Page 46 of Hiss and Make Up
“Imagine the trouble we could have gotten into in here,” she said.
“Pretty sure Dad got into enough trouble in here without us.”
“How much trouble could he get into in here by himself?”
“It was more after you guys left. When the Guidrys moved in down the road.” Marc scratched the back of his neck and looked around as if he was waiting for ghosts to pop up from behind a workbench. “Mr. Guidry, Chloe’s dad, used to hang out with my dad in here all the time. Dad loved showing off his work. He’d retired and Mr. Guidry was on disability after some accident. I don’t remember what, something happened to his leg. He could walk but couldn’t work on a rig anymore. So he and my dad would tell jokes and shout about this or that and drink the night away. Sometimes the morning. Sometimes the whole day. Drove Mom crazy, but at least he wasn’t drinking in the house around us anymore.”
Sierra tried to remember Marc’s dad drinking or hungover or in some disheveled state of being, but she couldn’t. He was surly and feisty, but so were half the Cajun men she’d grown up around. “I don’t remember any of that.”
“We were young. Plus, it got worse after you guys left. I guess having a partner in crime three houses away kind of amped up the situation.”
Sierra examined the shop. Every nook and cranny looked like an accident waiting to happen. If she took one wrong step or tripped on one stray tool out of place, she might lose an eye or an arm. Or worse.
“It’s amazing he didn’t get himself killed in here in that condition.”
Marc nodded. “After Mr. Guidry left town, Dad became a sullen, withdrawn drunk. Didn’t annoy anyone, but didn’t do much of anything else either. Kind of sucked the life out of him until he got sick.”
“You didn’t say before…was it cancer?”
Marc nodded. “Bladder. We were all shocked it wasn’t his liver.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged and looked up at the top shelves like he was searching for something that wasn’t there. “He wasn’t sick long. Never really fought it. Kind of gave up.”
She hated the idea of Marc having to watch his dad decline that way. No one should have to watch a parent fall apart and give up. “So Chloe’s dad left? By himself or did they all move?”
“He just up and left one day. No warning. No goodbye. They all woke up one day and he was gone. Even Dad didn’t see it coming.”
Sierra held her breath, letting the faded memory wash over her. Her mama walking out the door. A beat-up, black duffel bag and a bright orange purse.
It hadn’t been the first time her mom had left, only the last. Sierra had watched her mom walk in and out of their lives for as long as she could remember. She’d watched her dad give her mom chance after chance because he’d loved her and believed her every time. He’d wanted Sierra to have her mom, no matter how much the woman hurt them both.
Sierra couldn’t help feel a twinge of empathy for Chloe. Being abandoned by a parent with no explanation or apology from the one person who was supposed to always be there for you…it sucked.
But that experience taught Sierra a valuable lesson: never give someone who’s hurt you the chance to do it again.
Marc motioned for her to follow him to another wall covered from floor to fifteen-foot ceiling with metal shelving. The bottom two shelves were bare, and she noticed the adjoining wall had a few empty hooks on it, but nothing else.
“These two walls were filled with metal rods. And this wall had some of Dad’s sculptures. A few pelicans and a couple of abstract pieces.”
“Was all of that listed in the ad?”
“No. I wasn’t going to sell any of the sculptures. Mom and Denise would kill me. But the rods were listed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Funny thing is, they didn’t take any of the big tools or welders I listed. If someone was going to steal stuff, I’d think they’d have taken the expensive stuff from the ad.”
“Maybe they thought they could get more for the sculptures once they saw those.”
“But wouldn’t those also be easier to trace?”
He was right. You couldn’t exactly bring those to a pawn shop. And who would you sell them to? It’s not like anyone could put those out on display. They were too recognizable.
Sierra watched him stare at the empty wall space. He wasn’t just keeping those sculptures for his mom and Denise. Despite his dad being a royal pain in the butt—and Sierra did remember that much—Marc had worshiped the man.
He would stare longingly at the shop on Saturday mornings. Sierra would have to drag him and his bike down the driveway to get him to go anywhere with her. She didn’t understand his fascination with that building back then, but now, watching him in the shop lost in memories, the truth was clear.
Sierra had watched her mother pack a duffel bag and wave goodbye over her shoulder. Her sunglasses perched on her head while she chomped a piece of cinnamon Dentyne with glee. But Marc didn’t have to watch his dad leave to feel like he’d lost him. He lost him over and over every day, each time he turned his back and closed that shop door behind him without even a glance back at Marc.
Her hand moved to the side a few inches, rubbed against the rough denim of Marc’s jeans, then found his hand. She laced her fingers between his and squeezed their palms together.
