Page 95 of Wood Riddance
I closed my eyes and replaced thoughts of my fuck-up brother with those of Adele, wishing this day to be over so I could see her again.
Sadly, my daydreams were interrupted by the sight of looming gates ahead.
“We’re here.”
Prison was both everything and nothing like how it was portrayed on TV. Depressing, but not as intimidating as I’d anticipated. More like a really sad-looking office park surrounded by barbed wire fencing. Helpful signs guided us the whole way through the dusty parking lot and into the building that smelled like bleach. Each step of the way, we were forced to wait in a line.
There were checkpoints and cameras and metal detectors and endless forms. But eventually, we were led to a small room with an old folding table and chairs. After we’d waited about thirty minutes, tapping our feet, shifting uncomfortably, and fidgeting the whole time, my father was led in. The guard unlocked his handcuffs and then sat on a stool outside the door.
The frail man standing in front of me looked nothing like my father. He was tall, sure, but gone was the muscle and the confident posture. This man was skinny and gaunt. His hair, without its usual salon appointments, had gone completely white.
He wore a beige shirt and beige pants that hung loosely on his frame. His vibrant blue eyes, eyes we had all inherited from him, were dull, almost gray. I couldn’t reconcile this man with the loud, confident man who had run around town in his Mercedes and Gucci loafers.
“Boys,” he said, holding open his arms.
Gus and Jude took turns hugging him. I settled for a handshake.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. In place of his usual charm was thick, genuine emotion. “It’s so lonely here.”
I was taken aback. The man who told me my tattoos were disgraceful, the man who wore custom suits and had a collection of watches worth more than most people’s homes, was nowhere to be found.
This man was humbled. This man was broken.
Gus and Jude made small talk with him. As usual, my father was most interested in Cole. His questions focused on how many of his games we had caught and if he had a chance of being called up.
My brothers exchanged subtle looks more than once. Clearly, they were not going to break the news about Cole today. He had always been Dad’s favorite.
And for a long time, I resented that. But now, as an adult, I was grateful to have escaped his interest. I’d had half a chance to grow into a functional human because of it.
In fact, I had the sudden and intense urge to drive straight home and give my mom the biggest hug. The five of us would not have stood a snowflake’s chance in hell of growing into decent humans if left with my dad. Our mother had always loved and supported us, while giving us firm boundaries and morals to uphold. As bad as this situation was, at least he hadn’t dragged Gus or Jude down with him.
I cleared my throat, ready to get on with it. We only had forty minutes, and I didn’t want to waste it. Grabbing my notebook and the No. 2 pencil that security had allowed me to take inside, I attempted to get this meeting on track.
“We’re here because we have some questions,” I said, grasping for control.
“About the business,” Gus added. “I’m doing my best, Dad. We’ve made some big sacrifices, but I think I can get us through the worst of it.
Clenching my fists, I fought back the anger that bubbled up in my stomach. I didn’t want to hate Gus, but seriously, man? We were visiting our father in prison, and he was still desperate for the bastard’s approval. Still vying for the top spot on his list of favorites. And for what? He was a thirty-eight-year-old man. At some point, he’d have to live for himself rather than for Dad.
Successfully curbing the urge to snap at him, I went through the questions Owen had laid out for us.
My father’s memory was shit, but he did point us to various employees to follow up with, the location of some of the records we were after, and his contact at the specialty mill in New Hampshire where he had been offloading cedar at a premium for the past few years.
I couldn’t decide whether I was angry or relieved that this had been a productive conversation. He was concise and careful, and from what I could tell, he was actually trying to help us.
I’d expected him to be his usual self, ranting about his innocence and telling us what to do and how to live our lives. I envisioned him complaining about prison and trying to justify his actions. But he never once said a word about any of it. Like maybe he’d accepted his fate and understood that he would never be free again. I supposed that’s what nine months in lockup could do to a guy.
And, strangest of all, he seemed happy to see us. Grateful for our visit, even. So depressing and strange. I was ready to wrap up and get out of here when Jude finally spoke.
He had sat at the end of the table, totally silent, for the entire visit. He didn’t take notes or ask questions or even lift his head. He’d only stared at the gray cinderblock walls as he listened.
But here he was, finally entering the chat.
“Dad, you’ve got to cooperate,” he said, his eyes full of tears. “Tell them something. You could get yourself out of this.”
Deep down in his heart, he wanted Dad to be innocent. Wanted there to be some explanation for what he’d done. When our parents divorced, he’d taken it the hardest, and all these years later, he was still wishing they would get back together. My mom had always said Jude was the deep thinker and the deep feeler of the family, but some days, those thoughts were far too idealistic.
Dad shook his head. “No. I will not do that.”
