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I hang my head in relief mingled with sorrow. “Thank you,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
“And you,” Abe says, pointing at Cal. “I don’t care if you’re angel or demon. Just promise me you’ll protect him.”
Cal stiffens next to me, and for a wild moment, I think he’s going to refuse. I look up at him and his eyes are almost black again and something crosses them, a shadow darker than the black. But then it’s gone and he nods and says, “I promise.”
Abe watches him for a moment, as if gauging his sincerity. He frowns. “All right, then. Look alive, boys. The posse’s almost here. We’ve got some explaining to do.”
the last time, the first time
This is the last time I saw my father alive.
He said, “I’ve got to make a trip to Eugene in the morning. Going to meet up with some old friends. I’ll be back in the afternoon.”
The way he said it gave me pause. For one, he did not say who the friends were, and though I didn’t think to ask, it would strike me later as being very odd. It was as if he was attempting to hide something, something he wasn’t ready to say. That was unlike my father, for hadn’t he taught me there was to be truth in all things? That, even at the expense of someone’s feelings, it’s better to be honest than to tell a lie? Lies, he said, could come back to haunt you, no matter how small, or how good your intentions might be. We were never to lie to one another, given that he was raising me in truth. That might be why I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
He leaned against the doorway upon making this announcement, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He seemed tense, slightly nervous, which caught my attention almost right away. Yes, I would think about why he said the word “friends” instead of saying who later, and I’d kick myself for not thinking of asking, but it was his stance that I remember the most. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his face lined. He looked older than I’d ever seen him, and I wondered if he was getting sick. I wondered if he needed sleep. I wondered if he shouldn’t just stay home.
But I said none of this. My biggest regret is that instead I said, “Do you need me to open the store tomorrow, then? It’s Saturday. I don’t have plans.” I did have plans, with some buddies, but I would cancel for him. My father asked me and I did. It was that simple.
But it’s never as simple as we think. It’s never as simple as we hope. I should have done more. I should have demanded he tell me what he was doing, who he was going to see. I should have screamed that he tell me everything, why he was so anxious, why there was that look in his eyes. That look that said he wasn’t sure what he was doing. I should have begged that he take me with him, let me tag along. Mom could open the store, I should have said. Or we could close the store for a day. Just let me go with you. Please, just take me with you. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you make it right. Don’t do this on your own.
I should have said all of those things. And more.
Big Eddie smiled, but it looked forced. “That’d be great, Benji. I think it’s going to be slow tomorrow. Supposed to be a storm coming in, so you can take your school work with you and get some studying done. You’ve got finals coming up in a few weeks.”
I made a face as I muttered, “Don’t remind me. I don’t know how I’m going to pass this stupid algebra final. Who cares about x’s and y’s and what stands for what? The alphabet shouldn’t be in math.”
He laughed, and with that simple action, he seemed freer. Lighter, somehow. He moved from the doorway and came to where I sat at my desk. “Can I tell you a secret?” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I grinned as I nodded, waiting for my line.
He didn’t disappoint. “Cross your heart?”
“Hope to die.”
“Stick a thousand needles in your eye,” he finished.
I waited.
He leaned closer and whispered, “Nobody uses algebra in the real world. Learn it, pass it, then forget it.”
I laughed. “Unless I want to be a nuclear scientist,” I said. “Or a mathematician.”
He rolled his eyes. “You aren’t gonna be no damn mathematician. Green men have no need for math. We’re hands-on. We get dirty.”
“Unless you’re balancing the books for the store. Or building a house.”
He waved his hand in an easy dismissal. “Just the basics,” he said. “That’s why we have an accountant. And a contractor to help with the logistics.”
“Sure, Dad.” I turned back to the book. He lifted his hand from my shoulder and ruffled my hair. I didn’t know it then, but that touch, those fingers in my hair, would be the last time I would feel my father alive. I would see him again, but he’d be cold under my hand, life long since departed.
Had I known then what I know now, I would have clung to him. I would have looked him in the eyes to see that spark of mischief, that undying intelligence that belied his gruff exterior. If I’d known the inevitable, I would have said everything I felt in my heart and soul. I would have told him thank you for being my father. I would have said that if I’m ever going to be a good man, it’s going to be because of the way he’d raised me. I would have said that building Little House together and fixing up that old Ford until it was so cherry were the best times of my life. I would have said that I didn’t think I’d be able to go on without him.
I would have told him I loved him.
But I didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t know. I didn’t even say good night. Or good-bye.
My father’s last words to me were, “I’ll see you when I get back, okay? Don’t study too hard. Live a little, Benji.”
