The Good Father

Nerves tense, heart pounding, Brett slipped into old habits, zeroing in on the mundane. The thoughts and words that were least threatening.

Jeff had been an average student. Chloe had excelled. But that only made one a better student than the other...

“And it’s not like you’ve never lost your cool, or said things you aren’t proud of,” Jeff said.

Brett’s shoulders relaxed. Maybe he should go...

“I’ve never called you an effin’ liar.” Chloe stumbled over the words.

“Would you just stop?” A new tone had entered Jeff’s voice. A tone Brett had never heard before. One that kept him standing at the door. “Why do you have to go on and on and on? It’s like you remember every bad thing I’ve ever done!”

“I’m only talking about the past hour, Jeff. You’ve threatened to divorce me if I don’t come home. To have me charged with fraud for saying that our home is my address when I’m not living there.”

“Stop!”

Brett heard the word just as Chloe screamed out, “Jeff!” and Brett burst through the door.

Jeff had been closest to him and the force with which Brett pushed into the room knocked him back, stopping him just before his raised hand made contact with his wife’s face.

Like a slow-motion movie, everyone just stood there. Frozen.

Jeff’s hand suspended, Chloe ducking and Brett breathing fire.

In the next second, or countless seconds later, Jeff’s hand fell slowly to his side. Brett could feel every inch of the descent. Chloe, crying, ran from the room.

And Brett...couldn’t leave.

The look of horror, of utter terror, on his friend’s face held Brett in place.

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” Hands over his head, Jeff fell to the bed. Rocking back and forth. “What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done?”

Brett couldn’t comfort him. If he hadn’t come in when he did, Jeff would have hit his wife.

That wasn’t okay. Jeff wasn’t okay. His marriage could very well be over.

The man rocked. His body shook, and Brett knew he was crying.

And remembered a night more than fifteen years earlier. He’d been a freshman college student, had had a call from his father who was in jail, wanting him to bail him out. He hadn’t done it. For his mother’s sake.

His father had been crying, too. Asking for Brett’s help. He’d turned his back. On his own father.

But he’d called his mother. Thinking she’d be thankful enough that she’d start talking to him again. Let him back in her life.

She hadn’t responded.

He’d just lost his sister, and that night he knew he’d lost both of his parents, as well.

He’d started to cry. Jeff had come in. Brett had pretended to be asleep. Praying that Jeff would either go to bed or get what he’d come in for and leave.

It turned out that he’d come in for Brett. Because he’d known that Brett had refused to help his father. He’d known, even though Brett hadn’t said so, that leaving his father in jail—no matter how much the asshole had deserved it—made Brett feel dirty.

Jeff hadn’t asked Brett to go get drunk. He hadn’t made a joke or shrugged off the situation. He’d laid a hand on Brett’s shoulder. Told him he’d get through it. And he’d sat with him for the rest of the night, listening to the horror stories of the previous eight years of Brett’s life.

Moving slowly, worrying about Chloe, wishing Ella was there, Brett approached the bed. Sat down. Put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder.

“You need help, man,” he said. “You gotta get help.”

Jeff stilled. He quit crying. But he didn’t meet Brett’s gaze. “The tension...it just gets... I tell myself everything will be fine. I remind myself that everyone else works and raises a family. That my challenges aren’t the end of the world. That there are others so much worse off. Others who handle so much more. I think of the good times. And still...the tension builds.”