if it got me visits from pretty girls like you.”
“How’d you end up here?” I ask.
“Ah, it’s nothing. Your uncle Dan is a boring old bastard,” he tells Cole, who will not look at Charlie. “Trying to tell me what I can and can’t do in my own home. He’s lucky I let him stay there.”
“He’s there to help you,” Cole says.
“He’s being nosey,” Charlie says. “Listen,” he says to me, softening his tone. “How’s about you go out and bring me a burger from Rusty’s? The food here stinks. Bring a six pack too, and we’ll be bad together.”
He’s joking—maybe a little bit—but it’s not funny. To Cole, though, it’s the last straw.
“Listen old man,” he says, finally looking at Charlie. “You leave Jessa out of this. I shouldn’t have even brought her in to see this.” He sweeps his hand toward Charlie himself, laid out in the bed.
“Doc says I need protein,” Charlie says, not picking up on the fact that Cole is about to bust a gasket.
“And what does he say about the beer?” I ask.
“That I need to stay hydrated!” He laughs, but soon starts coughing, his face turning deep red.
“You okay?” I ask. I pour him a cup of water from the table by his bed.
“He’s fine,” Cole says. “Stop encouraging him.”
I give Charlie the water, which he only takes a sip of. He really does look terrible.
“Oh, leave her alone,” Charlie says. “She’s just trying to help.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Cole says, stepping forward. His eyes are on fire and his entire body is practically buzzing with intensity. “Do not talk to me about her. You leave her out of this shit. Look at you. You’re absolutely pathetic. You can’t even take care of yourself. You’re a grown man and you can’t manage to do the right thing, not even once in your life. It’s disgusting.”
“Watch it, son,” Charlie says, and I see the same fire in his eyes as Cole, but dimmer, less intense. I don’t think Charlie has the energy.
“Don’t call me son,” Cole says. “You’ve never been a father to me so you don’t get the privilege of calling me son. I had to work my whole childhood just to help you keep that rotten farm going because you’re always too drunk to handle any bit of responsibility.”
“That farm is your heritage,” Charlie says.
“Oh, please,” Cole says. “It’s an albatross hanging on anyone who’s foolish enough to take it. And if it’s so great why didn’t you work harder to keep it going? Because you love booze more than anything else in this world. More than the farm, more than me. More than you ever loved Mom.”
“Boy, if I could get out of this bed I’d smack you for that!”
“But you can’t, can you? You’re too weak to do anything but lie in that hospital bed and wait for the nurse to wipe your ass. You had so many opportunities to do the right thing, but you always chose the booze. I gave up so much just to keep your ass in that house and now this is how I’m repaid. With you choosing alcohol yet again.”
“I’ve worked damn hard my whole life,” Charlie says. “How dare you disrespect me like this.”
“You don’t deserve my respect,” Cole says.
All I want to do is escape this room but I’m basically right in the middle of this fight. It breaks my heart to see family fight with such hate. Cole chooses words that will cut the most. He’s not interested in smoothing anything over.
“I can’t even look at you,” Cole finally says. “The sight disgusts me.”
He pushes out the door of the room. Charlie and I listen to his heavy footsteps walk away, and then a heavy silence fills the room.
Cole’s father’s face is turned away from me, looking toward the door. I rest my hand on his shoulder once again.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
Charlie takes a deep breath. “He’s right. Every word.”
“He’s just frustrated,” I tell him.
“I tried. I really did. But I was a terrible father. After his momma died I just couldn’t handle it anymore. Didn’t care.”
I pull up a nearby chair and sit next to Charlie. I take his cool, weathered hand in mine.
“My son deserved a better father than me,” Charlie says.
“He’s angry,” I tell Charlie, “but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He’s just frustrated. He wants you to be healthy.”
“I tried,” he says quietly. “Doesn’t seem that way but I really did try.”
“I know you did,” I say. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. You did the best you could under terrible circumstances. Cole is angry, but he loves you. I know he does.”
I might be laying it on a little thick but this poor man is really suffering, and my words bring a small smile to his face. I understand how upset Cole is, but Charlie is too. Nobody wins here.
I give Charlie’s hand a little squeeze and sit with him until he falls asleep. Then I go looking for Cole.
“Hey, you,” I say, finding him outside pacing. “Are you okay?”
“Do you see what I’ve been dealing with my whole life?” he says. His eyes are blazing and he won’t stop pacing. He looks like a caged animal, ready to burst out. “He’s in the hospital and he’s still trying to get alcohol! And dragging you into it…” He rakes his hand through his hair.
“Cole, it’s okay,” I tell him. “He just—”
“No, don’t you even,” he snaps. “Do not make excuses for him. God, that’s what he wants you to do! To feel sorry for him. Poor old man, holed up in the hospital. Please. He did this to himself. He’s a fucking loser.” He kicks a metal trashcan, sending it spinning on its side.
“Cole, calm down,” I say. His anger frightens me. I’ve never seen him like this before and I’m not sure how to handle him or reel him in.
“He’s had so many chances to clean himself up. Did you know I offered to pay for rehab for him? He said no. Said he didn’t need it and besides, the farm couldn’t run without him. What a joke. He’s the one who’s run the whole thing into the ground! No, I'm done with him. If he wants to kill himself, let him. I can’t stop him. He never cared about me so why should I start caring about him?”
I want to tell him about my talk with his dad. I really believe Charlie has regrets about his life and how he treated Cole. But Cole is in no space to listen right now.
“Let’s just go home,” I tell him.
“Home. What home? Get me out
of here, Jesus. Why did I come back to this shithole anyway? I must have been out of my mind.”
“Cole…” I can’t reach him. I can’t calm him down or reason with him, and he just keeps getting angrier and meaner. He knows talking bad about our hometown really cuts me. This is home. I want to say, Aren’t I your home? Aren’t Lucy and I your home, wherever we are?
“Let’s go,” he says, walking away from me. “I can’t stand being here a second longer than I have to.”
I follow him, feeling like a kid in trouble. I don’t know what I did wrong, or what I didn’t do right. I don’t know how to handle him and that frightens me.
Cole
I take Jessa home. Unfortunately, Lucy is staying overnight with Avery so I don’t get to see her. That only pisses me off even more. I can’t catch a fucking break.
When the limo pulls up to her tiny house, Jessa starts to get out.
“I’m sorry the way things went,” she says.
What does that mean, exactly? How they went in the city, when she basically told me she wasn’t impressed with the life I built with her in mind? I don’t say anything. I’m too wound up and afraid of what I might say.
“I’ll go in with you,” I tell Jessa.
“You will?”
“Of course,” I say. Did she think I would just ditch her on the curb? Christ, I’m not a total asshole. “Send someone back with a car for me by morning,” I tell the driver.
We go inside the house, and Jessa drops her keys on the kitchen table.
“Do you want something to drink—”
I don’t let her finish, I’m on her so fast, my mouth covering hers. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, I realize she’s the only thing I need and I need her now, all of her. My dick is hard and my blood is pumping. As my tongue digs in her, feeling all of her, my hands make quick work of the rest of her body.
I grab her breast in one hand, pulling and pushing to feel more, keeping my mouth on her to taste. More, more. I need every single inch of her, right this second.
I step back and toe off my shoes. I rip my shirt off over my head, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. Jessa watches me, curious but hungry too, I can tell. I take off her shirt and strip down her pants. Then I lift her up so that she’s straddling me, and carry her into her bedroom.
I toss her down on the bed, then cover her body with mine. I kiss her so deeply that the feeling of her soft wet tongue on mine makes nearly delirious. My dick is throbbing for her and I’m not sure I can wait. I yank down her panties and kick off my own boxer briefs. I lean over her, taking my dick in my hand. Without pretense I enter her. Her cunt is wet for me, just like it always is, and it makes my head go crazy. I pump into her hard, grunting with the effort. Being buried so deep inside her, slick with her want, is the best place in the world to be. I fucking love her, I love this.
“You like that?” I say to her. “You like my cock stuffed up inside you?” I pump her so hard our bodies are edging up the bed. “You fucking love my big dick, don’t you? You love getting fucked by it again and again.”
“Cole,” she says, wrapping her arm around my neck. I cover her mouth with mine and feel all of her—her tongue in my mouth, my dick in her cunt. Screw this day, this horrible day. She doesn’t deserve it. Why have I brought her into my mess?
Suddenly being so close to her feels wrong, and I pull back. With one deft motion I flip her over on her stomach, grab her hips and pull her into me. I fuck her cunt again, plowing into her pussy until she yells out, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the empty house. The come is bubbling up in me, I can feel from all the way down in my toes. I stop for a moment, thinking I can stave it off. Impossible.
“Can’t wait,” I say. I pump hard and fast into Jessa, stuffing my big dick deeper and deeper into her. The moment she pushes her hips back into me I’m done.
“Jesus, fuck,” I moan out, and I quickly pull my dick out of her and spray hot come across her back, pumping my dick with one hand and holding her hips in place with the other. Come sprays across her back as my whole body seizes as I milk out every last drop. When I’m done it’s like I’m physically incapable of opening my eyes. I sink back on my heels, and give myself a moment to gather myself.
I feel Jessa moving on the bed. When I open my eyes she’s scurrying across the bedroom for the bathroom to clean herself up. I fall face-first on the bed. I’m already drifting into sleep when I feel her back on the bed, nudging me to get under the covers. I follow her lead, and she covers me up to my shoulders. I push the sheet aside and pull my arm out.
Her soft hand is on my cheek, stroking it lightly. I drift into a deep, dead sleep.
When I wake in the morning, my head is pounding. I feel like shit. But when I think about last night, the way I acted with Jessa—at the hospital, here in her bed—I feel even worse. What am I doing to this poor woman? I’m right back where I was three years ago. A total ass who can’t handle himself and just wants to get the fuck out of town.
I follow my nose to the smell of coffee in the kitchen. Jessa is there, already dressed. I can hardly look at her, I’m so ashamed.
“Coffee?” she asks.
“Sure.”
She makes me a mug and sets it in front of me at the kitchen table. She leans against the counter with her own mug.
“I just got a text from Avery,” she says. “She’s on her way with Lucy.”
“Good,” I say. Seeing Lucy might lift my spirits. Seeing Avery might crash them back down, though. I don’t need her shit today. I know how she can be. Even if she doesn’t say a word, her disapproval of me speaks volumes.
We sip our coffee in silence. When my phone rings I have a heavy feeling in my chest. Jessa watches me as I take the call. It’s the news I’ve feared. I listen as the voice on the other end speaks. I say little, aside from “Thank you,” at the end.
“What is it?” Jessa asks when I end the call.
I get up from the table and find my pants on the living room floor. I pull them on, and my socks and shoes as well.
“My father died,” I say, forcing the words out of my mouth.
“Oh, Cole. I’m so sorry,” Jessa says. I can tell she means it. She moves closer to me, but doesn’t touch me. Good thing, because I don’t want anyone’s sympathy right now. I don’t say it, but Charlie Frost got what he deserved. The darkest, most rotten part of me is angry it didn’t happen sooner.
I see a car pull up out front and I’m tugging on my shirt just as Lucy bursts through the door. I scoop her up in my arms before she even knows what’s happening. When her eyes meet mine, she laughs riotously. It brings only the smallest of grins to my face, but it fills my heart.
“Where’d that girl go—oh, Cole,” Avery says when she comes in. “I was wondering whose car that was.”
Her tone makes it clear—my appearance isn’t a welcome surprise. I carry Lucy to the window and look out the see the truck parked out front.
“I gotta go,” I say to no one in particular.
“No!” Lucy calls, patting her little hands to my chest. “Let’s make pancakes!”
I kiss her soft head. “Next time, sweetheart,” I tell her.
When I set her down she runs into the kitchen, asking for juice.
“Off so soon?” Avery asks, and it’s like she’s saying I’m some dickhead bailing after a one-night stand.
I ignore her. Jessa follows me outside.
“Want me to go with you?” she asks.
I hop in the truck. “No. Stay here with Lucy.”
“Will you call me?” she asks as I start the engine.
“Sure,” I say.
But when, and why? I don’t want her being a part of something I’m not even sure I can handle. “Take care,” I say as I pull away from her house.
Over the next couple of days I feel nothing.
I help plan my father’s funeral, call the necessary people and schedule an appointment with his lawyer. Jessa sends me texts, asking if she can do anything for me
or if I want to see Lucy. I appreciate how nice she’s being but I’m also starting to realize the messiness of my life, and my father’s death doesn’t exactly eliminate that.
I’m not ready to be somebody’s rock.
In fact, I’m sinking like a rock to the bottom of a deep ocean. I’m feeling as if I’ve lost some part of myself that I only dreamed I had in the first place.
Now I’m standing in front of the farmhouse, which is in need of as much maintenance and TLC as my father’s body needed. Both were ignored.
And just like my father’s life, it’s up to someone else to clean it up. I wanted to leave town and never look back, this time with Jessa—and Lucy—by my side. Now I have to deal with the house, the land, the farm, the few day employees who kept the farm from completely sinking under, and everything else that goes with it all. I hardly know where to begin.
I walk through the house feeling disgusted. Memories flood over me, thinking about the work I did here when I was a kid, all the chores outside and inside, giving up any social life when I should have been playing sports, dating and partying.
The floorboards are splitting, the stove is rusted and the refrigerator is leaking. The light fixture in the living doesn’t work, and it’s not the light bulb—probably electrical issues…
This place is a complete gut job. It’s also a complete headache. Not only will I have to pay for all this, but I’ll have to hire someone I trust to supervise it all. And I haven’t even assessed the fields or equipment yet. It’s going to take me a couple of weeks to get through it all. I wanted to get back to the city and work with my crew on the finishing touches of the documentary and move on with my life. Now I’m standing in thick mud and can’t seem to climb out.
I don’t shed a single tear at the funeral. Maybe that makes me a dick, but I can’t help it if I feel nothing. Nothing except the same anger I had bubbling inside me the last time I saw my father. His life—and mine—didn’t have to end up like this. I will not treat my own daughter the way he treated me—like hired help, but without the wages.