Page 8 of Raging Inferno

Chapter Three

A Face Like Hers

After the scene at the school, I loaded Gabby onto the rig. However, I was still on the job and hadn’t given much thought as to what I was going to do with her. With no other choice, I took her back to my house, got her situated as best as I could and ordered her to sleep it off. A call came over the radio just as we were leaving the house and back to work I went. It wasn’t until later that night when I returned home that I realized how unprepared I was to have my daughter with me full time.

Sure, both my girls had bedrooms at my house, but I don’t remember the last time either of them actually spent the night. When they were little, they spent every other weekend with me—hence the Hello Kitty comforters and bubblegum pink walls but as soon as teenage years hit, they became too cool for sleepovers at dad’s house.

Aside from the childish room, Gabby didn’t have any of her belongings with her and of course, Lisa wasn’t all that accommodating. Instead of letting our daughter go home and grab her shit, she ordered me to go out and buy her everything new. Which was ridiculous if you ask me. The kid was suspended from school but, hey, let’s get her a wardrobe and a shiny new laptop.

The first stop was the mall and let me just say, there should be a law against fathers having to shop with their teenage daughters. It’s one thing to sit in a chair while she tries on twelve pairs of boots, it’s a horse of a different color to have to stand outside Victoria’s Secret as she shops for underwear.

Next on the list was Target—another torturous place for all of mankind. There we got all her toiletries, a computer, and some new bedding. By the time she felt at home two days passed and I had to go back to work, making it my turn to feel misplaced. It was the first time since I got on the job where I had to worry about what my daughter was doing or if she needed something. I didn’t know what her routine was or if she could be trusted alone. I wanted to believe she wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. That she would go to bed at a decent time and not try to sneak out or smuggle anyone in for that matter. I wanted Gabby the little girl, the one who hung on my every word and thought I was her hero. The little girl who was content sitting on the floor playing with Barbie dolls.

As the hours ticked by and I stared at the clock in the firehouse, I realized how much time had passed and how many precious moments I missed. My daughters were growing into young women and the memories I often replayed in my head were just a piece of their past. You don’t realize it at first or at least I didn’t. I was too busy living day to day, trying to be in two places at once to realize a phone call every night and dinner twice a week with my kids wasn’t enough.

Vowing to change that, I decided after my shift I would go home, make her favorite—chicken marsala and then, we’d get back to basics. Back to the days when Gabby didn’t have to wonder if I had her back when she knew for certain her dad would move heaven and earth for her. Then and only then would we get to the root of why she was drinking and cutting out of school.

My plan was solid until I went home, opened the fridge and spotted a loaf of bread and a half a gallon of milk. Now, here we are at Jose Tejas—her favorite restaurant, sharing a bowl of chips trying to decide between enchiladas and burritos. One thing about my daughter that I’m certain of is that she is as indecisive as her mother.

The waitress finally takes our order and the silence stretching between us is painfully uncomfortable. Avoiding me, I watch as she chews on her straw and glances around the crowded Mexican restaurant. Part of me wonders if she chose this place so she wouldn’t have to talk to me much.

“I spoke to your sister today,” I start, waiting for her to turn her attention back to me. “Told her you’re staying with me.”

No response.

“I’ll hit the supermarket after we leave here,” I say, changing the subject. “If there is anything specific you want let me know or we can go together…”

She slurps the rest of her drink through the straw instead of replying. Frustrated, I rake a hand down my face and scratch the scruff lining my jaw.

“Has your mother called you?” I question.

That seems to strike a nerve with her and she finally meets my gaze.

“She called this morning,” she replies with a shrug. “I didn’t answer.”

“How come?”

“What’s the point?” she says. “She’ll either yell at me and tell me how much I disappointed her, or she’ll blame you for everything like you poured the vodka in the bottle for me.”

As true as that might be, I don’t agree with her. I think part of the reason she is acting out is that Lisa and I have been doing a shit job of co-parenting. It’s easier to point fingers at one another than to come together despite our differences. The blow is softer to the pride we’re both struggling to hang onto.

“You know she blames you for everything right?” she adds. “Every time me or Gianna get into trouble it’s your fault. She uses the excuse you weren’t around enough when we were growing up. Sometimes, when she’s really pissed, she raises her head to the sky and asks God why we had to take after you and not her.”

Pausing, she diverts her eyes away from me.

“When the grades are good, we’re her daughters but, when we fuck up we’re Jimmy’s girls,” she whispers.

She’s not lying.

I’ve witnessed Lisa’s theatrics firsthand and while it burns my ass, she pulls this shit in front of our kids, I bite my cheek, forcing myself to remain focused. As much as I want to tell Gabby her mother is an asshole that’s not what she needs to hear. It won’t fix shit.

“Watch ya mouth,” I mutter. Sighing, I lean forward and touch a finger to her chin. She turns her gaze back to me and I offer her a wink. “Your mother loves you, Gab. We both do,” I assure her. “The both of us made mistakes when it came to each other and unfortunately when it came to you and your sister too. There are some wrongs in life we can’t make right no matter how much we want to. All we can do is make a conscious effort to be better going forward but you gotta do your part too,” I say, pausing to grab her hand. Startled, confusion masks her pretty face as she stares at our joined hands.

“You gotta talk to me,” I say, forcing her eyes back to me. “You need to tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Who said anything is bothering me?”

“You did. Maybe not with words but with your actions. Come on, Gab. You know not to drink and you sure as shit know not to get sloshed at school.”

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