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Pain and regret passed across his face for the span of a few seconds. “It was part of it. There were several other issues in our marriage, but that was a catalyst.”
“And you weren’t willing to give up that lifestyle for her?” I tried not to let my tone get too accusatory, only curious. By all the actions he displayed and everything I knew, he had truly been in love with my mother. Two years ago, when I told him of her passing, it was like something died in his gaze. Yet he had done work that deliberately endangered her and had continued even after she left.
He shook his head. “It was complicated. This wasn’t exactly an industry to get out of, and as much as the people who had gotten me into it were dangerous, they were the very same people who kept me safe, kept us safe. For years after your mother left me, I thought one of our enemies would come after her, so I continuously searched for her, but I knew if she knew it was me, she would make me move again, so I never let my presence be known explicitly. I just asked them to merely keep an eye on her for me.”
I nodded. It made sense, and I did have some sympathy for his plight. While I still didn’t agree with the lifestyle he had chosen, I understand he had made a mistake or a series of mistakes to get to this point, and he wasn’t exactly sure how to get out of it.
“So what is this now?” I asked. “How did it turn into this?”
“It’s a long story, but let’s just say that after you left me, I did a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out how my life had gotten to this point. And then there was something like a coup with some of my men breaking off to do their own thing, so I kept these for protection. I sent some to follow you and keep you safe, and then, somewhere along the lines, these kids lost their foster home, so I had no choice but to give them refuge.”
He said it matter-of-factly like it was the logical thing to do, and that, more than anything, told me he had a good heart. I nodded, regarding the man as if seeing him for the first time. It truly was remarkable how perception could affect reality. The first time I saw him, I was cautious, even behind my rose-colored glasses. I’d already been stung by men before, so I was hesitant to put my trust in him and was almost waiting for him to disappoint me in some way before I was proven right. He had seemed like a cold, ruthless man at the time, but now I could see that it was only my judgment that was making it so.
And now I finally saw him for who he was.
“Tell me about you and Mom’s relationship,” I said.
His face lit up. “I thought I told you the story the last time you came here?”
“You did,” I said. “But I want to hear it again.”
And he did, telling me all about how they met, how he went to the Marines, and how his issues almost ruined their relationship.
“I had a lot of anger in me that I didn’t know about,” he said. “I thought it was unfair, that life had dealt me a shitty hand, and it was everybody else’s fault. Eventually, I started to make it your mother’s fault, and rightly, she left me.”
I thought about his story. It corroborated with what my mother had said.
“Did you hit her?” I asked quietly. It had been a question that tormented me for some time, one I wasn’t even sure I was prepared to hear the answer to.
So, it came as a giant relief to me when he shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But there are worse pains than physical ones.”
“Why didn’t you seek help?”
“I tried,” he said. “It didn’t work.”
I glanced at Monty when he said it, but Monty had carefully shielded his expression by that point, and it remained like that throughout the rest of the visit.
Pretty soon, we left my father with the promise to come back soon to visit. We had to head home to pick up Hunter—I still had not told my father about him. Despite everything, I still needed time for it to truly sink in that my father wasn’t the man I thought he was, to trust that everything he told me back there was the truth. Without that, I wouldn’t risk my son’s safety, so I had to be absolutely sure before I brought my father into his life.
Monty was quiet on the drive back, and I glanced at him. When my father told the story of him and my mother, it was impossible not to draw parallels and think about how similar it was between Monty and me. I loved Monty. I had pretty much accepted that at this point, but I could see his refusal to get help for his issues impacting our relationship as well, and, as depressing as it was, there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.
So should I just leave? Should I just cut my losses and accept the heartbreak at this point?
But if I did, who did he even have left? Who would continue to push him for his own good?
It brought to mind some of the things my mother had told me about her and my father and about how she still loved him and how, despite everything, she felt like she could have given them a chance.
Even on her death bed, she had said the words, but I didn’t understand them at the time.
“I should have fought for him,” she’d whispered, clutching my hand. “I should have fought for him.”
“I’m going to fight for you,” I told Monty now, and he glanced at me. “I know you may think you’re alone in this, and that’s all you got, but I swear I’ll fight for you.”
Monty looked surprised at the declaration. He was about to say something when a car suddenly veered in front of us.
With a gasp, he slammed on the breaks to avoid the collision.
I screamed when I heard the sound of glass shattering, shielding that of a canister falling to the floor.
Before long, gas filled up the truck, and my vision went dark.
