Chapter 57
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and Holly’s decked out in a silky gold blouse, black gaucho-type pants, and sandals with straps that twine up past her ankles. You’d think she’s going to brunch with some of her upscale girlfriends instead of just entertaining her wayward, black-sheep brother. But I guess since it’s so rare that we even get together she wants to make an occasion of it.
Out we go to the deck overlooking the pool. She probably thinks if we stay inside I’ll set something on fire. On the table, there’s a plate of fruit and a pitcher of iced tea, which, of course, is unnecessary for me since I have my big 7UP.
As we sit at the table, she goes, “How do you like the way we’ve relandscaped back here?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “At first, we had a terrible time with the people we hired to do it, but, you know, I made it very clear what I wanted and when I wanted it done by, and if they didn’t like it, I’d simply hire someone else. Oh, there was some muttering under their breath, but they got the work done. I think it turned out wonderfully.”
“It’s fantastic,” I say in a mock-chipper way. I’m sure she’s trying to postpone the dad conversation for as long as possible, but I’m really not in the mood for small talk.
She presses on with it, though. “Kevin wanted an apple tree, but I had to put my foot down and tell him it wasn’t practical. Besides, I really don’t like the way they look.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, surveying the yard. “Apple trees are so yesterday. Anyway, like I said on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about Dad.”
As quick as changing a TV channel, she goes from fruittray, gaucho-wearing hostess back to being the big sister again. “Oh, Sutter, I don’t know why you want to dredge that up.”
“Dredge? Come on, Holly, Dad’s not something you
dredge.
He was a good guy. Remember how he used to tell us stories out in the tent in the backyard?”
“That was mostly you. I was a little old for backyard stories by the time he got that ratty old tent.”
“Well, you remember that vacation we took to Mexico? Dad could speak a little Spanish and he’d have us go up to people and ask them questions like, ‘Where can we find the belt buckle museum?’ or ‘Why is there no artichoke ice cream?’ It was hilarious. And we got those cool Mexican puppets.”
“Those questions were embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? People thought it was funny. They loved us.”
“They loved you because you were little and cute.”
“But the men loved you. The men thought you were a hot little muchacha.”
She smiles. “You think so?”
“I know so. I saw the way they looked at you when you walked away.” I don’t bother to mention that the particular guy I remember was a skinny little hombre of about fifty with more acne scars than teeth. But I know Holly has to have some warm memories of Dad. I just need to bring them out of her.
“One of the best things about Dad,” I say. “He never met a stranger.”
“That’s true.” She takes a sip of iced tea. “He did know how to make friends with people. They may not have necessarily been the right kind of people, but he did know how to make people feel good about themselves. At least for a while.”
A wistful expression flickers on her face. “I remember when I was little, before you were born, he took me trick-or-treating. It was just the two of us. I was dressed as a princess with this long, silver, spangly gown and silver tiara. Dad told me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He said that for the whole evening I was a real princess and I could do whatever I wanted to and that anything I wished would come true.”
“That’s Dad for you,” I say. “He could be magical.”
“The way he seemed to know everyone at every house we went to and talked to all the other little kids on the sidewalks, I really did feel special. I thought, I
am
a princess, and my dad’s the king of America. For a while, we sat under a tree and ate candy—he loved Almond Joys—and he told me how no Halloween monsters could ever get us because we had a magic aura wrapped around us that turned all evil into dust bunnies upon touch.”
“Yes! He told me that too.”
“And then I told him what my biggest wish was. I wished that one day we’d all live together in a giant white castle. I had it all pictured—ivy on the walls, gold furniture with red velvet cushions, Russian wolfhounds as guards. Or some kind of big dogs anyway. And do you know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Well, you’re the princess, and the princess’s wishes always come true.’”
“That’s Dad, all right. Always positive. But surely you didn’t expect to get a big white castle, did you?”
“I did at the time, sure.” Her wistful smile unravels. “But later I would have settled for just the part about us all living together. I so would’ve settled for that.”
“Yeah, me too.” Suddenly, I feel very close to Holly.
“That’s why I never really wanted to talk to you about him much, Sutter. Not just because he let us down so badly, but because I don’t want you to turn out like him.”
“But maybe it’s not his fault he couldn’t keep that promise. I mean, after all, Mom’s the one that yelled and screamed and made him move out.”
Her face pinches in with that constipated look she gets when she thinks I’ve said something stupid. “But you know what? He gave her some real good reasons to yell and scream. You were too young to know what was going on, but she confided in me. It was almost like we were sisters during that time. She told me all about how she walked up to his car—parked right in our own driveway—and found him on top of the neighbor from down the street. That’s the kind of man he is, and that’s all I need to know.”
That fast, the closeness between us evaporates.
I’m like, “How do you know that’s even true? Of course, she made him out to be the bad guy. She talks Dad down every chance she gets. You’d think he was Osama bin Laden or somebody the way she goes on. For once, I’d like to hear what he has to say on the subject.”
“Why? So he can lie to you like he lied to Mom? Like he lied to us? Remember when he was moving his things out, and he sat us down on the front porch and told us not to worry, that he’d be just across town and we could call him any time we needed him? Well, where is he?”
“That’s exactly what I want to know.”
“My point is…”
“I know what your point is. But here’s my point—it’s time I found him. I want to talk to him, really talk to him. A guy wants to know his real dad, not some robot stepfather. I’ve tried to ask Mom about where he is, but she just gives me some bullshit answer. I don’t have the same kind of relationship with her that you do. She thinks you’re like this big success.”
“Are you kidding me? She thinks you’re her shining little boy.”
“Her shining little boy? She hasn’t thought that since I was six. Now it’s more like I’m some kind of cracked knickknack or something that she can’t wait to pawn off on somebody at a garage sale. That’s why I’m here. I need you to talk to her about where Dad is for me. You’re the one that’s close to her. She’d tell you.”
“You could be close to her too, Sutter. You could be closer to me. But you’re always going around acting like you don’t need us for anything.”
“Well, I’m here now, right? I’m telling you I need you to ask Mom this one question for me.”
She looks toward the house. “She doesn’t want to talk about him, Sutter. And I don’t blame her. After the way he acted? I mean, he’s, like, the penultimate loser.”
“Penultimate means second to last.”
“What?”
“Penultimate—it doesn’t mean really, really ultimate. It means second to last. Like the penultimate week of the school year is the second-to-last one.”
“Whatever. I’m just saying, as far as Mom’s concerned, Dad’s nothing but a bad memory, and I don’t want to be the one that makes her go through all that again.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure everything that happened before we got the bigger house and the swimming pool is a bad memory for Mom. But how about this—can you at least talk to her for
me
? Could you do that? You’re always slamming me over the head with what you think I ought to do. Just once, how about helping me out with something I think is important?”
She sits there staring at the fruit tray.
“Come on,” I say. “You could call her at work right now. Tell her that Kevin’s interested in talking to him about something. That should do it. She loves Kevin.”
Holly starts to say something, then bites her lip like she’s trying to solve some complex math problem in her head. Finally, she goes, “I don’t have to call her.”
“Why not?”
She’s still looking at the fruit tray. “Because I know where he is.”
“What?”
Finally, she looks at me. “I know where he is—Fort Worth, Texas. He calls Mom probably about twice a year, drunk and asking her to get back with him. Like that could ever happen.”
“And Mom tells you this and not me?”
“Can you blame her? You always act like the whole divorce was all her fault. She’s probably afraid you’d try to run off and live with him or something.”
“Yeah, right.” I stand and grab my big 7UP off the table. “Or maybe she doesn’t want me to find out the truth about what happened. But she can’t keep that under control forever. I’m going to find out. I don’t care if I have to drive to Fort Worth to do it.”
Chapter 58
Fort Worth is only three and a half hours south of here, maybe less as fast as I’m driving. It’s a gray, cloudy day, but that’s all right. Anytime you’re on the highway cruising at eighty miles an hour, far away from school and work and parents, you can’t help but feel high and free. Also, I admit I’m excited about finally seeing the old man after all these years. Aimee’s probably twice as stoked as I am, even though we’re missing graduation.
I didn’t exactly lie about having to meet Dad on graduation weekend. He really did suggest it when we talked on the phone, not that he knew the ceremony was set for Friday night. I’m sure if I told him, he would’ve been glad to change to another date, but what would be the use? It’s not like anyone’s giving me a diploma. Mr. Asterhole came through with his threat, all right. It’s summer school for me.
Apparently, Aimee’s mom wasn’t too happy about the situation, though. I’m not sure exactly how Aimee explained it to her, but the truth is I don’t think her mom’s all that happy about me in general. The whole bad influence thing. But that’s okay. I wouldn’t expect anything else from a woman whose control over her daughter is slipping away. And that’s just what’s happening. Now that Aimee has some experience in standing up for herself, she’s turning into a real pro at it. Of course, a couple of slugs of vodka always help.
As for my mom, I simply told her the grand festivities weren’t until next week, and she never bothered to check into it. There will be plenty of time to explain the summer school situation later. I also didn’t tell her anything about going to see Dad, and I asked Holly not to mention it to her either. I don’t need Mom slamming me with some lecture on his evil ways and how I’m likely to get infected with them just by talking to him.
I do hate it that Aimee’s missing her graduation, though. She worked hard for a long time to get that diploma, but, really, what does a ceremony have to do with anything? Does she really need to parade across a stage along with a line of people who never even really knew her? Besides, it would only spoil things more for her if she knew I wasn’t graduating.
We have the music cranked and the scenery’s flying by—the low-slung clouds, the pastures, the Arbuckle Mountains of southern Oklahoma. Aimee breaks out some snacks and drinks. Nothing alcoholic. Sure, we might have a shot or two right before meeting Dad, but that’s all.
“Are you nervous about seeing him?” she asks, and I’m like, “I guess it is going to be weird to see him, but you know my policy on that.”
“You embrace the weird?”
“One hundred percent.”
“I’ll bet this is going to make your dad’s year,” she says, pointing the open end of a sack of Bugles my way.
I grab a handful and go, “He sounded pretty pumped on the phone. That’s the way he always was—gung ho about life. I remember one time going with him to the grocery store and he backed into a car in the parking lot. He didn’t get upset in the least. Instead, he treated it like an opportunity to make friends, went into the store, had the owner of the car called up to the front, gave her his insurance info, and next thing you know, they’re just gabbing away and laughing. You would’ve thought he just handed her a check for winning the lottery instead of hitting her car.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Hey, he can’t wait to meet you too.”
Okay, maybe I didn’t mention her to Dad on the phone, but you have enough on your mind talking to your long-lost dad after ten years—you can’t remember every last detail to mention.
Actually, the call went very well. At first, he sounded confused about who I was—kind of like he thought I should still be a little kid instead of an eighteen-year-old, adult-type person—but once he got used to that idea, we had a really good talk, a bit awkward but in a positive way.
He asked about Mom and Holly and never had a bad word to say about either of them. He even remembered that I used to play Little League Baseball and wanted to know if I kept up with it. I had to admit I quit playing in junior high to pursue other interests, but it was great that he remembered what a good fielder I used to be, even when I was really small.
He never said what kind of job he was doing or why he ended up in Fort Worth, but he seemed to be enjoying himself down there. Still liked to go to baseball games. Still hadn’t married again. Still told jokes, although now when he laughed, he had a tendency to break into a coughing fit. I didn’t ask him for the truth about what happened between him and Mom. There would be plenty of time for that in Fort Worth.
It’s close to dinnertime when Aimee and I finally hit Fort Worth, and after a few wrong turns we finally locate Dad’s duplex. It’s not ancient or anything—maybe about ten years old—but has a flimsy look, like something that wouldn’t stand up all that well against a high Texas wind. The grass could use a good mowing and the shrubs are scraggly, but so what? Dad probably has a lot better things to do than hanging around the front yard landscaping all the time.
“I think I need that shot of vodka now,” says Aimee, and I’m like, “Pass me the whisky, Doctor.”
We take our shots followed by a couple more, then follow those with shots of mouthwash. “Okay,” I say. “It’s now or never.”
At the front door, I ring the bell two or three times but no one comes. Figuring it must be broken, I try knocking, and still no one comes until I’ve knocked maybe five times. The door opens and it’s Dad, only a smaller version than I remember. He’s not much taller than I am, and his ruffled hair’s flecked with gray and in need of a cut. His blue jeans are faded, and he’s wearing a kind of Hawaiian shirt, except instead of flowers it has tumbling dice on the front. He’s still handsome but in a worn, creased way.
“Well, hello there, my man,” he says, full of the old charisma. “What can I do for you?”
At first, I think he’s kidding, but he’s not. “It’s me,” I tell him. “Sutter.”
He looks like he’s waiting for me to finish.
“Your son?”
“Sutter! Of course. Man, it’s great to see you. I forgot you were coming this weekend. Well, what do you know?” He shakes my hand with a firm, warm grip. “And who is this striking young lady?” He offers his hand to Aimee.
I introduce her. She ducks her head shyly while he tells her he mistook her for a Hollywood starlet.
“You’re just like your old man,” he tells me. “You have an immaculate taste in the ladies.”
I wonder what ladies he’s had immaculate taste in. Surely he can’t mean Mom.
As it turns out, he’s already set up plans to meet his current lady friend at a place called Larry’s, says he thought I was supposed to come next weekend. Usually, I’d write off something like that as my mistake, but I’m sure we agreed on this date. No use arguing about it, though. We’re here now, and he’s as happy as can be to have us join him and his friend for some barbecue.
He figures it’ll be best if we take separate cars, so Aimee and I load up in the Mitsubishi and he gets into his beat-up old Wagoneer. Spirits are high. Except I can’t help wondering whether it might be a little difficult—with this girlfriend of his around—to bring up the topic of why he and Mom split up.
“Another shot of whisky, Doctor?” asks Aimee as we start down the street.
“Stat,” I say.