Page 23 of Bad Wolf

I take out some fresh chicken and a few packets of seasoning and set it all on a plastic chopping board, still intent on cooking for us.

For once, just once in my whole adult life, I want to do something for myself. Desperate to take the chance that Casey is giving me.

“Well, I hope so, Dad because,” I blow out a pained yet determined sigh, hating that I know this will hurt him. Hating that he’s going to have to fend for himself.

“I’m leaving. I’m going to New York. I can’t live like this any longer,” I say, looking around me.

He stumbles back, his face falling.

“You’re going to find that boy aren’t you.” A statement, not a question.

I search his bleary eyes. His are brown, whereas mine can’t seem to make up their mind which color they want to be. Let’s just go with hazel.

Sometimes under the stage lights they shine blue, other times they swirl with green and gold, and when I’m feeling really low, the brown in them takes over.

I turn my back on him, reaching for the squeaky drawer that houses the few utensils we own.

What’s done is done and the money will never be seen again. It’s not all I have stashed, but it’s a huge chunk of it.

“I am, yeah.” And I’m going to beg for his forgiveness. Beg him to take another chance on me.

“You can’t go. We’re a team—you and me. I’ll fix up I swear. I’ll build a buffer up for us and pay you back and then we’ll be on the straight and narrow. You’ll see. I can do this for us.”

“No, Dad. I don’t think you can. You need help. More help than I can give you and—”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your father, Wren, don’t forget that. I’m merely asking for a bit more time. Then we can both take a trip up to New York. Make a big thing of it. Yeah?”

How long would that take? A month? A year? I need to go now. Knox will meet someone he’s serious about—it’s time.

How many things had to fall into place for him to end up sitting in front of the stage I perform on every night of my life?

If ever there was a moment to seize, it’s right here and now.

This is it.

But still, as I look at dad, I’m pulled by the love I have for him.

“Why don’t you come with me?” I say, “We’ll find you a rehab and get you the therapy you need. Get the old Pete back.”

He sits down at the table with a defeated sigh, “I just need one big win. Tell me, what’s your plan?”

I try again. I’ll always try. “Dad you can make a change. This could be our fresh start.”

And that’s it. This is what always happens, I mention rehab, and he says just the right thing to placate me. His gruff demeanor morphs into a smile and he pats the hand I have on his shoulder, “No, you can’t roll up with me in tow. Go get settled and I’ll get better. I’ll find you when I’m all fixed up. When I’m the dad you can be proud of.”

My stomach drops at his empty promises. The only words I’ve ever truly been able to believe are when he tells me that he loves me. Everything else out of his mouth is a half-truth or a lie.

He embraces me, and I of course, let him. He smells like the body spray that’s been on sale recently in the Walgreens down the block, and suddenly I lose all my bravado. All the ways I’ve talked myself into heading for New York, I’m now talking myself out of.

Spiraling back into fixer mode. Caregiver mode.

Enabler mode.

I don’t want to leave him like this, especially if he’s on a bad run. He’s only taken money from me a handful of times, so this isn’t a good sign.

Usually, it’s me picking up the slack when he can’t make deadlines or comes up short. My resolve slips as this starts to feel way too selfish. I can just call Casey’s number back on a pay phone and tell him I can’t make it work this month and try again when things aren’t so bad.

I mean, they’re always bad but I think this is one of those times when I should just suck it up, continue to work my ass off, and get us through the next few months.

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