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“It started kind of terrible, but then it got better.”
He nods as if this is the usual course of events. “How is the lake house?”
“Needs some work, but otherwise, same as always.” I switch on the coffee pot, and sneak another glance.
My father’s eyes have deep lines in the corners and dark circles underneath. His skin is the sickly sallow of a person who doesn’t get in the sun much.
“I’d be happy to drive you out to check on the place if you want.” My optimism knows no bounds, I guess.
“Sure.” He does a little cough-throat clearing. “We’ll go next weekend.”
It’s the same answer every time. He says he’ll go then he backs out at the last minute.
“How’s the Jag?”
“Oh.” I almost drop my mug at that question. “It’s ahh… well…”
That gets his attention. He squares off, facing me with one hand on his hip. “Andrea. What happened?”
I feel sick to my stomach. “Well, you know how it was raining last night? A stupid dog or raccoon or something ran out in front of me, and I sort of went off the road.” Angry eyes flash at me, and I charge forward. “It’s okay! I’m getting it fixed. Gray is picking it up, and he thinks he can probably repair the damage. The car needs new tires.”
“Gray.” He speaks the word like it tastes bad. “He finally dragged his sorry ass back to town? For how long?”
The sickness in my stomach is replaced with burning knots. I hate the way he talks about my love. “I don’t know, Daddy, but Gray’s a good guy. He’s a hero.”
“Ha.” It’s a bitter retort. “Some hero. He let half his unit get killed in a bomb explosion.”
“Stop it! That is not fair. It wasn’t his fault. The officers said it was an accident.” My voice goes loud and high, defensive. “Listen to yourself. Are you suggesting Gray planted the bomb?”
“I did some research. His team was in charge of checking that road, making sure there were no explosives in their path before they left.”
I’ve heard this story, too, and it still makes me nauseated. “That’s completely unrealistic. They were being watched constantly. Some terrorist probably went right behind them planting more bombs.”
My father makes a dismissive noise, and starts for the liquor cabinet. I follow him, beating him to it. “Wait. Please wait just a minute. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He doesn’t look at me. “You haven’t done anything to upset me.”
I catch his hand as he tries to reach around me. “Would you do something for me? Please?”
“Don’t start with me today, Andrea. I’m not in the mood.” He tries to move my body, but I put my hands behind my back and hold the edge of the cabinet. “Do you mind?”
“Please just listen to me a minute. I’ve been thinking about what you said about nothing being anonymous in this town.” Like everyone doesn’t already know my dad is a notorious alcoholic.
“What about it?” He’s growing impatient, the withdrawals grinding his teeth.
“What if there was a pill you could take to help you quit drinking. Would you be willing to try it?”
“No.” He tries to move past me again, but I slide to the left.
“You wouldn’t even try it?”
“I like drinking, Andrea. I have no intention of stopping.”
I’m breathing harder, anger coursing in my veins, from the way he talks about Gray to the way he insists on destroying his body. Still, I know from past experience of having this conversation with him, shouting and crying will only shut him down even more.
“You’re all I’ve got now, Dad. It’s just you and me.”
He stiffens, and I know I caught him off guard with this approach. “That’s not true, you have Ruby.”
