by Stacy Borel
“And you have no filter. Do you have homework?”
Layla shrugged. She was chomping on a piece of gum and smacking her lips. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and she had warm hazel eyes. She was the spitting image of our mom. “Nah. Just a little health, and a page of math.”
I would have sat down, but some of the dirt that was clinging to me would flake off on the couch. Plus, I probably wouldn’t get back up again. So I stood beside her and turned the TV down. “Okay, well, I’m going to shower. If you need any help, I’ll be out in fifteen.”
She nodded and zoned out to the obnoxious yellow square on the screen. Trudging upstairs, I got to my room and went in the Jack-n-Jill bathroom I used to share with Thomas. It was all mine now, though, because he was off at college doing big boy things. Stripping down, I flipped on the water and turned it till it was so hot I almost couldn’t stand it. Under the spray I dropped my head and let the scalding water pelt my back and neck. It was as good of a massage as I was going to get at the moment, but it was enough to loosen my tight muscles.
There was a lot of heavy lifting at this site. Half of the building was constructed out of pine logs, and the other was smoothed stone. I’d taught myself a little masonry work and did a large chunk of stacking and constructing the stone in a pattern that created a visually appealing structure. But it was grueling work. Most of the guys were more than willing to show me hands-on skills, but there were a few here and there who for the most part ignored me and did their job. I didn’t mind.
All of them wished it were my dad getting his hands dirty, but he hadn’t been on a job site in two years. After my mom died, Dad did what he could to get himself together, but it didn’t take long before he was prescribed a bottle of Valium to help him sleep. That bottle of Valium turned into a security blanket that he often washed down with a bottle of Jack.
I was just graduating high school when things had really started going downhill. I heard whispers in town that Tom Whitmore was frequenting the bars and not coming home till the sun came up. There were more truths to the gossip than rumors. But he almost lost what he had left when he showed up trashed on a job site and attempted to operate a crane holding a wrecking ball. It was the middle of the day when people were out and about. He nearly killed a family that was visiting from California. One of Dad’s employees yelled out before the massive round ball plowed into them and slammed into an empty brick building. They threatened to sue and my dad started losing his workers after that. They said he was a liability and they would rather go work for someone who’d keep their company around before it went under. That’s when I decided, ready or not, it was time for me to come in and try and salvage what I could.
I’d been taking care of Layla, Whitmore & Sons, and my drunk, substance-abusing father ever since. It was way more responsibility than any twenty-year-old should have on his shoulders, but I couldn’t stomach seeing my family crumble. I was doing the best I could. My mother would have died a second time over if she saw the state we were in. The day she left this earth, I learned the hard way that she was the glue. She was the heart of this family, and now I pathetically tried to be a poor substitute.
I’d spent a little longer in the shower than I’d planned. I would have stayed until the water ran cold, but my growling stomach demanded I get out and eat. I had to make something for Layla too. She’d probably eaten so many snacks she may not want dinner right now, but I had to make sure there was at least food for her if she wanted it.
After drying off and getting into a pair of sweats and a shirt, my long hair would have to air-dry. I was in desperate need of a trim, I just hadn’t found time to go see my barber. Traipsing downstairs, Layla hadn’t moved aside from having her legs slung over the arm of the chair and her cell phone glued to her hand.
I made a mental note to check it so I knew she wasn’t doing anything she shouldn’t be. It’s not that it was my job, but there were no parents around to do it for her and keep her safe.
“What do we think of spaghetti?” I asked as I walked toward the kitchen.
“Meh. We had it for school lunch on Monday.”
“Okay... tacos?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Don’t feel like Spanish food.”
“Mexican,” I corrected.
“Whatever. Can we just get pizza?”
Come to think of it, that was a great idea. “Yeah, good call. Pizza it is.” I was too tired to cook and beg Layla to help me clean the kitchen afterward.
I called it in and plopped down on the longer sofa, caddy-corner to the love seat. I should be texting some friends to see what they were doing tonight, but I didn’t have friends. I lost them all when I started working so many hours.
Layla and I sat in silence until the pizza delivery showed up. She jumped up and got it, but as I heard the front door close, my phone buzzed. Looking down at the screen, it was a number I’d seen one too many times. One that made my stomach bunch up into knots. I frowned.
“Hey, Mike.” I sighed.
“Hey, Blake. Sorry to make this call again, but uh, we have a bit of a problem.”
Why did he feel the need to be so pleasant? The deep voice on the other end owed me nothing, while I owed him a whole lot. It annoyed me.
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
Nothing more needed to be said. I already knew.
Feeling bad about ditching Layla when I hadn’t even spent more than an hour with her, I told her I’d be back shortly and to lock all the doors. It would shatter any other man to see the sadness spread across a child’s face like it did her every time I said I was running into town. Just like Mike didn’t have to say anything, I didn’t either, because she already knew. At her age, she should never understand why I had to leave her alone no less than three times a week.
Her sweet little pink cheeks dropped and her mouth turned down. “I’ll save you a piece.”
“Just a piece?” I ruffled her hair, ruining her smoothed ponytail. “I want at least half that pie when I get home.” I tried to lighten the heaviness that hung in the air.
She smiled for my sake. “Okay, but just half.”
I threw on my other Carhart jacket that wasn’t my work one and headed out. The drive was short, but it was getting dark outside and the rain made it hard to see out of the windshield. Lights from the street and other cars were reflecting off the wetness accumulating. When I got to the bar, I had to park on a side street.
I knew every single person who worked in this little dive bar, so it was a little strange to see someone new checking IDs. I felt bad for Mike having to bring someone in to check them, but kids were always trying to sneak in here and get served alcohol. It became a liability. I approached the new guy and nodded.
Sitting on a barstool, the man was overweight and bald. Without standing, you could tell he was unusually tall. I don’t think there were many people who’d try any funny business with him, but part of me wondered if his size made him slower than someone without the height and weight. Brute strength wasn’t always impressive.
“ID, please,” he said, his beady black eyes meeting mine head-on.
Certainly, Mike had told him to expect me. “I don’t have my ID. I’m here to get someone.”
He took a breath and it expanded his round stomach. “Look, pal, nobody comes in here without showing me some ID.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m here several times a week. I just need to get by so I can get who I came for.”
“Sorry, not happening.”
I was getting aggravated. “I’d like to see Mike.”
“I don’t know who that is,” he shot back.
A sarcastic laugh bubbled up my throat. “Buddy, if you don’t know who’s cutting your check, I don’t know how you managed to get this job in the first place.”
He stood up, confirming what I’d assumed about his height. I was six-foot-two, but this guy had a few inches on me, plus his fifty or more pounds. Attempting to be intimidating, he took a
step forward.
“Either show me that you can legally be in here, or get the hell off the property.”
I wasn’t in the mood. I was seconds away from either taking a swing at this fucking guy or darting past him and testing his ability to keep up. Fortunately Mike saved me the trouble.
“Dustin, let him in,” he boomed loudly.
Dustin looked over his shoulder before facing me again. He rolled his eyes and jerked his head back. “Go on,” he barely mustered.
My shit-eating grin probably made him hate his job, but I didn’t give a shit. Right now I had bigger fish to fry and I was scanning the small crowd in search of my father. Normally he was by the pool tables trying to hustle tourists out of money with cheap trick shots, but he wasn’t there. Instead, I saw him sitting on a stool, arguing with the bartender. I approached and heard him cursing up a storm about not being served another drink.
“Dad.” I tried to break into his argument.
“Do you know how olds I ams?” he slurred. “I’m goddamnnn fifty-two.” Three fingers went up in the air. “Don’t tell me I can’t have another.”
The man behind the counter stood next to Mike.
“Tom, you’ve had enough. Blake is here to take you home so you can sleep it off.”
“I don’t need slip… sleep. I needs a shot.”
I watched him nearly fall off the stool. This was the drunkest I’d seen him in a while. Not that he could handle his alcohol, but usually when I got called in, he was more coherent. Something must’ve set him off to make him drown himself in this shit.
“Dad, it’s time to go.” I tugged on his shoulder.
He pulled away from my hand. “Don’t touch me, boy.”
My brows came together and I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought. Dad was as tall as me, but the condition he was in, I didn’t think I’d have a hard time wrestling him out of here and into the truck.
Mike slid my dad’s keys across the counter to me and I put them in my pocket. “Thanks for calling.”
He nodded. “You going to need help getting him in the car?”
I looked at my dad, then back at him. “I think I’ve got it.”
Mike eyed me wearily. “Look, Blake, I know you’ve got a whole lot on your plate right now, but this is the fourth time this week. Maybe a night in the drunk tank will do him some good.”
“Thanks for calling,” I simply said.
I couldn’t disagree with him. I wanted nothing more than to come in here because I was out for a relaxing night, not because I was carrying my alcoholic father out. Nor did I want to take him into the house with Layla there to witness it all. But he was my dad. I couldn’t let him spend the night in jail to sober up. It didn’t feel right, and I knew my mom would have never allowed it. Then again, my mother wouldn’t be dealing with a trashed husband.
I had to get out of here. Slinging my dad’s arm around my shoulder, I lifted him from the stool. He wanted to fight me, but the weight of him was too much for him to even handle. On unsteady feet, I helped him outside and to my truck. Once I got him in, I started the engine and sat for a second. He had his head against the passenger window and his eyes were closed. I hoped like hell he didn’t throw up on the floorboard. I’d never get the smell out.
“Dad, this has got to stop. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s affecting me, and it’s hurting Layla.”
He smacked his lips, but then shut them. He wasn’t going to acknowledge me. Hitting the gas, we edged forward and worked our way through town. I texted my sister on the way and told her she needed to go take a bath and get ready for bed. It was a little earlier than normal, but she didn’t need to see this. Although sadly, she usually hid away anyway without me having to ask her to be occupied somewhere else.
“You did this.”
Stale alcohol traveled across the cab of the truck and I wanted to gag. “What?”
My dad’s head bounced around with each bump, but he still wouldn’t look at me. “It’s your faults. She was the loves of my life and it should have been me… you.”
He stumbled, but I knew what he meant. Two years later, and I was well aware that my brother blamed me for my mom’s passing. No matter how many people told him there was nothing that could be done. It was the truck driver’s fault for not pulling out faster or having a warning before anyone could round the corner. I’d accepted that he’d likely hate me for the rest of his life. This, however, was the first time I’d heard the words from my father. He always showed me distain with a look or tone of voice.
There are moments in one’s life that carry so much impact that it changes your entire course and purpose. Words that hold as much weight as a loaded gun. It was in this very moment that I felt the ice traveling through my heart and turning it cold. My jaw set in stone, and it took every fiber of my being to not drive us both off a cliff. If it weren’t for my obligations, his obligations, I would have. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that I also lost her that day. I grieved more than all of them and they didn’t know it. They never bothered to care.
I decided I wouldn’t clean up his messes any longer. He wished it were his son who died, not his wife. Coming from a father that you looked up to the majority of your life, he’d just pulled the trigger and killed the last ounce of love I carried for him.
So, this was what it was like to have a black heart. I frowned and got my dad home and into his bed. I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t sleep much for a while, as a matter of fact. I slowly started doing things for myself. Doing what I had to do in order to protect number one.
Me.
Dark, genuine hate for my father began building that night. And I knew one of these days, it was going to come to a head.
Molly
TWO WEEKS LATER AND it was really feeling like summer. Well, as summery as it could for June in Washington. Despite some random rain clouds here and there, the sun had made an appearance every single day. I was spending more time outdoors, laptop in hand or a good book. The beautiful weather was conducive to my writing.
I heard some commotion over my shoulder while I was out in my Adirondack chair. Tipping my sunglasses down, I saw Blake coming over. I had no idea he’d be hauling so many tools into my backyard. There was a wet table saw, which he said was for the back splash, a stack of boxes, and a rolling tool box with an assortment of other things.
After our hardware store trip, we decided one of the ways we were going to cut costs was salvaging my current cabinets. By sanding them down and repainting, I was going to save a boat load. He’d also found a way to move them around, so I’d have an island to work with, and I’d knock out the upper cabinets.
“Hey.”
“Hey back,” he replied. He was focused on searching for something in his tool box.
I pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose. I liked that he and I had graduated to warm pleasantries. I hadn’t seen him a whole lot recently, but enough that we both said ‘hey’ and did whatever we were doing. I focused back on my screen and began typing.
“Molly, have you seen my drill bit kit?”
I paused and looked over at him again. “What’s a bit kit?”
He dropped something metal into the drawer and it made a clinking sound. Standing up and turning to look at me, he said, “Drill bit kit. And it’s a little black box that has small pieces I can attach to my drill.”
“Oh.” I shrugged. “Nope, I haven’t seen it.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “Are you sure? I could’ve sworn it was right here.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea where it is.”
“What in the hell… I know I left it in here.” He was talking to himself. “Have you heard any commotion or had anyone over?”
Now I was the one bunching my brows. “Yeah, right.” I nearly laughed. “Blake, nobody’s been over here.”
He stood for another second longer. “So strange.”
Must be because I’d never even seen what he was
talking about. I didn’t know tools, so this drill kit could have gotten up and walked out right in front of me and I wouldn’t know what it was. He started his work despite his missing pieces, and I sat back and tried to wrap up another chapter. Sandra and the publishers were going to be pleased with the amount of work I’d been managing every single day. While it was customary for an author to write one to two books a year, I was somewhere in the three to four mark. When the characters were talking to me, my fingers were moving.
It was later in the evening and the sun was going down. I hadn’t eaten anything since this morning. Writing was consuming me, and until I heard my stomach gripe at me, I hadn’t realized it. I stood up and gathered my water bottle and laptop. I was going to head inside, but I stopped while holding the screen door open.
“Hey, if you haven’t eaten anything for dinner yet, I was thinking about getting some take-out.” I shifted on me feet, a little uncomfortable with my own words. “I can get you some too if you’d like.”
He stopped working and looked at me, puzzled. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Huh? “No, I’m asking if you want me to order extra so you’re not out here starving.”
“I’m pretty sure you just asked me to dinner.” He tilted his head.
I blew my hair out of my face. “It’s not dinner, just extra food.”
The side of his mouth tipped up. “It’s an extra food date.”
“Oh my God, you’re ridiculous,” I said, annoyed, but I knew what he was doing. “It’s a yes or no question, Blake.”
“Do you realize your nose crinkles when you’re flustered?”
“It does not.”
He approached me. Reaching up, he tapped right where he was referring to. “This spot.”
I looked in his dark eyes and tried my hardest to fight the little hint of desire that started to stir. I shook my head. “Yes or no.”
“Sure.” He turned on his heels, completely unfazed. He slid on a pair of safety goggles and I had no idea those ugly plastic things could look so sexy. “From where?”