Page 29 of Forever Christmas
“Oh, she’s a mess. All girly hormones and drama and crying half the time. But she ain’t into boys yet. Good thing. I’ll geld the sons ofbitches if they lay a hand on her.”
I have nothing to say to that. My feet are planted near the bed, my hands clasped behind my back. It’s awkward, the whole thing.
But I’m doing it.
“You ready for this surgery tomorrow?” I ask. It strikes me that I don’t know if my dad gets scared. Maybe all the smoke he’s blowing is to cover it.
“Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” he says. But he’s alreadystarted to slide down on the bed a little, his shoulder drooping. Maybe his big show of strength when we walked in was just that. For show.
“People come through stuff like this just fine,” I say. “It’s a pretty common thing.”
“I wouldn’t give two shits if it wasn’t for your mother,” he says. “But she’s weak and couldn’t make it on her own.”
“She’s put up with you for thirty years,” I say. “Shecan’t be that weak.”
This gets another laugh, lighter this time. “Well, there is that.”
He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “Damn nuisance, all this rigmarole.”
“You should get some rest,” I say. This wasn’t too hard. I’m glad Corabelle made me do it. Nobody can say I was a bad son. I showed up when it mattered.
I head for the door.
“Gavin,” Dad says.
My body stills. This is it.Will he apologize for all he did? The blows, the welts, the insults, the way he pushed me down until I got too grown, too strong, to let him anymore?
“Yeah?” I turn around. He seems smaller in the bed than when I walked in.
“Why’d you come here?”
I shrug. “Mom asked.”
“You don’t really give a shit about me, do you?” His eyes bore into me from behind the glasses. I regret giving them to him.
“You’re my dad. That makes a certain level of concern automatic.”
“Bullshit. You think you’re owed something. You came here to see if I was still the same ol’ asshole I always was.”
“Are you?”
“You think I cuffed you because I was some screwed-up old man. That I wanted to beat kids.”
Images roll through my head, his hand coming at me, his belt, a hard shove, a swift kick. Too many times tocount.
“You were weak, Gavin. A sniveling little boy. You hung around that girl and were turning into a bona fide pansy. Somebody had to make you tough.”
Seriously? He’s blaming Corabelle. He’s fucking blaming my wife for his BS.
“Shut up,” I say. “Don’t you bring Corabelle into this or by god I’ll rip your heart out by myself.”
Now his laugh is back to full power. “See? That’s the son I wasalways looking for you to be.” He picks up the remote and turns the TV back on. “I did good,” he says. “I did good.”
There is no point being here one more minute. I whip around and am out the door before he can say another word.
