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“Me?” he said. “You got that backwards. You’re the reason she’s in there. What happened? What did you do to her to make her do this?” he fired up at him.
His father’s face ripened like an apple in an instant.
“You ungrateful little bastard,” he said, and reached down to seize Keefer, who pushed his hand away and shifte
d to his right.
I couldn’t help it. I screamed. It seemed to snap his father out of his monomaniacal drive. He turned and looked at me.
“Who’s this little tramp?” he asked.
“Shut your mouth,” Keefer said. He moved farther to the right and stood up.
Now they were facing each other, and the one-sidedness of the pending battle was clearly evident. It looked like David against Goliath.
“Keefer, no!” I cried. “Don’t get into any fights here!”
“You’d better listen to her and get out. Crawl back to whatever hole you’re livin‘ in.”
“I’m not the one who should be crawlin‘,” Keefer said. “You stole my money. You went and broke my piggy bank and took my money.”
His father smiled coldly.
“Ain’t nothin‘ in that house belongs to you, boy. You were livin’ under my roof, and you owed me for all the things that got broke throwin‘ you out.”
“You’re just a common thief and a pervert,” Keefer accused.
The rage rose like steam in his father’s face, but before he could act, a nurse emerged from the intensive care unit and asked for Mr. Dawson.
They both turned to her.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Keefer’s father said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Your wife’s heart just gave out. The doctor did everything he could.”
The words hung in the air a moment, and then Keefer made a terrifying animal scream and charged at his father like a football tackier, hitting him in the right side with his shoulder and driving him back and onto his rear end. The nurse gasped and I screamed. Keefer looked at me and then charged down the hallway.
“Little bastard,” his father said, getting to his feet.
“You can come in now,” the nurse told him, her eyes still wide and her face still a bit white.
He looked in Keefer’s direction, nodded, and followed her into the intensive care unit.
I went hurrying after Keefer. At first I didn’t see him. He wasn’t by the truck. Then I spotted him at the end of the parking lot, walking in a small circle and raving, his arms flying up. Slowly I approached.
“I’m sorry, Keefer,” I said. He continued to circle and then stopped and looked at me.
“He killed her, you know. He should be arrested and tried for murder. He as good as did it himself.”
“I know,” I said.
“Someday…” His threat trailed off into the night.
I went to him and embraced him. I could feel his rage cooling down, and finally he held me and started to sob. He realized it and pulled back.
“I gotta get outta here,” he said, marching toward the truck.
I ran after him.
