Chasing Forgiveness

by Neal Shusterman

  Because if I can’t have the world, then he can’t have Sarah.

  • • •

  Dad gives me a small slice of the world. He gives me the dirt bike he promised, against all my grandfather’s protests, and we spend the day riding it up and down the street—Dad, Jason, and I. Its loud, rude engine draws the angry attention of the neighbors and the admiration of all the kids on the block.

  The noise is enough to bring my grandfather out of his house.

  “What is this?” he asks while Dad is off for his ride.

  “It’s mine,” I tell him. “Dad got it for me.”

  His face turns to stone. I immediately sense this is going to be worse than I’d thought.

  “I see,” says Grandpa.

  As soon as my dad gets back from his ride, Grandpa calls him aside. “Danny, can I speak with you?”

  Jason takes off buzzing down the street. I lean one ear into Dad and Grandpa’s conversation.

  “Who gave you permission to buy him a dirt bike?”

  “He’s my son,” says Dad. “Why do I need permission to buy him anything?”

  “You know Lorraine and I don’t approve of those things. They’re dangerous. And we’re still his legal guardians.”

  Dad steams whenever Grandpa reminds him that they still have legal custody of Tyler and me. It’s a cold reminder that we’re only with Dad because of their good nature. It’s more than enough to make Dad back down.

  “He’ll only ride it when I’m around,” Dad says. “On weekends. In empty parking lots—places where there’s no traffic.”

  “You should take it back,” says Grandpa. “Get him something else.”

  “No!” I say, busting into their conversation. “This is my dirt bike. Dad bought it for me. I’m not taking it back.”

  Grandpa looks at me, then at Dad.

  “You see what you’ve done, Danny?” he says as he leaves. “You see what you’ve done?”

  But nobody, not even Grandpa, is going to take this bike away from me. I’ve had enough taken away from me already, and it’s about time I demanded something back.

  • • •

  Dad seems sullen for the rest of the day. He lets Jason and me ride the bike, but he won’t ride it himself—he just sits on the porch and watches. When Jason leaves and we put the bike in the garage, Dad says what’s on his mind.

  “Maybe your grandpa’s right,” he says. “We should take it back.” But he won’t look me in the eye when he says it.

  “Why are you afraid to stand up to him, Dad? You don’t stand up to anyone anymore.”

  “What am I supposed to do, Preston? I feel like I’m still on probation. If I do something wrong they’ll take you away from me.”

  “They love you, Dad,” I remind him. “You know that!”

  “But they love you more,” says Dad. “Both you and Tyler. And they’ll always wish you were in their home again. If they get mad enough at me,” he says, “they’ll take you away. I don’t want to lose you, Preston.”

  “I live where I want to live!” I tell him. “It’s my choice, and I want to live with you. Even if you marry Sarah.”

  “I appreciate that, Preston, but the bike . . .”

  “The bike stays!” I say, and I stare my father down. Finally he leaves the garage, and I’m left alone with the bike.

  I’ve won the battle, but I don’t feel good about it. I tried to make my father stand up against Grandpa, but that’s not what happened. Instead, not only did he back down from Grandpa, I made him back down from me as well.

  Next time, I say to myself, I’m going to back down first. Next time I will. I’ll sacrifice some of my own pride and self-respect, and give Dad back some of his.

  • • •

  Dad has Sarah over for dinner almost every night, or we go over there. I once asked Grandma how she felt about them getting so serious so quickly. She always answers such questions the way Christ himself might.

  “Danny’s had a very hard life,” says Grandma. “He deserves a second chance. And as for Sarah, we’ll just love her, too. We’ll love her like she were our own daughter.”

  But Sarah’s not their own daughter. Not even close. . . . Her relationship with Dad is not what I would call perfect. It’s not an equal sort of thing—it’s mostly just Sarah pushing and pulling Dad in every direction she can. She drags him to a party one day, a show the next. She gets tickets to things and doesn’t even tell my dad until she arrives at the door ready to go wherever it is she decided they must go. And the worse part of it is that sometimes she leaves her children with us.

  When we had dinner that time with her, she seemed sweet enough. I didn’t see that her fingers weren’t fingers at all, but talons, and she was slowly digging them deep into my father’s skin. “She’s strong willed,” says Dad. “What’s wrong with that?” If it were just that she’s strong willed, I’d like her just fine. But there’s a difference between being strong willed and demanding complete control.

  “She’s a woman who knows what she wants,” says Dad, “and knows how to get it.”

  Maybe that’s why when they went to L.A. to see a show, Sarah came back wearing a necklace that we all know my dad can’t afford.

  Maybe that’s why Dad’s always over at her house fixing it up and redecorating it just the way she wants it.

  “She’s a very determined woman,” says Dad.

  I say she’s a reptile.

  “You’ll all move in here when your father and I get married,” she says as she gives us a tour of her house one day. “Preston will get his own room, and Tyler will get to share one with Davey—he’ll like that. And we’ll build a workout room with a whole gym in the garage. Who needs a three-car garage anyway? Two is enough for anybody.”

  We’re all sort of just swept along in the enthusiastic beating of Sarah’s slick reptilian wings. We’re all hooked by her pterodactyl talons whether we like it or not.

  Maybe this is what Dad needs, I try to convince myself. Someone to give him direction. Someone to keep his mind so full of details that he doesn’t have to think about anything. But even as I think it, I realize that the last thing Dad needs is someone else telling him what he ought to do.

  • • •

  “I hate Davey,” says Tyler one day when we’re driving back from Sarah’s place. This is new for Tyler. Tyler never admits to hating anybody. It’s enough to make Dad prick up his ears about an inch.

  “Well,” says Dad, “he does whine quite a bit, doesn’t he?”

  “They all do,” I add. “I think they’re all just spoiled rotten.”

  “Life with Dad’ll unspoil them,” says Tyler. “ ’Cause Dad’s so cheap.”

  I laugh, but I wonder just how cheap he will be. Sarah will have him spending his money left and right. Like . . .

  Like Mom did.

  Dad shakes his head. “Sometimes I don’t know about those kids.”

  “You’re not dating the kids; you’re dating Sarah,” I say. Dad accepts my reassurance.

  “And you really like Sarah?” he asks, as he always asks. Do I like Sarah? I like her when she doesn’t drink too much. I like her when someone else has to talk to her instead of me. Do I like her? Not really.

  “I like her if you like her, Dad,” I tell him. “I want you to be happy.”

  I don’t tell him that I wish Sarah would crawl back under the rock she came from. I don’t tell him that I wish something absolutely awful would happen to make Dad dump Sarah and those miserable larval lizards she calls children once and for all.

  “I’m glad you like her, Preston,” says Dad with a smile. “We’re all going to be very happy.”

  “That’s right,” I say. Or at least we’ll all pretend to be.

  22

  WHO DO YOU LOVE?

  May

  On a Saturday night, while my grandparents are away, I have a little party at their house—Jason, me, and a bunch of other friends.

  I see less and less of my father latel
y—he’s always doing odd jobs for Sarah. He’s at her house today fixing something up or building a wall or putting up wallpaper. She monopolizes his time as if she owned his soul.

  “She’s not a woman, she’s a career,” Grandpa says.

  But if Dad likes her, fine. Dad can do what he wants.

  And so can I.

  Downstairs, the music is blasting, and somebody mans the blender, making chocolate shakes. At least I think it’s just chocolate shakes. I know some people brought beer, but it’s not my job to tell them they shouldn’t do it. I watch out for myself. It’s not like I’m drinking or anything.

  My friends dance in the living room and lie around on the sofa talking. The place gets a bit messy, but as long as I leave everything the way I found it, Grandma and Grandpa probably won’t mind. They probably won’t even know.

  Before it even gets dark, my dad appears at the front door.

  “What’s going on here, Preston?” he asks.

  “What does it look like?” I say, trying to look cool. “It’s a party.”

  “Did Grandma and Grandpa give you permission to do this?”

  “They’re not here; they don’t care,” I say.

  Dad looks around—kids with beer, loud music.

  “No,” says my dad. “No, I don’t think so. This party stops here.”

  And for the first time in as long as I can remember, Dad looks me in the eye.

  “You’re coming home, now.”

  “No,” I tell him. He’s humiliating me in front of all my friends. Nobody does that. I don’t care who he is.

  Dad goes over and turns off the stereo. It’s amazing how all that noise can just collapse in on itself with the flick of a switch, leaving a room full of people who don’t know what to do.

  “Everybody out,” he says.

  But everyone just lingers there. Like they all stood and watched on the day I pounded Jimmy Sanders’s head into the sidewalk.

  “This isn’t your house!” I yell at him.

  “You’re coming, Preston. If I have to drag you out by the roots of your hair, you’re coming.”

  “Why don’t you just go back to Sarah? Doesn’t she need you to clean between her toes or something?”

  Some friends begin to snicker. People start whispering. Gossiping. “That’s Preston’s dad,” I can hear them say. “He’s the one who . . . you know.”

  “Preston, say good-bye and we’ll clean this mess up.”

  But I don’t move. Not yet.

  I should give in. I told myself I would. This doesn’t matter, I tell myself, I can just let it go.

  But my friends are here around me watching. And it’s time to take sides again.

  It’s over, I tell myself. The party was over the second Dad walked in, so just give in, and walk away with my tail between my legs. It’s over. But if it’s over, then why am I so angry? If it’s over, then why can’t I stop yelling at him? Why can’t I stop?

  “Who do you think you are!” I scream at him.

  “I’m your father!”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem to mean much anymore, does it?”

  He is not going to take this party away from me. He’s never going to take anything away from me ever again. If he can marry the flying lizard lady, then I can have this party.

  Dad turns beet red in the face like Tyler does when he cries. Only Dad’s not crying.

  “You have no respect for me, do you?” Dad screams. “Why don’t you respect me? Why?”

  It almost makes me laugh. Why? Do I really have to tell him?

  “Why do you think?” I growl, and then I explode out the back door and head for the garage.

  • • •

  My dirt bike flies through the Saturday twilight at a breakneck pace. I take turns at full speed, not caring if I fall. I rev the rude buzz-saw engine to annoy everyone in the neighborhood.

  I can do what I want. For weeks I’ve had to ride this stupid thing in parking lots and closed-off streets with Dad supervising me. But I’m fifteen and can do what I want, and he’s not going to stop me ever again.

  I race through a red light. I don’t care.

  He thinks he can fall in love and be happy. Then why can’t I be happy? Why? No matter what I do I still feel something is missing. Why is it that no matter how hard I push it down, Mom’s face always comes back up? It’s all I think about when I see Dad with Sarah. I can tell myself it’s all right, but I’m lying. It’s not all right.

  And why can I still see his horrible hand on that awful gun?

  I round the corner spinning past my old school, the junior high, where I made friends and enemies. Where idiot kids spread rumors about things they didn’t know.

  It doesn’t matter how busy I keep myself. How fast I run, how many passes I catch, how many friends I have. It doesn’t matter because he still did it. I can’t change that.

  I ride over the railroad overpass and past the spot where Jimmy Sanders made me blow a gasket. I could have killed Jimmy, I think. If adults hadn’t pulled me away, I could have killed him. I’ve got that in me, too, don’t I? It’s like my whole life comes down to my dad. It always has. It always will.

  I hate Grandma and Grandpa for making me still love him. Uncle Steve is right. We’re all crazy. We’re all deluded. I should never have let him in my life again.

  It’s dark now. I turn into the long greenbelt that runs on either side of the railroad tracks, and I race along the grass, my bones acting like shock absorbers, until the bike flies out from under me and I crash to the hard earth.

  God, what’s wrong with me? I’m crying like a baby—I’m shaking.

  I love my father. I do. I love him so much it kills me, but I hate him more than anything in the world. How can anyone feel both at the same time and still be in one piece?

  I want to make him hurt as much as I do, but I want him to be happy.

  I want him to suffer for the rest of his life, but I want him to be healed.

  I want him to hold me, but I want him locked safely away in that burning closet of my dreams forever and ever.

  Love and hate. Why can’t those feelings just cancel each other out, so I feel nothing at all? That’s what should happen.

  A train whistle rattles my brain. The shadows of eucalyptus trees begin to march like an army. I begin to run, picking up speed, running alongside the tracks. I’m at my peak now. I’m the fastest I’ve ever been, fueled by all these awful feelings.

  But the train.

  It races past me like I’m standing still, and in a moment the marching shadows are gone, the train is gone, and I fall to the ground in exhaustion.

  I’m just not fast enough to outrace it, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I push myself, I never will be.

  • • •

  When I get home, Grandma and Grandpa’s house is dark, empty, and clean. Dad cleaned it all by himself. I can hear the TV over in Dad’s house next door, and it takes all my courage to go over there and walk in.

  Dad says nothing as I come in. I say nothing to him.

  But as I turn to walk upstairs, I hear him talking calmly from the living room. In control of his emotions. In control of me.

  “Taking the bike out like that was dangerous,” he says. “You broke our agreement. Tomorrow I’m taking the bike back.”

  I don’t turn to him. I don’t dare to look at him now. I bite down and swallow my anger and my pride. “All right,” I tell him, “take it back.”

  • • •

  When Grandma and Grandpa come home the next day, I go and stay with them for a while. As always, they’re understanding and glad to have me there. But being there doesn’t feel right. Nothing I do feels right anymore.

  “I could never figure out how it could be so easy for you,” I tell Grandpa one morning while we’re alone in the kitchen. “The way you could just forgive Dad like that, and get on with it.” Sometimes I think they’re absolute saints.

  Grandpa lets out a halfhearted snort of a laugh.
“Easy? You call this easy? Football practice is easy, Preston. Fighting a war is easy. But this?” Grandpa sips his bitter coffee and shakes his head. “Every morning I still have to wake up and remember that my little girl is gone because of Danny, and I have to remind myself that in spite of it we still love him, and I have to pray that I can keep on loving him. That’s not easy, Preston. It never has been.”

  23

  THE LAST OF SARAH

  June

  Dad decides not to ask Sarah to marry him just yet. “This is all happening too fast,” he confides to us one day. “I need some time to think things through.”

  Smart move on Dad’s part.

  I speak to Jason almost every day to keep him informed of the latest developments. He’s the only one I can talk to about this.

  “Sarah’s been acting awfully weird lately,” I tell him over the phone, hoping it’s not bugged. “She calls Dad seven or eight times a day at work to complain about the painters, or the fact that Dad hasn’t finished building the gym in her garage, or some other stupid unreasonable thing.”

  “Go on,” says Jason, “I’m listening.” He laps it all up like it’s a soap opera. Sometimes I feel like my life is just God’s little afternoon drama—something to keep Him entertained when hanging clouds with Mom gets dull.

  “She even calls him out of important meetings, because she thinks she’s more important.”

  “No way!”

  “She gets him in trouble at work, right? And then when he stops by her place in the evenings, she complains that he doesn’t work hard enough for her. She drives him like a mule—worse than a mule, like a slave.”

  “Lose this woman,” advises Jason. “Lose her in a big way.”

  I agree with him, but I don’t think it’s going to be easy.

  • • •

  At first Dad’s plan was just to cool it with Sarah for a while—but after what she did when Dad talked to her about it, we all think it’s a better plan to pull out entirely. She has us all really spooked.