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“Like in math class,” Gabe said with a grin. They’d been in the same classes most of high school, and yeah, she might have mumbled to herself through every algebra problem.
“Some things never change,” she said and followed Gabe down the narrow hallway leading to the back of the office, then took a left down another hallway, where the walls went from a light beige color to gray. She knew the way. Had traveled these same steps countless times.
But still, she stayed behind Gabe, letting him lead.
They were still ten feet from the bars, and she could already smell her dad.
Wild Turkey and Marlboro Reds.
Ah, the smell of childhood.
She walked to the jail-cell bars and could feel the coldness radiating from the metal. She saw her father, lying on his side, one arm tucked under his head, sleeping on the thin cot in the cell.
“Where was he?” she asked Gabe, not taking her eyes from her father.
“Caused a fight at the Windy.”
Hannah sighed. The Windy was a dive bar by the docks. Only fishermen and people looking for a two-dollar shot of whiskey went there.
“Did he hurt anyone?”
Gabe shook his head. “No, just pissed a few people off. He missed the guy’s face and hit the wall, so his hand is scuffed up and swollen.”
Served him right. Her father was a bad drunk. A fighter. He mouthed off and got himself into trouble, usually with guys bigger than him. A flash of cold goose bumps raced up her spine when she remembered her childhood stare downs with her father. He’d cocked his fist like a loaded gun on more than one occasion, but he never followed through. That was her blessing, she supposed. She actually felt grateful, because some kids had it way worse. Sure, he’d gone on tirades, but most of the time he just didn’t care or show up. The fear of that fist coming at her was burned into her mind, though.
Could have been worse, she reminded herself. He could have connected that fist with her face. He never had. Yet the fear was still there.
“Sorry,” Hannah said again, apologizing for her father. Who was snoring and didn’t give a shit about anything but himself and his habit. One of these days he was going to get an assault charge. Thank God he hadn’t tried driving.
“Silas,” Gabe said softly, pulling out his keys to unlock the cell. “Silas, your daughter is here—”
“Hey, jackass!” Hannah yelled and kicked the bars with her boot. The clanging sound echoed and startled her father awake. “Get your butt up. I’m taking you home.”
Silas Hastings grumbled and slurred his way
to stand all his five feet seven inches of self into a swaying, upright position.
“That’s no way to talk to me. I’m injured,” he slurred.
Gabe got the door unlocked and slid it open. Hannah walked in. She just wanted to get his soaked ass back to his trailer and be done with him for the night. Until next time, that was.
“Injured?” Hannah crossed her arms, watching him steady himself on his feet. “You hurt your hand on a wall trying to punch someone, Si.”
“Bastard cheated me!” Si yelled. “And I’m your father. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Dad?”
Hannah’s fists tightened at her sides, then she immediately unclenched. Guess another thing she got from her dad was that jerky reaction.
“You tell me a lot, and I tell you no,” Hannah said.
“You always were an ungrateful girl.”
Hannah laughed. Honest to God laughed, because if she was ungrateful, she had no idea what to call Silas Hastings.
“Yep, that’s me, Si. Spoiled and ungrateful. Now get your drunk ass in the car so I can take you home and make sure you don’t choke on your own puke.”
Si shook his head, agreeing with her idea and missing the sarcasm completely. Sarcastic or not, it was true. She’d take him home and put him on the couch in his trailer, with a bowl and a glass of water on the floor next to him. Just like she always did.
“Thanks, Gabe,” she said to him as Silas made his way down the hallway, then slung his arm over Hannah’s shoulder. She took his weight, helping him walk. It was the only time she touched her father. The only way she ever remembered him touching her. Never a hug, a high five, or a “way to go, kiddo” tap on the shoulder. Nope. It was always him slouching his weight on her, silently asking her to carry his load of baggage. Which was just as heavy as her father himself.
