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“Who?”
“Everett Wilder. The one standing over there with the blonde hair and the blue eyes?”
“Oh, you mean the jerk off.”
“Seriously. You’re going to hold a chance encounter with a well-placed invitation against him?”
“He had a smug grin on his face and reached around my entire body to slip it into my back pocket. He’s a player, Jessica. And anyway, what did I tell you about this weekend? No sex and—”
“No getting drunk and marrying you off. Gosh, you’re no fun,” she said, grinning.
“So I don’t care if he’s staring. He can stare all he wants. He had his chance at a first impression and he blew it.”
“At least we aren’t talking about your parents,” she murmured.
I understood why Jessica didn’t want to talk about them. Or work. Or anything, for that matter. This was just as much her needed vacation as it was mine. But when things got silent and responsibilities got thrown out the window, my mind always wandered.
And it was wandering.
I wondered what my father was up to. My mother died when I was very young. I hardly remembered her. And for a while, my father took great care of me. Raised me to be strong and independent. Worked as hard as he could and consistently went without meals to make sure I had enough to eat. But the depression of losing my mother and the frustration with never having enough got to him, and the alcohol drinking started and it never stoppedThe man I worshipped suddenly became the man I wanted to get away from.
He was never an angry drunk. Just an absent one. He’d drink until his stomach was full, then he’d zone out and stare at a rundown television until he fell asleep. Sometimes, he’d be so drunk he would piss himself, and I would be stuck cleaning up the mess unless I wanted to wake up to the smell of urine. He worked hard enough to feed me, drunk himself into oblivion, and paid one of our bills. That usually meant I was choosing between electricity and water every month. I interchanged them to make sure we didn’t default too badly on any of our payments.
I finally got fed up with his antics in high school and realized I couldn’t fix my father. I couldn’t fix his sadness at my mother’s death and I couldn’t fix his anger at our poverty, so the only thing I could do was leave and make a better life for myself. Some days I hated him more than most. Some days I couldn't stand to call him my father. And other days I understood. Because I was sympathetic to his plight.
But that didn’t mean his alcoholism didn’t rip my father from me.
In essence, I had lost both of my parents. I hadn’t talked to my father since I left for Charleston after college, and I didn’t plan on it. I had no idea how he was doing. What he was up to. Hell, I had no idea if the man was still alive. But if he didn’t want to help himself, I was no longer going to help him.
“Andrea?”
“Hmm?” I asked.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking and relaxing.”
“You don't look like you’re thinking about anything good.”
“You know my mind wanders when I don’t have anything to do.”
“Can we focus back on Everett again then?”
“No. I’d rather think about my father,” I said flatly.
“I’m sorry, but I refuse to believe that.”
“You can believe whatever you want to. I’m not talking about Everett, though.”
“You aren’t even going to give him a chance?”
“What chance? I told you about my two hard lines for this weekend. Why are you already wanting to toss them out the window?”
“Because it’s better than thinking about your father?”
I shook my head and finished off my second drink. And right on cue, an appletini was set at my side. I thanked the man who brought it to me before picking it up, then lounged my chair back a little further. The least I could do was work on my tan. I tipped my drink up to my lips as my eyes scanned the beautiful salt water pool we were at, and my eyes fell onto him.
Onto Everett Wilder.
