by Leanne Davis
“I get it, Dad.”
“Do you?” he finally asks, and his tone is not kidding anymore, but entirely serious. “Do you finally get me?”
I grin and nod with him. “I do. We’re all your favorite. And for entirely different reasons.”
“Yes.” He leans over and squeezes my hand. I squeeze his back before he lets me go and I ask quietly, “What about the thing with Mom?”
His gaze skitters off towards the woods around us and he clears his throat. “I hope this is something you can handle. But I want to tell you the truth, Missy. For some reason, I think you should know this.” He stops talking, as if organizing his thoughts.
Something ripples through my entire body. Is it pride? Because my dad wants to tell me something confidential? But I also feel fear and apprehension. What could it be that no one else knows? I’m as blank as a wall and can’t even guess. His body is rigid, his shoulders are set, and his jaw locked. That’s intimidating too.
He starts again. “So after I got out of the Army, I did something I shouldn’t have, which was against your mom’s wishes. In fact, it scared her and made her very unhappy. It was a totally selfish act on my part that I justified with the excuse that I was doing it for her.”
Holding my breath, I can only wonder. What? What could it be? It’s so odd to picture my parents being younger and… and even remotely so exciting. And dangerous. My head zings with images just trying to imagine it. However, there are moments when I see something unfamiliar in Dad. Sometimes I wonder when he’s not being fatherly and he isn’t exactly your typical guy–next–door in his behavior or his attitude. Example: when he threatened to sell our family home and quit his job just so he could follow me around everywhere. No matter what I did or where I went. That’s a bit disturbing and a pretty extreme stance to take because his daughter’s acting out. It’s unrealistic and impossible, in fact. But oddly enough, as he spelled it out in no uncertain terms, I could picture him doing that. This behavior right here is so much more like the dad I knew, and loved, and grew up with. So unlike the man who kicked me out and gave up on me. Being there for me is so much more what I expect from him, instead of tough love and see ya! I’d rather have a crazy, over–the–top, protective dad than a disinterested dad. Maybe that’s why I was going off the deep end too.
“Did you kill someone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then what is it?” My leg is bouncing. I’m so excited, I’m nearly breathless with curiosity. What could Dad have done for Mom? I don’t know what to expect. Maybe something symbolic or ethereal? I just don’t know.
“I blew up a building.”
He is still chewing away on his sandwich. Then he tilts his head back and lets the water flow down his throat from the bottle he holds in his hand. My eyes bulge and my mouth looks like I’m a fish out of water. He’s so casual about it. He could have said he once had to go to the laundromat. Or bought Mom a new set of dishes for the kitchen. He is so nonchalant.
“Dad.” I prod him.
He squeezes the plastic bottle as he lowers it down and it makes that crinkly little pop of crushed plastic. He smiles… just slightly. “It was the place where it happened.”
His voice is cold as death. My breath literally catches inside my throat. I have to regulate my respiration. “‘It’ being the place Mom was—”
“Yes. I went back there, a few years after the incident. I mean, shit, I knew the location, right? Her fake father and I were the only two people in the entire fucking free world who knew where your mom was taken and tortured and raped. I knew where it happened and I specifically knew what they did to her, along with what they all looked like.”
I nearly gasp. My jaw is rigid and I blink in shock. “You… you found them? Her rapists?”
“I found one of them. I wasn’t too sure about the rest.”
My brain is zinging with flashes and images. I don’t know what to ask first. I lick my lips. “You say, you blew it up… like, um…”
He swallows the last of the water and crushes the plastic bottle in his hand. He nods. “Like explosives. I used to be pretty good with those.”
“And… Mom… knows? She knows about that?”
“She knows. Like I said, she didn’t want me to do it. What I did was illegal. It wasn’t sanctioned. I wasn’t in the Army even. I did it all on my own, as a citizen seeking revenge. It was vigilante justice. I cloaked it with all kinds of excuses: vengeance and retaliation for which I had the right to seek justice. But it was illegal. I committed some terrible crimes by most people’s standards and there is no way this could ever be tolerated by the United States legal system. And I just couldn’t let it go. I had to do the right thing. Avenge the things that were done to her. No one got punished, Missy. Not one person paid the price for raping her and I couldn’t handle knowing that. I just needed for someone to pay.”
His gaze doesn’t meet mine.
“Did anyone die in the explosion?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hang around long enough to find out.”
I study him. “But you know someone did pay.”
He nods, his face solemn. “Yes.” Then his expression becomes unreadable.
“I thought you said you didn’t kill anyone.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t murder anyone.”
Well, he might not have outright killed them, but whoever was in there didn’t walk away unscathed. I study his face. With his set jaw, the cold eyes, he has the same look that often intimidated me over the years. It’s a side of him we rarely saw as his daughters. I’m beginning to understand the other Will Hendricks, the one perhaps I saw glimpses of before but didn’t recognize.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did. You understand, if anyone found out… I could get into a lot of trouble. Like spending years and years in jail, Melissa. I’d deserve it too. I shouldn’t put you or anyone else in this position. But I told you so you might understand why I did that and how I did it. And hear this, I’d do it again. I’ve never regretted my action, not even for one day. I’ve slept like a baby ever since.”
“Why would you trust me with that? God, Dad. You tell Christina shit like that, not me. Everyone knows I’m erratic. And impulsive. You don’t trust me with confidential, incriminating secrets.”
He rests his hand on me. I can feel the weight on my shoulder as he squeezes it. “I do. I trust you. I told you. No one else. The point I want you to see is, no one is perfect. No one is good all the time. People do things in extraordinary situations which they might never consider themselves capable of doing otherwise. People can do the wrong thing and make mistakes and still be good people. At least, I hope you still think that of me.”
I whip around and embrace him, my arms wrapping around his waist. “I do, Dad. I do.” I shut my eyes while holding him tight, and his arms hold me back just as tightly. “I’m glad you hurt someone. I’m glad someone suffered besides Mom. I love you for doing that.”
His shoulders slump under my hands and I’m pleased to know my words relax him. It stuns me that he cares so much about my response to what he told me. He gets all tense about it. He kisses the top of my head. “You can’t know how relieved I am that you understand. There’s always a chance that you’d never look at me the same again or even hate me.”
“Never,” I whisper, shutting my eyes hard.
He squeezes me back. “And that, Missy, is how I feel about you.”
I let the tears filling my eyes fall. I nod with visible understanding. He gave me something with this revelation. It would surely have disturbed his other two daughters. Clashing with Christina’s sense of right and wrong, and Emily’s impression that the world is either good or bad and nowhere in between. But maybe he senses that I live and navigate my life in the gray area. Maybe I have a small glimpse about what he’s telling me. In that, I can still be a good person, even if I don’t overachieve as my sisters do.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I respect the magnitude of what he di
vulges to me today. He nods. He knows what I’m thanking him for. Trusting me. Believing in me. Giving me an explosive secret and believing crazy Melissa would safeguard it.
Finally, he leans back. “By the way, what the fuck were you doing riding on the back of some jackass’s Harley?”
I falter with despair. I mean, I thought we were making some headway here. Getting past some of the shit. I lift my shoulders in confusion and embarrassment. “Um… just bad judgment. I don’t know.”
“Why weren’t you driving it? God, girl! You can out–ride any man I’ve ever met. Did you see yourself just now? Balls out after two years of not even getting on a bike. You want to ride a Harley, then get your own and drive it yourself. I’m ashamed of you, hanging on the back of some asswipe’s bitch pad. Could he even ride it?”
“He was sloppy with the clutch and cornered way too slow, like a grandma, you know, afraid to commit to it. He didn’t have the feel for what his machine could do. A few times, I was just itching to show him.”
Dad pats my back. “That’s my daughter. Ride your own next time.”
I grin and nod. Yeah, ride my own.
Something lifts in my chest at his kind words, and the sparkle in his eyes that gleam with pride over my riding ability. Yeah, I am his daughter. Will Hendricks’s fucking daughter. It’s not just the legacy of Christina or Emily. But mine too. Melissa Hendricks.
He jams the empty baggies and water bottles back into his pack. “Race ya back?”
I grin and jump on my bike as we both hurry to get them started and skid our way out of there. It’s a wild ride down the mountain on a trail no one sane would choose to race over. Mom would probably have three heart attacks just watching us. She’d be yelling and screaming and grounding both of us. But there’s no one else now, just us, and we’re practically flying over the mountain. It is stupid and dangerous and wonderful. We’re flying so fast and screaming with glee. We both feel so alive and crazy, but also controlled, enjoying the unparalleled freedom of the moment.
Not to mention, the simple pleasure of being with my dad.
Chapter Nine
~Seth~
I leave for the weekend to climb along the coast. That’s why I love this state. It doesn’t take too long to get to milder weather and no snow if I want it, or I can find even more snow and ice if I prefer that. I’m in school all week, hard at the books. I don’t see Melissa. Then the weekend brings a new load of snow. I find her playing with the dogs and come out to join her after a few hours. I feel weird and odd and unsure. I don’t know how to approach her anymore. But the harder part now is how badly I want to approach her.
I’m not her type. Nor am I particularly charming and certainly not a player with women. The last girlfriend I had came after spending months together in a study group, and much of it was at her instigation. I’ve never approached a girl like Melissa. I could easily deal with her when I didn’t care about what she thought of me. But now? I think I want the opposite and I don’t know what the hell to do. This sudden shift between us stumps me.
I can only wonder if she feels like anything shifted for her. She’s not exactly the blushing virgin that I was. That’s the other part I don’t know how to handle. She’s (by far) the more experienced one. When I lie in bed at night, reliving what we did, I imagine she’s probably in her own bed, smirking and laughing at my inept performance. There’s just no way I could measure up to someone like her freaking biker.
Now, after a fresh, half–foot of snow has fallen, it’s Saturday and I can hear her outside. She’s laughing and standing in the middle of the dogs’ yard. They are running and barking, frolicking as they bound in circles all around her. She turns with them, stretching her gloved hands out to pet and rub their backs and bellies, ears and necks. They compete to come nearer her, wagging their tails with their tongues hanging half out to grab some love from her. I stand watching the scene from my window, interrupting my studying to observe her. Some parts of her don’t add up. The cold, thrill–seeking, sarcastic, rough–edged girl doesn’t jive with the wannabe dog trainer and animal lover who is currently lying down on the snowy ground so the dogs can surround her and kiss her face with their hot tongues. She can’t seem to stop laughing as she lets them slather her in sloppy kisses. The same girl who can’t concentrate long enough to finish her thoughts, and chronically fails to show up where she’s supposed to, yet has such infinite patience with any kind of animal, from the ones they own as pets to their farm stock. To her, they are her friends. They have a freaking cow that’s so old and huge. Melissa bought it to save it from getting slaughtered and now they have a pet cow. Melissa hangs with it often, petting it and talking softly to it just as she does to her dogs.
After the love fest, she gets the dogs working. They are all sitting in a line as she orders them, one by one, to fetch the bumper she throws. She sends the two larger dogs out first, and then commands them to sit. Then she walks over and hides the bumpers behind them, where they can’t see them, and orders them to bring the bumpers back to her. Her commands are always firm and clear when she’s working with the dogs. She loses the warm, fuzzy baby talk she often uses when she addresses them. She easily carries on a running monologue with the animals in her most innocuous baby voice. Every time I hear those conversations, I must admit, it makes me smile. I also enjoy witnessing the softer side of her. The caring side, and surprisingly, the patient, disciplined side of her. She repeats the same trick or command over and over and over, as many times as necessary, until the animals eventually get it. “Failing to learn new tricks and commands is never the animal’s fault,” she once told me after I said how much I admired her ability to not get frustrated with them. Only the trainer can be blamed when the animal fails to obey the trainer’s command.
Her familiar excuse, saying “I can’t do anything right,” or “focus on anything” doesn’t hold much water when she is with her animals. I can’t totally integrate the entire picture of Melissa. I know all the sides but they are scattered everywhere like random puzzle pieces; and for the life of me, I can’t imagine how they collaborate to form a whole picture.
She stays at it with the dogs for hours, never mind the frozen world around her. The temperatures don’t pass twenty degrees today but the sun shines down on her and its bold, brutal, sharp, sparkling rays are almost blinding in the white world.
My stomach flutters with freaking nerves, the kind I often get when I’m about to take a final that constitutes half my grade. On those occasions, I’m usually well–prepared and confident so my nerves become more like performance enhancers, priming me to do my best. But with Melissa, I have no idea where I stand. And I hate that. I hate to suddenly feel so nervous around her, like a stupid little boy trailing after his crush. What if I am no more than that to her? She’s stuck having me here, and maybe I’m bothering her?
I fear nothing worse in life than being stupid. Usually, I’m the smartest guy in the room or the situation. Unfortunately, all that smarts from when I was younger did nothing for my social skills, which sadly, lagged behind. I occupied myself by doing the things I loved most. I built my first computer when I was in middle school. I mostly remained totally hidden in the world I understood the best, which wasn’t out hanging with other kids. I spent all of middle school on the fringes, and that isn’t a fun place to be as a kid. The tension from getting constantly teased and bullied can do a real number on your self–esteem. That was why I decided upon entering high school, I had to change. I had to figure out a new way to be.
I started watching people, instead of burying my mind in machines and numbers. My geekdom is multifaceted. I love computers, science, math… and I don’t have a preference of one over another. I can’t decide which one I want to concentrate on most. Hence, I earned a BS in biology with a minor in engineering and now I’m working on my master’s in the field of natural sciences.
I learned to tone down my brain, and the way I spoke to people. I also tried to avoid talking like a textb
ook for a science class or an instruction manual for a computer. That kind of talk is dry and boring and pretentious, but it comes so easy to me. It’s just how my brain works. So I learned to talk like kids my age. I watched my peers to develop my social skills just as I might have crammed to understand a new formula for calculus.
Most of the girls I am attracted to are like me. The bookish type. The academic scholars and straight A students. Girls who pride themselves on their accomplishments, and in being good girls. I am the guy equivalent of those girls.
So I live in a constant state of frozen fear lest I revert to middle school me, where I was picked on, teased, shoved against the lockers, tripped, knocked down, and robbed of my glasses which were subsequently hidden. I still fear becoming that kid again. My comfort zone is limited to situations and people I know respect and value my strengths, i.e. my brain, my education, and schoolwork in general. I avoid the girls that flirt with everyone, asking to be seduced. I can’t do it, so I avoid it.
I can’t compete with someone like that Anand jackass. He’s a huge, hulking, muscle–bound man who looks hot but is actually dangerous. Girls are inexplicably drawn to him despite how badly he treats them. I’m the opposite of Anand. So going for Melissa was never in my plans. Even if the extraordinary circumstances of the water tower incident hadn’t occurred, I was never before drawn to the likes of Melissa.
The damn problem is, even though I foresee all these problems and contingencies with her, I can’t actually see her being into me. The real me. I just can’t see her wanting me as a hot guy she lusts after and truly desires and is excited to be with. The idea of her feeling that way toward me is too far–fetched. When I picture her, she is vulnerable, even tender after her encounters with Anand and her dad and almost jumping off the water tower. I’m the perfect safe haven for her, aren’t I?