“Sure.” He was trying to be nice to me about it, and I appreciated the effort, but it was too late to take it back. They needed space because I’d irrevocably fucked up Christmas Day. “Just a few hours.”
I turned before he could waste any more time trying to apologize for something that was my fault.
…
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Not setting up the call—I didn’t regret that, not really. Maybe I should have, but what I really regretted was forgetting to talk to Hal about it. I’d blindsided him with this, and that was damaging. I didn’t want to set him up for future trouble with the girls, but reaching out to their mother was important to them. And it was Christmas. If they couldn’t get a free pass for conversation today, when could they?
I hadn’t spoken to my father since leaving Edgewood. Thought about it? Yes, many times. Especially during the first years, but less and less as I grew up. Seeing him again, though, it made me wonder. What would I say to him now?
But no, that was a dumb idea. Wasn’t it?
Would it be so bad to reach out to him? It was clear he wasn’t coping well in the aftermath of his bad decisions—instead, they were compounding, making him into a mockery of who he once was. But I still remembered the good times, the times when my father had been Dad and not Mayor Robertson who drove under the influence and got someone killed.
Maybe…maybe he’d like to see me.
Maybe it would help bring us both a little joy on Christmas.
I wasn’t as familiar with the part of town Dinah had let slip Dad lived in now, so it took a few wrong turns for me to find the place. It was a trailer park, a pretty nice one right on the edge of the forest. A lot of the homes were decorated for the holiday, and there were lights sparkling in the trees even though it was almost noon. His place was in the second loop, close to the back. There were no decorations here, and the shrubs out in front were so threadbare that the snow didn’t have enough to cling to.
I parked the Jeep behind a twenty-year-old Dodge truck covered in pockmarks from hail damage, turned off the engine, and tried to breathe. Inhale, exhale, everything was okay. I could do this. I just had to walk right up there, knock on the door, and see what happened.
I got out of the car, walked up the creaking steps to the front door, and after a long pause, knocked on the screen. No immediate response, but I could hear the television playing inside. It sounded like he was watching It’s A Wonderful Life. I smiled to myself—that had been a Christmas tradition in my house, one of the few times I could reliably count on both my parents to sit down and watch a movie with me. I knocked again. And again.
“Coming! God dammit, I’m coming already.” Steps plodded in my direction, and a moment later, the door opened up. The man standing in front of me made my breath stall. Jesus Christ…up close, it was like he’d aged thirty years, not ten.
My father’s full head of salt-blond hair had thinned so much there wasn’t even enough of it to comb over the top of his scalp. He’d gained a tire around his middle, but his face was oddly gaunt, skin hanging beneath his jawline and eyes like tiny bruised flags. He was wearing a stained white undershirt and a pair of old jogging shorts that were too small for him now, and he had a bottle of beer dangling from its neck in one hand. He reeked of alcohol, though, more than a single beer could provide.
He blearily looked me up and down with a frown on his face then said, “Who the hell are you?”
In all my worst ideas of how a meeting with my dad might go, I’d never pictured him not knowing who I was. Shouting at me, sure. Asking me for money, possibly. Guilt-tripping me as hard as he could, which had been par for the course before—absolutely. But in no universe did I think he’d be so far gone when I came face to face with him that he wouldn’t recognize me.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t find my voice, and after a second, my father snorted and said, “Look, whatever yer sellin’, I don’t…don’ fuckin’ want any, got it? S’fuckin’ Christmas. Can’t a man get a break from you vultures?” Then he stepped back and shut the door in my face.
I didn’t knock again.
Stumbling down the steps, I made it back to the Jeep and stared out the windshield for a few long minutes, wrapping my head around what had just happened. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, maybe, but the shock of it left me numb.
I wanted to call Dominic, to ask him to tell me something good; nonsense would be fine—just to hear his voice, something warm enough to break me out of the icy shroud wrapped around my whole body. But I couldn’t do that. I didn’t have the right to seek his comfort after what had happened earlier.
Well, shit. This unplanned holiday vacation had turned out to be a complete and utter disaster. I should’ve just gone back to the city, but now I had to wait. It was way too early for me to head back to Hal’s and slink up to my room. They needed time, and now I did, too.
So I drove to the nearest trailhead. I wasn’t really dressed for a long walk, but I definitely had the boots for it. I needed to clear my head, and the park was the perfect place to do it. I hoped it would be as empty as I felt, because trying to genuinely wish someone a Merry Christmas right now? Might just break me.
Chapter Twelve
Dominic
“It’s getting dark.”
“I know.” There was no way I could not know that at this point, I was staring out the window so often.
“And Max still isn’t back,” Hal went on, inexorably, hammering out his observations like a damn battering ram.
“I know.” As if I didn’t feel Max’s absence with every square inch of my skin.
“This is not okay, Nicky.”
“Fucking hell!” I stopped pacing and spun around to face my brother, glad that the girls were over at Phee’s house right now, letting Baby play with her ancient chihuahua. “I know that, Hal! You think the fact that he’s out there somewhere is making me happy? Because it’s not!” My hands clenched into fists, and I had to remind myself to breathe. “I told him we needed a little space for a while, that’s all. I didn’t tell him to drive off for hours on end.”
Hal closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand, a sure sign he was getting a headache. When the migraines came, they hit him hard, and I was caught between wanting to make him go lie down and yelling at him for making this whole thing out to be my fault. Which it wasn’t, even if it didn’t feel that way right now. “I was trying to look out for you,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice soft.
“I appreciate that,” Hal said, and I could tell it wasn’t just a line from the sound of his voice, “but I was already looking out for myself. That’s why I went outside, to get the worst of it out where the girls couldn’t see it, and so I didn’t give in and start shouting at Max.”