“Okay. Bye.” He disconnects before she says another word.
I sip my iced coffee and shake my head at him.
“What?”
“It’s polite to wait until the person on the other end of the line has a chance to say goodbye too before you cut them off.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
*
Ellen
My dad gives me a questioning glance. His speech is still impaired, so I rely on looks and his nifty whiteboard. In the past two weeks his motor control over his right hand has improved enough to write me messages.
I grin as he reaches for his whiteboard.
“It was Harrison. I sent him a holiday card, and he just got it today.”
And his dad?
“Flint. What about him?”
My dad frowns as if I should know exactly what he’s asking me.
When are you going home?
“This is home. I told you.”
He pushes the white rag over the board to erase his words and write new ones.
Do you love him?
“I love you.” I get out of the chair and bend over, kissing him on the head.
He reaches a shaky hand for my wrist.
I sigh. This is not a conversation worth having right now.
He scribbles more words.
I don’t want to be your job. A burden.
“I’ve already started looking for someone to take you to your appointments during the day. And I have new business cards ordered. I’m going to make house calls. What do you think about that?”
Do you love him?
“I’m not leaving you. That would mean putting you in a care facility. You won’t get better there. That’s where old people go to die. You’re not even sixty yet.”
He holds up the whiteboard again.
I sigh. “Do I love him? Yes. And I love you and my rat babies and chocolate. I’ve got a lot of love to give. You know what else I love? Tacos. So I’m going to make tacos for dinner.”
“El … len …”
I stop, halfway to the kitchen. It still frustrates the hell out of him to try to talk. Speech therapy is his least favorite part of the day, so when he does attempt to talk, I know it’s something very important to him.
Turning around, I kneel beside his chair, giving him my full attention as his hand scribbles and scribbles.
Tell him to wait for you. I’m going to get better for YOU. If you love him, don’t let him get away.
I can’t ask Flint to wait indefinitely for me. I won’t give him false hope. “I know you’re going to get better. I’ve made sure you have the best therapists helping you. But you won’t get better if I abandon you. If I’m meant to be with Flint then …” I shrug.
Then what?
“Besides, when did you become a Flint fan? I thought you were still holding onto your far-fetched dream of Alex and me reconciling.”
He erases his writing and pulls the cap off his marker.
Ron said Alex treated you badly.
I never told my father just how badly Alex treated me. It was my need to protect Alex in spite of everything he said to me, and I wanted to protect my dad too. He and Alex’s dad, Ron, have been friends for many years.
I give my dad a painful smile. He wipes the board and writes again.
Don’t lie to me.
“Yes. Alex said a lot of things that weren’t nice. I knew it was the pain and anger talking, but … I saw no end in sight, and he wanted me to leave. He wanted a divorce.”
You deserve better.
I nod. “I do.”
Don’t let “better” go.
I laugh. “When you ditch the dry erase board and climb the stairs unassisted without falling, we’ll talk about my love life. I’m young and incredibly good looking like my mom was.” I wink at him and he grins. “So there’s no need for me to tag a man like a Christmas tree. If he’s here when I’m ready, then we’re meant to be. If not, I’ll find another one.”
Another frown from my dad, but I’m fine with his frowns. It takes more facial muscles to frown than to smile, so if I upset him, it’s good exercise for some of those injured nerves.
He draws a Z-shaped Christmas tree.
There are more good trees than there are good men.
I laugh. “True. I won’t argue with you there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Flint
“Rats!” Harrison pulls the red bow and white blanket off the cage.
“What in God’s name …” Heidi’s mom, Sandy, covers her mouth with her hand.
“They’re rats, Grandma. Just like Ellen has.”
“Who’s Ellen?”
“I told you she gave me the guitar and parachuted. She also had sex with Dad and she bakes the best chocolate chip cookies ever.”
My parents cringe as Harrison spews off random facts about Ellen like it’s her résumé. Sandy doesn’t look too happy. I have this feeling Harrison probably mentioned the guitar and maybe the skydiving, but the sex is news to her—and not the good kind of news.
“Are they male or female?” Harrison asks.
“A word, Flint?” Sandy stands.
“Here, buddy.” My dad gets on the floor by the tree with Harrison to give him the rat information.
I follow Sandy into my office.
“The only reason I gave you custody of Harrison was because I thought you were ready to be a mature father, but—”
“Whoa! Gave me custody? The reason I finished getting my law degree was to get him back without you airing my dirty laundry to the whole damn world. I fought for him. You did not give anything to me.”
She steps closer, holding up her finger. “I made you fight for him to prove you had what it took. I needed to know you were in it for the long haul. I needed to know you weren’t going to give up on your son, who not only needs a father but someone who can help him with his special needs—the way his mother would have done.”
Sandy’s biggest regret has always been my saving grace, even if it’s all fucked-up. She encouraged Heidi to trust my judgment that night. She should not have. It’s her guilt that kept me out of prison. She could have insisted they check my blood alcohol level right after the accident, but she didn’t. Shock, grief, and guilt kept her from saying anything to anyone. In the meantime, the alcohol cleared my system while paramedics focused on my son and my wife.
The accident left me unscathed on the outside but dead on the inside.
She filed for custody after we buried Heidi. It was too late to prove that my alcoholism caused the accident, but it wasn’t too late to save her grandson from any more grief.
I didn’t even fight her; I let her take him because I was fucked-up in every way possible.
“Harrison says everything out of context. You know that.”
“So you didn’t have sex with this Ellen person?”
“My sex life is none of your business.”
“Maybe not, but my grandson talking like he lives in a brothel is certainly my business.”
“A brothel? Really?” I try not to chuckle.
“Did you tell him you had sex with this woman or did he see you having sex with her?”
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Her name is Ellen, not ‘this woman,’ and I’m not going to discuss this with you. He’s my son. My responsibility. I will raise him as I see fit.”