Mama used to say people were born with a strong sense of right and wrong. That you could teach ethical behavior but mostly it was an innate thing people either had or didn’t have. She’d usually pull this little pearl of wisdom out when explaining why I either shouldn’t be upset with Daddy or Ashley-Leigh.
I think in retrospect, she was also describing me—I really couldn’t abide by any wrongdoing. It just went against the grain for me. Like when I was twelve and turned those high school boys in for playing baseball with a hapless frog they found on the field, or when Ronnie and his buddies put gum in that mentally handicapped boy’s hair. I’d spent my whole lunch working it out with some ice.
And the plain truth was: I’d taken enough crap from Daddy in my short lifetime to fertilize every field within a twenty-mile radius. Being the constant recipient of wrongdoing had taken a toll on my affections for my father, and seeing it dished out to my undeserving little brother made it even worse.
The broken pump finally trickled enough water into the tank to sustain the cattle for the next couple of days. I set my chemistry notes aside (that I wasn’t studying anyway). It’s like my brain only had room for a finite amount of problems, and my quota was already filled. Falling out of the truck on heavy legs, I climbed up the railroad cross-tie—that doubled as a ladder—to shut off the switch. The only illumination on this dark night was from the sorry beam of light shining from the one working headlight. So I was standing on a precarious pole, with stakes driven into the side, in virtual darkness, while Daddy was kicked back at home “minding the boys.”
Where was the justice?
A bubble of curse words reserved for boys’ locker rooms erupted from my mouth because the last stake in the pole had just fallen out of the worn divot, causing me to lose both my footing and my temper. I fell the last few feet, landing roughly in cow-trampled muck. Then took an indulgent moment to holler and kick it around until Blue came trotting over warily to make sure I was still in one piece. I accepted his slobbery kisses, feeling plain grateful to him on this lonely night.
“Come on, boy.” I chauffeured the door open for him. “Let’s get home.”
I got back filthy, exhausted, and with that feeling of dread that always accompanied having to confront my father. I had to remind him about the broken pump (for the fifth or sixth time), confront him about not being part of Andrew’s meetings anymore, and try to strike while the iron was hot regarding my car’s transmission. My righteous indignation would have to be put away for now, or else I would end up spewing a lifetime of pent-up vitriol all over him. And likely get nothing in return except for being shoved even further into the background . . . until I would be no more visible than our outdated floral wallpaper.
When I trudged in, the first thing I saw was socked feet. Propped up. In front of the TV. And a popcorn bowl balanced on a full belly. My hands started to shake at this cozy repose, but I held myself in check. Taking in a yoga-worthy breath, I said, “Daddy? Can we discuss a few things before I go to bed?”
After a few moments of noisy crunching, he sighed dramatically, set his popcorn aside, and actually clicked pause to face me. “First off Katie-girl, I wanted to talk to you about yer manners this afternoon.”
Doh! When would I ever learn not to let my temper get the best of me?
“I wanted to commend you on yer nice thank-you to Cadet Davenport.”
Say what?
“He really did us a favor. And he has alotta influence over yer brother’s future. So I was glad to see you were extry nice. . . . I was afraid at first you was gonna act like an ungrateful brat seein’ as how you’re again’ his Academy. But you didn’t.” Daddy gave me a sharp, approving nod. “I wanted to let you know I made note of that.”
That was . . . weird. Like I said only a fool. I took this as a good sign and a good place to start, so went to sit on the couch next to his recliner. I tried an honest-to-God smile. “I wanted to start off apologizin’ to you for my behavior these past couple of weeks,” I began. “I’ve been pretty depressed at the thought of losin’ Andrew. But I know you’d never sign your own flesh and blood away to some fancy boardin’ school—even if it is military, so I decided not to worry so much about it anymore.”
I gave Daddy the puppy-dog eyes that had served me well as a child and excused me from more than a few spankings then followed up with sweet words: “I also realize now that you’re right about my job at the diner.” The one-two punch had his face going slack at once. A smile was still spreading across his lips until I said, “I’ll quit come January so we can start visitin’ Andrew on the weekends.”
Daddy’s jaw went from slack to un-hinged.
“I really look forward to spendin’ a lot more time with you from now on . . . Especially on all those road trips—you, me, Mikey—all singin’ our way to California together. It’ll be a real bondin’ experience for us!” My final move was reaching across the divide to embrace his rigid frame. And that’s about the time the recliner went down and Daddy stood up. Pretty spry for a crippled guy.
“Now hold up there a minute!” he spluttered. “That’s kinda puttin’ the cart before the horse ain’t it? I mean nothin’s set in stone yet. Quit countin’ yer chickens before they’re hatched!” Daddy’s face had extra splotches, and three idioms in a row was a new record . . . totally had him on the ropes. I only wished Mikey were here, so we could tag team him with unwanted hugs.
“Why do you say that, Daddy?” Angelic smile. “Are you concerned about Andrew bein’ accepted now? Is there somethin’ botherin’ you about that . . . institution?”
“No, no, nothin’ like that . . . I think we both know our Andrew’s a shoo-in.” Daddy paused so I could share a conspirator’s smile with him. “I just haven’t quite determined that he has to go right this year. Been thinkin’ back and forth about maybe . . .”—a spring of hope rose in my chest— “askin’ them about waitin’. You know—not long. Oh, what’s it called when you wait a year or two?”
“Deferrin’,” I put in.
“That’s it.” He finger-gunned me. “Deferrin’. Maybe an extry year or two at the most. Think ‘round a decade old seems ‘bout right.”
I knew enough not to jump up and do the happy dance yet. Was that RPA letter what had finally slowed him down? That’s probably why they sent a fat check alongside it. So it would go down easier. A little sugar with the bitter pill parents had to swallow to give up their parental rights.
I nodded my head and said my father’s favorite words in the whole wide world: “Whatever you think is best, Daddy.”
He took a fortifying sip from his tumbler. “Yep. A lot to think on, Katie-girl.”
After a moment of letting him think on things he should be thinking on, I added an extra layer of sugar on top. “I know that Drewy doesn’t voice it a lot, but he’s sure gonna miss his Daddy up there at that fancy boardin’ school.”
I uncrossed my fingers and decided to end the conversation right there, skip over the other two topics all together tonight. Nothing made Daddy madder than coming home to problems . . . except for having his playoff game interrupted by problems. So I did something I hadn’t done in forever—I pressed my lips to his scruffy cheek.