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“Maybe you should do the opposite.” I rub the back of my head, unsure of how this will go.
The cranking of the wrench stops. “What?”
“Maybe you should...” Damn, bad idea. This is as comfortable as eating nails. “...date.”
Dad stares at me, motionless for a few seconds, then returns his attention to his truck. “Date?”
“Yeah. From the stories Mom tells you were capable of it once along with a few other things.”
“Your mother brought that out in me.”
“And maybe somebody else can, too.”
The wrenching stops again and then he continues, “You were in love with her? This Abby?”
I nod and then realize he doesn’t see it so I say, “Yeah.”
He straightens then goes to the workbench, cleaning then putting away his tools. “Not sure how I would have felt about you dating a drug dealer.”
“Not sure you would have had a choice.”
“A lot of that going around with you.” Dad leans his back against his bench and stares at his truck. “You’re wrong. I’m not ashamed of you.”
I don’t respond because he’s always been on me to be responsible and I get some of what he has to say, but the adrenaline junkie in me, it’s part of who I am, just like the diabetes.
“And you were right. Not knowing what you want to do doesn’t mean you don’t know who you are. I just worry about you. Hate to see you hurt.”
“You were right with me and taking care of the diabetes. I’m done with ignoring the diabetes, but the adrenaline stuff—I can’t promise that’s going to change. You worrying? Maybe you need to start focusing less on me and more on you.”
Dad nods because we’re both reaching our conversational and emotional limits for the night.
“I’m too old for dating.” But he didn’t say it like he meant it. He said it in the same tone he uses when discussing Mom’s cooking. The type where he still eats the meatless ball.
Next to Dad’s old truck is my grandfather’s 1950s Chevy that led me to Isaiah, who led me to Abby. Ever since I was in a car accident last spring with Isaiah, I haven’t touched the car. Seeing the disappointment in Dad’s eyes as I once again screwed up in my hunt for an adrenaline rush has kept me from getting behind the wheel.
It’s a beautiful car. Deserves more than a dusty garage.
Maybe Dad needs more than a date. Maybe Dad needs to remember how to live.
I dig for my keys in my pocket. “There’s this flat stretch of road between here and Chris’s where I’ve heard people can catch some awesome speed. I think we should try it. Me driving.”
I leave out I’ve already driven there and won more than a few drag races.
“Air conditioner has been making some weird sounds—”
“I’ll consider the pump if you come with me.”
That shuts Dad up.
I jack my thumb to the car and Dad starts for the passenger side. “Not too fast.”
I open the driver’s side and slide in. “Fast, Dad. We’re going fast.”
Abby
“I love you.” I kiss Grams on the forehead and ease away from her bed in the living room. The window is open and the white curtains billow in with the warm breeze.
Grams is awake and while she holds my hand, there’s absolutely no recognition in her blank hollow eyes. She watches me as if I’m a specter. Something she’s not sure is really there or what it is.
