“Well if it ain’t the big man himself.” The rusted out voice creaks through the shade on the porch, drawing my attention to the right. There, Uncle Parker squints up at me from the swing occupying the one flat spot on his sagging front stoop. “Alive and in the flesh.”
“I just got back in town a couple of days ago.” I stand at the bottom of the porch steps. Given the way things ended the last time we spoke, I’m not inclined to get any closer to my uncle until he proves he’s in a good mood. I’ve put on thirty pounds of muscle since the last time we came to blows, but Parker fights dirty, and I’d really rather not be sporting a black eye my first day at my new job. I’ve still got a few weeks before I start, but my uncle hits hard enough to make bruises linger. “I thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to get some catfish for lunch.”
“Already ate,” Parker says, not moving from his chair. “Is that all you want?”
So much for a heart-warming reunion.
Good thing I wasn’t expecting one.
I force a smile. “All right, then. Maybe next time. In any case, I figured I’d pick up the boat while I was here.”
Parker grunts. He looks older than the night I left, and certainly older than his forty-six years. He’s lost weight and his sunbaked skin hangs loose on his sharp face, emphasizing the shadows beneath his eyes. But otherwise, he’s the same. Same thinning black hair perpetually in need of a cut, same thin lips and lanky frame, same expression of sour amusement when he looks at his only nephew.
I’m not surprised he isn’t getting out of his chair to welcome home family he hasn’t seen in years. He didn’t bother getting off his ass to attend my graduation, either. Not a single one of them, not even from Bliss River High, and that’s only five miles down the road.
Back when I was an eighteen-year-old kid, still secretly longing for approval, or at least someone to notice that I was graduating at the top of my class, that had hurt.
Now, knowing my uncle isn’t interested in my life is a relief.
I made a move toward reconciliation. If he’s determined to stay estranged from each other, that’s fine with me. Less chance of being embarrassed if our paths happen to cross in town.
Parker doesn’t go to town often, but when he does, he’s usually drunk and looking to get into trouble with his loser friends down at Buddy’s.
“Don’t know why you’d need the boat,” he says after a moment, scraping his thumb across the stubble on his chin. “Didn’t think a fancy doctor like you would have time for fishing.”
“I don’t start work until the middle of June. I took some time off after my residency.”
“Ain’t that nice.” He bares his teeth in another smart ass grin, like my success is a hysterical joke only he can fully understand. “Some time off from all that soft work. Going to take some of your faggot friends out on the lake to celebrate?”
“I’m going to take Lark fishing later this afternoon,” I say, refusing to give him the reaction he’s looking for. He knows I have gay friends, and he knows I hate it when he talks that way. But I’m not going to get mad or offended or anything else. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
He’s clearly pissed that I’ve proven him wrong. For as long as I can remember, he’s been telling anyone who would listen that I’d never make it through med school. It must really burn his ass knowing I finally have that M.D. after my name, even after he sent me off to school looking so rough around the edges most of my classmates wouldn’t talk to me until the end of our first semester.
But they eventually realized that I wasn’t trouble.
I just came from trouble, which is a whole different thing. You can’t help where you come from, but you can help where you end up.
My uncle is sitting here alone and miserable in a termite-infested shit hole because he never had the guts to dream of something better. I’ll never sleep on that mildew-scented mattress in his back room again because I did.
“You still seeing that March girl, then?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Parker’s jaw works back and forth, the way it does when he is chewing on something to see if it tastes like the truth. If it doesn’t, it’s grounds to unleash the poison always on the tip of his tongue. “Really? That’s hard to believe.”
“Believe what you want,” I say with a shrug. “It’s the truth.”
“The truth,” he echoes, his flat blue eyes going narrow and mean. “The truth I heard was that girl cried for an entire year after you left. Sobbing until she made herself sick.” His lips hook up on one side. “You sure pulled the wool over her eyes, didn’t you, boy? She thought you were a real decent little bastard.” He chuckles. “Turns out you’re just a bastard.”
I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the fight he’s spoiling for. “I’m not discussing Lark with you. I just came to see if you wanted lunch and to make sure the boat was in good shape before I took it out on the lake.”
His nose wrinkles, but after a moment, he settles deeper into the porch swing with a shrug. “See for yourself. It’s in the barn. Was fine the last time I took it out.”
“Thanks.” I step back, but before I can turn around he launches his next attack.
“Should have just taken it. We both know you didn’t want to buy me no lunch.”
“I didn’t want to give you an excuse to come after me with your shotgun, either,” I snap. “Figured letting you know I was on the property was the safest bet.”
“Speaking of shotguns, I’m sure Lark March’s daddy would like to take a shot or two at you, boy. He know you’re messing around with his little girl again?” he asks, clearly not ready to let his favorite verbal punching bag go just yet.
Uncle Parker is no stranger to physical violence—much like stepdad numbers four or seven—but growing up, I swear my uncle’s words hurt more than any black eye. A bruise heals and stepdad number four, at least, was always sorry once he sobered up and realized he’d taken out his frustrations on a kid half his size.
But Parker never feels remorse, and he always knows where to target a verbal assault where it will do the most damage. He’s mean and bitter and has a chip on his shoulder the size of Georgia about the lousy lot life has dealt him, but he isn’t stupid.
“I bet he doesn’t,” he continues when I don’t answer. “If he did, he’d run you out of town so quick you’d mess those nice pants of yours. Bob always knew trash like you wasn’t good enough for one of his classy little bitches. You ask me, it’s only a matter of time before that girl figures it out, too.”
“I’m going to get the boat,” I grit out, reminding myself that he’s saying those things about Lark to get a rise out of me, and if I take the bait then he wins.
And I refuse to let him win. Or ruin anything else for me.
Not now. Not ever again.
“Good.” His mouth pulls into a frown. “Take it, and don’t bring it back. I don’t want your shit taking up space in my barn anymore. You bring it back here, and I’m selling it for whatever I can get.”
“Sounds good.” I turn my back on him, knowing if I stay much longer I’ll lose all the ground I gained in therapy and let him drag me back into the dirt with him.