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Chapter Five
Gina
“You never listen,” he said calmly, when he shouldn’t have been calm. He shot me an inscrutable yet pained glance. “Why don’t you ever listen?”
I could feel my stomach squirming. All sorts of ill feelings were creeping up on me.
“How could you?” I shouted. I surveyed the rickety farmhouse where I’ve spent my whole life, and I felt nothing. It looked as if it has been used as a shooting gallery by the world’s most novice marksman, its four walls made of wood and stone, a rainbow of nails and planks and metal that has somehow survived years of weather and humanity.
The house is fine. Its occupants, however, are shells, barely standing.
“Oh, Gina,” he sighed. He had placed his face in his hands in a way that made me terribly sad. He sat at the table, his cheeks pressed against his palms. His fingers curled tightly at his temples, and when he finally looked up at me, his eyes watered. The tears brought out a dull brown. My father is not a weak man. “How could I not?”
I knew he was sick. I just didn’t think he was this sick. He has never been the impertinent type, so it has to be the sickness. What other explanation can there be?
I didn’t want to argue with him. I hate fighting when I know how close it is to the end. Still, I didn’t know what he was thinking, placing that ad. When he told me, or rather when heshowedme, I couldn’t help myself. I lit into him with a fury I’m not sure he’s ever seen. It’s possible I threw some things. Whatever the case, I broke the screen door, which is a pity, because he’s too sick to fix it and there’s no one else around to do it. Now, he’s going to die with a broken front door, and Daddy never much cared for anything that was broken.
“This is what you think of me?” The more I thought about it, the madder I got. It was like a storm had rolled in and I was powerless against Mother Nature. “Thisis what I’m worth to you?”
“You’re nearly twenty-two, sweetheart.”
“Hardly an old maid,” I said, surveying the damage to the door.Hurricane Gina.
“Time has a way of catching up to all of us.”
Goosebumps ran up my arms. I shivered under his gaze, knowing he’s not wrong. At least not about that. Life has carried on inside that house, but it’s stale and unmoved. It is a dim and musty place, the old farmhouse, with low ceilings and gray, wooden walls. Each moment feels like the shadow of its predecessor. It’s astonishing how fast things can roll downhill when you just let them go.
“So what? That meant you needed to spend your last dollars, your lastdays, onthis?” I took the book from him and stabbed my freshly painted fingernail at the fine print. “You don’t think I could have found a man on my own?”
“It’s not that.”
“Well, then,whatDaddy? What could have possibly compelled you to take out an ad to find me a husband—as though I’m not plenty capable of finding one myself?”
“But you haven’t, honey. Have you?”
I felt the rage building, and it didn’t help my stammer any. “I—”
“I just want the best for you, princess. You know that.”
“Don’t call me princess,” I snapped. My anger erupted like a volcano. “We both know I’m not a little girl anymore.” I turned toward him and looked at him,reallylooked at him. What I saw nearly took my breath away. I wanted it to soothe the anger, but it didn’t. “Maybe you should have considered that I know what’s best for me.”
“This will give you options, Gin—”
A wave of emotion crashed over me, but I squared my shoulders and let loose with a bitter determination I hadn't felt in weeks. “Ihaveoptions!”
He started to cry then. I couldn’t stand it. Not a steadfast, hardworking man like my father, who never cried, not even when Mama died. He was strong for me then, and he’s trying to be strong for me now, but I can see that he’s scared andthatbothers me more than the ad.
“I’m not going to be around forever.”
“I know,” I said, but it was a bald-faced lie. I imagined he would outlive us all. He’s only fifty-two. But looking at him then, he looked two times that. He doesn’t want to live like this; he doesn’t want to be bedridden. He wants to die. And honestly, I’d rather he did. He says the sooner the better, for me to have a chance at a life. But if I had to choose between him and whatever he means bylife,I’d pick him every time.
“That’s what love is, isn’t it?” he whispered, as though he was reading my mind. “It’s not always the thing we want; it’s the thing we need.”
“I can find my own husband. I don’tneedyou to advertise me like I’m some—”
“You’re a prize, honey. And you’re going to make someone very happy. You know I’ve always told you that.”
I softened. Not because I wanted to, or because he was telling me what I wanted to hear, but because he looked so sick all of a sudden. His skin had taken on a greenish pallor. I hadn’t known so many shades of green existed. “Yes.”
