by Nora Flite
My chair fell to the floor, forgotten as I got up in my rush to move around and hug my father. For a long while, we said nothing. He shed no tears, but I had enough for both of us. “Did he hurt you?” He asked, anger bubbling beneath his words.
Laughing cynically, I wiped my cheeks and pulled away. “Yeah. He hurt me pretty badly.”
He rubbed his thumbs over my palms, staring me straight in the eyes. Neither of us blinked. “Tell me everything,” he said.
Amazingly, I did. I did without question.
I shocked myself, letting the truth tumble free. I realized I had only ever given so much detail to the police. But it wasn't the same.
When I'd told them, I'd done so as clinically as possible. Deacon had thought I was strong, yet that wasn't what it was.
Numb, I made myself numb. I didn't want to let anyone see how scared or hurt I felt by it all. How humiliated, how ashamed.
How angry.
My father listened to it all, not saying a word. He held my hands, never looked away. Not when I confided to him the truth.
“I thought I was really going to die that day,” I said, sniffling. Inside, the burden had melted. Letting everything out was cathartic. “It was the last thing I thought, that I was just... done. The last thing I was conscious of, before I woke up and found Deacon sitting over me.”
“He saved you,” my dad said, shaking his head slowly. “Not many people are capable of what he did. But,” he whispered, gripping my shoulders, “less people are capable of going through what you did, and coming out okay.”
“I'm not so sure I came out of it okay.” Frowning, I moved to pick up my chair where I'd spilled it. “Dad, I still have all these dreams. These nightmares where I'm... I relive it, is all. Yes, part of me feels stronger for having made it through, but the rest of me... I can't escape that fear, being afraid of death. My mind takes over when I sleep.”
“Is that why you aren't sleeping now?”
“No,” I sighed, sitting back down. “It's because of what you started to tell me. You haven't explained still what got you guys here.”
Chuckling, he wiped at the corners of his eyes. Was he crying, and I didn't notice? “Sorry, we got off track. Alright. The day you left, you remember I asked you for some money?”
My scowl was blatant. “Yeah, that I remember pretty strongly.”
“I'm sorry about that,” he admitted, his eyebrows furrowing hard. “That, though, was what allowed us to get where we are now.”
Tapping the edge of my empty glass, I shrugged. “I'm not following.”
“We took that money, but we didn't buy cigarettes with it. I won't pretend we weren't a little bitter, thinking you'd given up on us.”
I opened my mouth, but he shook his head to stop me. “Leah, we took that money, and we ended up buying a lottery ticket.”
The prickle that ran up my neck was extremely unpleasant. “Gambling. That was what you thought was a better use for that money? Dad, come on, as if that's much more ethical than smoking—”
“We won, Leah.”
My mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”
“We won,” he said again, grinning wide as the moon. “Your mother picked the numbers, and for the first time, we actually hit them!”
Pointing at him, I kept my voice flat. “You're not joking, are you?”
“Nope!” He laughed, seeming quite delighted.
“I—how much? How much was it?”
Lifting his hands, Dad spread all of his fingers. “A hundred thousand dollars. More than enough for your mother and I to live comfortably here for a long, long time until I find some work.”
I didn't know what to say. This, of all things, was not the news I had predicted. I couldn't have nailed down any one thing I had expected to make sense of their life change, but this...
This is impossible.
“Leah, are you okay?”
“I—yes. I'm just stunned.” It was the truth. “You guys actually won. I mean, you guys never win.” Saying it so bluntly, I felt a flash of guilt.
Dad only laughed again, brushing back his short hair absently. “Maybe it was just our time, finally.”
Another thought crossed my mind, especially as I looked up and glimpsed the portraits on the walls. “Does Savannah know yet?”
He tilted his head, as if considering if he should answer me. “She does. She actually asked to move back in with us while she gets her life together.”
“And you'll let her?”
“Of course. She's our baby girl, Leah. And... honestly, we wanted to ask you to come back too—”
“No, I don't need that,” I muttered, tensing up at the idea. “Thanks, though. It's nice to know that... if I did need help, you guys would be there.”
“We'll always be here, Leah. I promise. Things are better now.”
Peering into those vulnerable, dark eyes, I truly did believe him. Smiling, my fingers tugged at the hem of my long shirt. “I know. But really, I'm doing well, I don't need any help anymore.”
“I'm glad things are going so well for you,” he said, glancing in the direction of the room I was sharing with Deacon. “He seems very nice. And you seem... really happy, Leah.”
Flushing at the blatant observation, I tightened my grip on the dark cloth. “I really am.”
“Good,” he grunted, standing briskly. “Because if anyone ever hurts you again, they'll regret it.”
“He would never,” I assured him, following his example and climbing from my chair. We stood there, facing each other in the frail kitchen lighting.
This has been the best Christmas in a long while.
It was the first time I'd ever opened up so much to my father. The first time I'd bared so many of my fears and feelings for him to see, and to understand.
It was easily the first time he'd done the same for me.
I hoped it wouldn't be the last.
Chapter 19.
“Merry Christmas,” I cried, jumping down on Deacon with a bright giggle.
His startled shout was amazing, especially when I snuggled up against him and gave him the most innocent look I could. “Merry Christmas, indeed,” he chuckled.
“Come on!” Pulling at the blankets, I slid off the mattress. “Mom made breakfast, let's go!”
“What's the rush?” He moaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Wrinkling my forehead, I released my hold reluctantly. “It's the last day for who knows how long that I'll get to see my parents. I just don't want to waste any time.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, drawing attention to the fact I had just said something neither of us thought was possible.
Blushing, I turned away quickly.
“Wait,” he said, reaching out for my hand. I let him take it, my resistance surface level at best. “Sorry, you're right. Let's go eat.”
Lighting up, I leaned forward, seeking out his lips for a brief kiss. “Thanks. I mean it.”
Deacon followed me out, both of us still in our pajamas. The second my parents saw us, they gave a dual greeting.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” I replied, inhaling the scent of sweet cream and maple. “Did you really make pancakes?”
“I did,” Mom beamed.
A gentle smile crossed my face. It was hard not to remember how recently I'd tried to make my boyfriend pancakes. That morning, I'd been thinking about the last time I'd had someone make them for me. And here I am, amazingly, eating them with that person. Mom always did make them the best, too.
She motioned for us to take a seat. Deacon obeyed, but I slipped over to the coffee pot. “Still in love with that stuff?” Mom asked.
Unable to answer, too busy taking a deep swig, I just sighed deeply.
“No coffee for you?” My dad asked, settling down at the table beside Deacon.
He shook his head politely, casting me an amused look. “She drinks enough for both of us.”
They all chuckled, ignoring my attempt at fei
gning an insulted huff. “You do like pancakes, though, I hope?” Mom asked.
“Oh, yes,” Deacon beamed, “I like those very much.”
Sitting together, eating away at the fluffy treats, making conversation... it was all so normal. Stuffing a mouthful of pancakes in, chewing it slowly, it occurred to me that I didn't think Owen had ever once shared a meal with my parents.
He never wanted to be around anyone. And whatever he decided, we always went with that. It was always... easier.
“So, I know you guys don't have much time today,” my dad said, wiping his mouth. “But I was thinking we could go to the mall, maybe do some shopping, maybe ice skating? See a movie?”
Tapping my fork on my plate, I reminded myself what I had learned last night. They can afford this, and they want to spend time with us. Don't shut them down.
“That sounds awesome,” I said, meaning it in spite of my inherent worries. It isn't about money for them anymore. Enjoy this.
Deacon stood up, taking his plate to the sink. “Yeah, I'm all for it. Would it be alright if I took a shower first?”
“Of course,” Mom exclaimed, seeming pleasantly surprised. Lifting a hand, as if to stifle her words, she whispered to me. “He's very polite, isn't he?”
Amused, I tilted down my head. “Yeah, that's him in a nutshell.”
That, and so much more.
****
We headed out as soon as we'd cleaned up and dressed.
Sitting in the back of my parents' new car; a station wagon that, while not extravagant, was still far nicer than what they'd had before, I felt like a kid all over again.
The last time I remember doing stuff like this, I really was a little kid.
It was a slow trip to the mall. The streets were packed with cars, people who had either forgotten gifts, or families wanting to spend time together out on the holiday.
Seeing the old grey structure made me bite my tongue. The time I spent here as a kid, just getting away. I hadn't been one of the girls who hung out with a group, trying to act cool or bored.
Vanessa and I would come together, hiding out in the arcade, checking the machines for forgotten quarters.
She always had spare money from her parents, at least. Enough that she let me share it sometimes.
Hopping out of the car, we hurried through the chilly air into the building. It had been awhile since I'd been to that mall, yet it didn't look any different.
“You kids want to go ice skating or shopping first?” Dad asked.
Kids, I thought with a silent laugh. Being here does kind of make me feel like a kid again. This is seriously so weird.
I loved it, though. It was more than I could have ever expected.
Turning in place, I spotted the bottom floor over the railing, saw they'd turned it into an ice rink. “That looks like a lot of fun, let's do that first, if it's okay?” I asked.
Deacon reached out, touching the middle of my back gently. “Sounds good to me.”
“Let's go then,” my mother chuckled.
Heading down the escalator, my eyes wandered up, taking in the giant Christmas tree, the huge wreaths decorating the walls. The same music that had been following us from Kentucky was, of course, being piped from the speakers here, too.
At the rink, we quickly tossed our shoes in a pile. Deacon moved to pay for our tickets, but my dad waved a hand quickly. “No no, I've got this.”
“Dad,” I winced, “you don't need—”
“Shh shh,” he said, handing the vendor a fifty. “It's fine. I'll watch our shoes, you guys go ahead.”
“You aren't coming?” I felt a flicker of disappointment.
“Not my cup of tea,” he chuckled. “I'll watch you guys, go already.”
Frowning, I laced my skates on. Don't be greedy, you're getting so much from them already.
The three of us wandered out on the ice. Deacon was a natural, I was sure he'd skated before. Easily, he slid around my mother and I. She gripped my arm, so I held tightly to her shoulder, laughing nervously.
“I don't know when I skated last,” I admitted.
“Me either,” she replied.
Bit by bit, we slid slowly down the rink, wobbling the whole way. Around us, people flew past, far more capable than we were.
Not that we cared.
Glancing over, I saw my mom was laughing, her cheeks pink from both the cold and her excitement.
Deacon slid around my other side, murmuring into my ear. “I'll give you guys some space.”
“I—wait,” I said, too slow to stop him from gliding off down the ice. He doesn't know that I already talked to Dad last night, about everything. I don't need to be alone with...
My mother gasped, almost slipping suddenly. “Whoa!” I laughed, holding her up, trying to stabilize myself. It was a wasted effort; with delighted, shocked screams, we both tumbled down onto the hard ground.
Slipping on our knees, we reached out, trying to help each other up. “Easy,” she said.
“I've got it, I—oof!”
Once more we fell, this time, giggling too hard to bother righting ourselves. For a moment, we sat on the ice, hair in our eyes and smiles stuck on solidly.
Gently, we moved to the far wall, using it to stand up. “You okay?” I asked her.
Nodding, she wiped at the damp spots on her knees. “Yeah, fine. This is a lot of fun, isn't it?”
“It is,” I agreed, seeing the sparkle in her eyes I hadn't in such a long time.
Ever? Have I ever seen it, or have I just forgotten?
The crowd rolled by, kids squealing, people holding hands and having a good time. Together, we watched it all, the silence stretching.
“Leah,” my mom started, the excitement gone from her low voice. “I wanted to tell you something last night, but the moment wasn't right.”
Turning, I watched her from the corner of my eye. The nervous scrunch to her mouth was plain as day. “Don't worry, Dad actually told me.”
“Did he?” She mused, not seeming entirely surprised. “And... what did you say?”
“I said,” I murmured quietly, “that I was happy for you guys.”
“No, what did you say to the idea of coming and staying with us? I know you left to go find something better than this stupid place, but, things are good here now, with us, and—”
“Mom.” It was a simple word, it ended her rambling. Facing her, I studied the lines of guilt, of despair, blossoming on her expression. She's so worried about me, about everything. Would it be that easy, for me to come back here? Would that fix everything for them?
Is it even needed?
Reaching out, I gave her a careful one-armed hug. My tone was soft, it reflected the burst of appreciation in my heart. “You don't need to do any of that, Mom. Not for me. I'm fine, and things are going really well for me. I'm happy out in California.”
She sighed, I felt her shifting, looking over my shoulder. Leaning away, I spotted her target. Deacon was skating in the distance, his eyes fixed on us, his grin bright.
“You're really happy with him, aren't you?”
I didn't hesitate. “I am. Yeah.”
Chuckling, she moved to give me a real embrace. It threw us off balance, and together, we squeaked in our struggle to not fall once more.
Strong arms grabbed us, steadying our dancing muscles with a laugh. Deacon had arrived just in time, his aid keeping us on our feet.
“Thanks,” I said, grinning.
“No problem.” Taking my hand, he looked at my mother. She looked... relieved, if I had to call it something. When he reached out for her hand, that vanished into a mask of confusion. “Come on,” he explained, standing between us. “I'll keep you guys up.”
Peeking around him, I gave my mother a crooked grin. “What do you think? Give him a shot?”
“Sure,” she mused, her voice steadier than her legs. “We'll give him a shot.”
She means more than ice skating.
Giggling, we let Deacon guide
us down the slippery rink, his arms balancing us the entire time.
****
Inside the many stores of the mall, I discovered I had no idea what to get for my parents.
Staring at the options, tugging at the ends of my hair, it was torture.
“Is it always this hard to shop for parents?” I whispered to Deacon.
Standing over me, he leaned down, poking one of the keychains on the display before us. “You know, I have the same trouble. That's why I always get my dad socks.”
My laugh was strained. “Right.” What I really want to get them is too expensive. Sighing, I glanced up, checking to see if my parents were nearby.
I spotted them studying a display of puzzle boxes, so I ducked around, slipping from the store. “Where are you going?” Deacon asked me, frowning hard.
“Shh, stay here with them. I don't want them to know what I'm doing.”
He looked uneasy, but his nod was all I needed to see.
Hurrying, my legs carried me across the mall, eyes fixed on the signs everywhere. I can't afford to get them plane tickets to California. If anything, they're the ones who could actually get... The idea struck me, I gave it a careful once over.
Would it be a weird thing to do?
Trying to decipher what my parents would think was impossible. It's a risk, but... if I'm wrong, I'll take the blame.
It took me no time to find a store that sold post cards and novelties. Inside, I browsed the racks, thumbing through everything in a rush.
Will they even have...?
I almost gave myself a paper-cut when I finally found what I wanted. Beaming, I grabbed up the cards, then scrambled to the cashier.
As I left the store, my wrapped gifts in a bag, my eyes found Deacon and my parents only just exiting the other place.
Their faces lit up at the sight of me. Trying to be casual, I kept the bag at my hip, skipping over to them.
“Where'd you go?” Dad asked, eyeing the bag.
“Nowhere,” I shrugged. It was obvious what I'd done, but they played along, not pushing the question.