Page 9 of Raging Inferno

“It wasn’t my idea,” she defends quietly.

“Don’t make it right,” I argue, watching as she bites her lower lip in deep thought. “And while we’re at it, we might as well discuss your grades and why they’re slipping. Your guidance counselor said you haven’t been showing up to your classes.”

“There is no point,” she mutters. “I’m not going to graduate with my friends. I’m too far behind.”

“She doesn’t seem to think so,” I counter, cocking my head to the side as I draw in a deep breath. “According to her, if you work your ass off from now until June you have a shot at that diploma. Then next year you can start a community college, build your grades up and transfer to whatever school you want.”

“Why do I have to go to college?”

“You don’t have to do anything. You can flunk school and deliver pizza if that’s what you want but, I know you Gab. I know you want better for yourself. You used to want to be a kindergarten teacher, what happened?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“You remember that?”

“Baby girl, I remember everything,” I tell her. “Including all the times you would run to me whenever there was something bothering you. You weren’t just your daddy’s little girl, you were my best pal.”

“And then you left,” she whispers, eyes full of unshed tears.

“I didn’t leave you, Gab,” I say, taking her hands. “Never you. You and your sister are everything to me.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” I reply hoarsely. Watching her wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands, makes my heart feel like it’s in a vice. As painful as this conversation is, it’s long overdue. All these years, I’ve been coasting through, fighting fires and making ends meet believing I was doing the right thing as a father and a man. I knew the divorce didn’t only hit me but my girls too and yet, I never took the time to discuss it with them. I never asked them if they were okay. I went about life just like I did when I was with their mother, always waiting for the alarm to ring.

“I thought having a fireman for a dad was the greatest thing ever. I mean there aren’t too many girls who get to brag their dad is a real-life superhero. Then you and mommy started fighting all the time and I would hear her say you loved the job more than her, more than us. Of course, I didn’t believe her. I’d hear her say those words and immediately I would think about all the times you came home from work and walked straight into our room. It didn’t matter if we were sleeping or just waking up, you would come in, tell us you loved us and hug us tight. I knew you loved me.”

“I do love you,” I interject. “Then, now and forever.”

“I know but when you moved out, we started seeing you less and less. I hated it and I began to wonder if you were something else if you weren’t a firefighter, would you and mom still be together? I started wishing you would quit or even get fired because I thought mom would take you back. I wanted my dad back and I couldn’t understand why you would run into a burning building for someone you never met but wouldn’t come back for me. I know it’s crazy and I know you love me.”

“So much,” I rasp.

“I stopped going to school because I thought if I pissed mommy off enough then maybe she’d kick me out like she kicked you out. Same thing with the drinking. She couldn’t tolerate a working man, surely she wouldn’t accept a drunk as a daughter.”

“Gab, if you wanted to live with me why didn’t you ever ask?”

“Mommy would never let me live with you unless it was her idea.”

“That’s not true,” I argue. “Your mother wants what is best for you.”

“She wants what is convenient,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “What looks good on paper. Come on, Dad. You know as well as I do, mommy would’ve never let me live with you. The only reason she’s agreed now is because I was suspended, and she’s had enough of my shit. If I was perfect like Gianna, she would be thrashing all over the place.”

The waitress appears with our food, saving me the agony of agreeing with my daughter. Sad as it is, Lisa wouldn’t have taken it lightly if Gabby had confided any of this to her.

The truth cuts.

Hell, it scars.

Pushing my plate away, I reach for Gabby’s wrist as she lifts her fork.

“Look at me,” I demand softly. “No one is perfect, not you, not me, not your mother and certainly not your sister. Does that make us bad people? No, it makes us human. I’ll talk to your mother. From now on, you’ll stay with me. They’ll be rules. This bullshit with you cutting school and getting drunk ends. When Monday rolls around be ready to do whatever it takes to graduate with your class and come June, I’ll be the proud dad cheering in the stands because you’re going to get that diploma.”

Hiding her smile, she bites the inside of her cheek.

“Am I still grounded?”

“Yes,” I say, releasing her wrist. Not that I’ve really enforced any kind of punishment. “Now eat your dinner,” I add, glancing down at the enchiladas in front of me. I should’ve gone with the fucking burrito. I also should’ve ordered a shot of tequila.

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