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“It’s none of your goddamn business.” His normally bitter tone is laced with something colder, harder, scarier.
My stomach tightens as regret stirs. I’ve clearly hit the nerve I knew I would hit if I brought it up. But I’ve already cracked the proverbial can of worms and, seeing as Roy did open up about his past as, I’m guessing, an alcoholic, I can’t help but hope he might tell me more, might tell me something that makes sense. “I know it’s none of my business,” I offer in as contrite a tone as I can muster. “I was wondering what happened to them.”
“They smartened up, is what they did. Got the hell away from me. Is that what you wanna hear?”
So, what Toby said about Roy’s wife leaving him was accurate. But has he seen or talked to them since? Does he have any relationship with his daughter? I have so many questions.
Suddenly, Muriel’s claim that Roy and I have things in common doesn’t sound so farfetched.
I was a daughter estranged from her father.
Is Roy a father estranged from his daughter?
I let a few minutes pass before I ask, “Have you talked to your daughter at all since then?”
He doesn’t answer.
We’ve already passed my driveway, and I know the trip is almost over, so I try a different tactic. “My mom and I left Alaska when I was little and moved back to Toronto. I didn’t see my dad again until last summer. I didn’t even talk to him for about twelve years—”
“Lemme out here,” Roy grumbles. The rustic wooden sign that marks his driveway appears in the bramble ahead.
“Here? That’s, like, a twenty-minute walk to your house. At least.” In good health, and Roy is far from that.
“So what? I like walkin’.” He paws at the door handle with his left hand.
“Do you remember the doctor telling you to take it easy?”
“Do you remember me tellin’ you to mind your own damn business?” he shoots back.
I sigh, exhausted from a day of dealing with Roy’s volatile temperament. “Is this because I brought up your daughter?”
His jaw clenches. “No, it’s because you’re gonna hit every goddamn pothole from here to my house, and it’ll hurt like hell. I can’t believe we made it home alive, the way you drive. Whoever gave you your license should be shot.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my driving!” I snap, my patience finally evaporating. I pull into the laneway—there’s nowhere else to go with it being a dead-end road.
He pops open the door the second the wheels slow, forcing me to stop abruptly.
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably.” He shifts to move out, but then pulls back, glaring at the laneway ahead. “What’re you doin’, girl?”
“I’m trying to get you home in one piece!”
“No, I mean, why’re you keepin’ this up? Comin’ around every day, bringin’ me dinner and muffins and shit.”
“Because you need help?”
“Whatever you’re lookin’ for here, you ain’t gonna find it in me.”
I feel my cheeks flush with indignation. “I’m not looking for anything—”
“I’m no replacement for your dead daddy, and I don’t wanna be.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? Is that seriously what you think is going on here?”
His gaze flickers to me before shifting off, as if meeting my eyes is uncomfortable. “I don’t know what I think. Been tryin’ to figure you out. Maybe … yeah. Nothin’ else makes sense.”
“God, you are such a—” Just helping him doesn’t make sense? My hands grip the steering wheel, shaking with rage. “Well, funny, I’ve been trying to figure you out, too, and all I see is a miserable, sad old man waiting to die in the woods, alone.”
