Chapter 6
Marcus insisted on walking me out to the parking lot, which was more than fine with me. I retrieved my lunchbox and purse from the van and slugged down the rest of the brain smoothie as I walked to my little Honda Civic. By the time I reached my car the cuts on my wrists had healed up, and my mood in general was much improved.
My dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway when I got home. I sat there for a minute without getting out of the car while I looked at the house and considered my options. Dad and I had spent the last two weeks getting the house cleaned up a bit, though there was still a long way to go. The crushed beer cans “paving” the driveway had taken three full days to rake up and get into bags, and I’d borrowed a weed whacker from Marcus and managed to tear through about a quarter of the overgrown weeds in the side yard before running out of the string. It’s also possible there’d been plenty of string left and that I quit and ran shrieking when I uncovered a snake that was in the process of eating a mouse.
The first thing I saw was that the bags of crushed cans were gone from the porch. I had zero doubt that Dad had taken them down to the recycling center to see what cash he could get for them. Probably a decent amount, considering how many we’d had. However, I also knew that the recycling center closed at six, and it was almost midnight now.
Dad didn’t have a job. And I was pretty sure he wasn’t out buying groceries, not at this hour.
I silently measured my exhaustion level, then sighed, backed out, and headed down the highway. I didn’t really expect to see his truck at Pillar’s Bar, but I was a bit surprised that it wasn’t at Kaster’s, his usual hangout. Of course he knows I’ll be looking for him.
I finally spotted the beat up truck at Puzzles Bar. I almost didn’t see it, and if I hadn’t been looking hard I certainly wouldn’t have spied it parked all the way in the back and tucked behind the dumpster. I pulled into the lot, but once again, didn’t immediately get out. Should I even go in and confront him? Or, maybe not even confront him, but….
Shit. I squeezed my eyes shut and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. This was going to suck no matter what I did. I could ignore the fact that he was drinking—ignoring it was what I’d pretty much always done, ’cause, godalmighty, it was so much easier and less stressful and less painful.
But that’s what I’ve always done. Hey, Angel, how’d that work out for ya?
Sighing, I turned off the engine and got out of my car. Either way this was going to suck, but this way I was in control of the suck.
At least that’s what I told myself.
The interior was lit primarily with various neon beer signs and the two TVs positioned at either corner of the long bar. It wasn’t a big place. It didn’t need much more. The bar itself was about twenty feet long, but there was only room for four tables beyond that. This was the sort of place you went by yourself, when all you wanted to do was sit and drink and pretend to watch TV.
Dad saw me pretty much as soon as I saw him. I watched the emotions crawl across his face—shame, anger, defiance, resignation. Hell, it was like the stages of grief.
I plastered a smile onto my face and headed toward him. The smile caught him off guard; it was clear he was expecting me to be pissed or resentful. And I was, but I wasn’t about to show it.
“Hey, Dad,” I said as I slid onto the stool next to him. “Saw your truck as I was driving by and figured I’d come in and say hi.”
He looked confused, but only for an instant. He wasn’t stupid by any stretch. “Yeah, right. You saw the cans gone, you knew I had money. How many bars you check before y’found me?”
I shrugged. “Five. Maybe six.”
He lifted his beer after a second’s hesitation, took a defiant gulp. “So what now. You drag me back home like a fucking kid?”
“I’m not your enemy. And I’m not your jailer. I can’t make you come home, and I can’t make you stop drinking.” I shrugged. “I just want you to know I’m in your life no matter what.”
He set the beer down, scowled at me. “Where’d you learn to fight so dirty?”
I grinned, then nodded to the bartender. “Coke, please.”
Dad scowled, rolled his eyes, pushed the beer away. “Larry, give me the same.”
We sat in silence for a while, drinking our respective non-alcoholic drinks. It wasn’t exactly a companionable silence, but it wasn’t quite hostile either.
“I dunno what to do, baby,” he said after a while. “I didn’t wake up this morning and decide to go cash in the cans and then go get a drink.” He muttered a curse. “Damn it, I went to cash in the cans, and I was gonna buy a new damn lawnmower, surprise you.”
I had to smile. I believed him. “Those fuckers are expensive now.”
“More than I expected. I mean they had some cheap ones, but I’m too old and tired to be pushing a lawnmower around, and I was hoping to get a self-propelled one.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “So I left the store and instead of just going home and thinking about it, I decide I’m pissed and I need a drink.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know what that’s like.” I didn’t bring up the possibility of rehab. We’d talked about it. He’d even agreed to do it, but we couldn’t afford it. That was it, plain and simple. Rehab was expensive, and Dad didn’t have health insurance. And don’t get me started on the state-run facilities. The only other option was AA. I wasn’t a big fan of the preachiness of Alcoholics Anonymous, but at least it was affordable. Not that he’d gone to a meeting yet.
“I’m sorry I’m such a piece of shit, Angelkins,” he mumbled, gazing with hound dog eyes at the bubbles in his Coke.
“What do you want me to say to that, Dad?” I said, showing a bit of my anger for the first time. “That’s such a bullshit statement. You want me to feel sorry for you? I feel sorry for you the same way I feel sorry for me. We both got fucked in a lot of ways, but at the same time we fucked ourselves. Or do you just want forgiveness? ’Cause, to be honest, if all you want is forgiveness you gotta know that I sure as shit wouldn’t be here right now if you didn’t have it.”
My dad blinked at me. “I ain’t near drunk enough to handle how much you’ve changed.”