Swear (Landry Family 4)
Maybe not for him. But there has for me.
It takes all the courage I have to turn my head to face him again. I paint a smile on my face and even manage a laugh. “Let’s eat these sandwiches before they get soggy.”
He wants to press the issue, but smartly decides to let it go. We go about unwrapping our picnic in silence.
“Listen to what happened at work today . . .”
Ford begins a story about how a contract almost fell through, but he managed to save it in the end. I stop listening after the first couple of sentences and just nod and smile every now and then.
His cologne fills the air and weaves with the pine scent from the trees around us. My gaze drifts to the dock to my right and I think back to the little girl I was so many summers ago, the little girl that was broken by a boy that moved along to something better.
I’m not her anymore.
Ellie
“DAD?” THE SCREEN DOOR SQUEAKS as I enter the house. The television is on, his chair pulled out, but he’s nowhere in sight. “Dad?”
My stomach pulls as I head through the house. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end, the result of the odd vibe in the home I grew up in.
The dining room looks normal, everything in place. I turn into the living room and call out again, “Daddy?”
My mom’s Christmas cactus sits beneath the window undisturbed. The throw pillows that I don’t think have been moved since I moved them last are perched where I left them. The remote control is on the armrest of the recliner. Dad is gone.
“Dad!” I’m digging in my pocket for my phone when I let out a shriek. “Ah!”
I fall into the wall, a picture of me as a little girl shaking against the paneling with the force. “You scared the crap out of me!”
Dad stands in the bathroom doorway, looking shaken. A yellow washcloth is held over his forearm, a small scrape marring his cheek.
“What’s wrong?” I gasp, getting to my feet and rushing towards him. My heart is pounding, veering out of control.
“Oh, nothing,” he grumbles. “I fell out in the garden. Didn’t see the rake and went sailing into the zucchini.”
“Are you okay?” My purse hits the floor with a thud. Much to his dismay, I peel back the cloth and take a look. The wound isn’t deep, but looks nasty anyway. “Did you put stuff on this?”
“Yes,” he sighs like I’m ridiculous. “It’s a scrape, Ellie.”
“Is your face okay?” I reach to touch it and he pulls away.
“I’m fine.” With a shake of his head, he marches by me. Grabbing my purse, I sling it over my shoulder and follow him.
“You don’t need all that zucchini anyway,” I huff as we enter the kitchen. “Just let it rot to the ground.”
He sits in his chair in the kitchen, slumping in defeat. He refuses to look at me, so I know I have to tread lightly. He clams up if he doesn’t want to talk. If that’s the case, I could sit here for ten hours and get not a word from the stubborn man.
So, I change tactics. “How’s the garden? Besides the damn zucchini,” I ask, sliding into the chair by the fridge.
“Tomatoes are coming out of my ears. Want some?”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the television. “I put a bag on the porch hoping you’d come by. Better use ’em up quick.”
Picking up a lighter on the table, I fiddle with it. I’ve had an edgy, distracted twitch all day.
After Ford dropped me off yesterday and I told him I had a headache and he should probably just go home, I’ve been a ball of nervous energy. There’s an overwhelming feeling that I’m on the cusp of a major fall and I can’t stop it. That no matter how hard I claw away at the rocks on the face of the cliff, it won’t make a difference. I’ll free fall anyway.
“Finished painting Halcyon today,” I tell my father. “It looks really good. Want to take a ride and see it?”