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If I remember correctly, Dean didn’t have a lot of family. Just a very old dad who, I assumed by this point, has probably passed away. So, I don’t find it hard to believe that he doesn’t have a lot of family to fall back on.
And I know that if my brother could take him in, he definitely would. But he and his girlfriend live in an apartment with an annoying three-legged dog.
“I’ll get back to you later, okay?” I add to end the conversation.
“Sounds good,” he replies with a sigh.
It’s like ever since he brought up Isaac, the tone of our conversation has gotten a little more melancholy.
“Thanks, Caleb,” he says.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
The line goes dead, but I don’t move for a moment. I just sit in my chair and stare straight ahead, caught somewhere between the past and the present.
The day Isaac left nine years ago feels so far away, but the pain of that year hangs over us like a dark cloud. One of these days, I wish it would just rain down on us and disappear, but it doesn’t. It just hovers there, blocking the sun, threatening us with a downpour that we might not recover from.
We can’t let go. There is no letting go of someone who just runs away. There is no grief process, no funeral, no goodbye, no see you later.
There’s just me sitting on the porch of my parents’ house one night after Sunday dinner, listening to my seventeen-year-old brother spill his heart out to our parents, only for my father to wave a Bible in his face, threaten him with an eternity in hell, and throw him out the door.
Most days, it feels like I’m still sitting on those porch steps, and part of me worries that I always will be.
I don’t know how long I sit here in silence, staring at nothing at all. But it’s my secretary, Jules, who knocks on the door and finally steals my attention.
I glance up at her expectantly as she opens it.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to shake off the mood.
“I just heard an update on your father’s case,” she says carefully.
That piques my interest.
I sit up tall in my chair and stare at her as I wait for more. “And?”
“The DA is charging him with attempted murder.”
My mouth goes dry as I gape at her.
We’ve been waiting weeks for this call. And it could have gone either way. Attempted murder obviously being the more severe of the charges.
But I gotta admit, I’m a little surprised.
I’m astounded that my father didn’t have one single good connection in the DA’s office to get him a lesser charge. If I know anything about the man, it’s that he knows exactly how and who to manipulate in his favor. He’s been churching up blackmail since I was a kid.
So, for him to get the highest sentence possible nearly knocks me out of my seat.
I must stare at Jules for far too long because she finally asks, “Are you okay?”
Stammering, I reply, “Yeah, I guess.”
“Not what you expected, huh?”
“Not at all,” I reply.
“You think he’s gonna fight it?” she asks, her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.
“Oh, abso-fucking-lutely, he’s gonna fight it. My father taking responsibility for his actions? Not likely.” I lean back in my office chair, steepling my fingers in front of me as I try to imagine what the man must be thinking right now. I bet he’s fuming.
