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I throw a small stone into the fire. I don’t want to talk about this. “Both of my parents were reactive, and it was relatively easy to get them to implode. I acted out. I’d do stupid things like spray some of my mum’s perfume on something of mine during one of her infrequent visits and then leave it in my father’s studio.”
She tilted her head. “Did it bring back happy memories for him?”
I look into the woods. “No, it sent him into a rage, and he didn’t know why. It was unkind, but I was retaliating for something he did to me. A few weeks before, he locked me in the basement, got drunk, and left me there for two days. The abuse was unpredictable but constant. I learned to stay out of his way. Eventually, I reported him to authorities, and he became more careful about lashing out.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. You deserved a much better childhood.”
“I’m not looking for your sympathy. It happened a long time ago. But part of me is like him. He rubbed off on me.”
Immy sat back down near the fire. “What part of you is like him?”
“The vindictive part. I hide it because I’m rational enough to know it’s not good.”
She clears her throat. “It’s good, Alex. You had every reason to make him pay for his abusive treatment. That reaction is healthy and normal.”
I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my body. “No, vindictiveness destroys relationships.”
“Anger has to be channeled into appropriate avenues, for sure. As a teacher, when one child does something to another, I encourage them to express their anger in healthy ways. Anger lets others know that they trampled all over a boundary or took advantage in some way.”
“I’m not talking about simple anger. I’m talking about revenge, vindictiveness, and rage. It’s all there below the surface. If I let that out, something bad will happen.”
“If your father had rage or vindictiveness, where did it come from?”
I start pacing. “It’s obvious he had rage and vindictiveness, or he wouldn’t have lashed out in the ways he did. Some of it was alcohol-fueled, but some of it was just there.”
“Okay, he didn’t express it in healthy ways, but where did it come from?”
“There is no way of knowing.”
“I’m not an expert, but some assumptions could be made. Did he have an abusive upbringing?”
I put more wood on the fire. “I never met his mother. She died when he was four, and he spent time in the system. His birth certificate didn’t list a father. An older, wealthy couple adopted him when he was ten. It didn’t go well. They found his behavior unacceptable and, at eighteen, kicked him out. He explored art in his twenties, and when his adoptive parents died, they left him everything.”
Immy stands across the fire pit and presses a hand into her chest. “That sounds like a traumatic start in life. Maybe he never found a way to express his grief, anger, frustration, and whatever else he was feeling.”
I meet her stare. “He found a way. He made everyone’s life around him miserable.”
“I’m sorry, Alex. Maybe that was his intention. I’m not excusing or whitewashing his behavior. The case can be made, from an adult perspective, that maybe he didn’t want you to face the challenges he had in life. Maybe he thought that by settling in Ireland, your mother would make a home here. And that it would give you stability.”
I nod. “That’s definitely what he thought. He faced bullying in school, so he didn’t want me to attend. But by doing so, he introduced other problems. The isolation and loneliness were extreme. I had no way to escape. A few times a year, my mother would come and take me to a hotel, sometimes with my grandparents, and that was it.”
“That must have been terrible.”
It was terrible. Many of my memories of him are traumatic, but there are a few good ones. He taught me to fish and ensured that I took swimming lessons. It’s always been obvious to me that my upbringing positioned me to become an outdoor guide.
“Beyond the estate, did he leave you money?”
Her questions are relentless. When I took her camping, I let her experience the deep quietness of the woods instead of badgering her about the past.
I look into the forest. “He did. And I haven’t touched a euro.” And I never will. His money is tainted.
Immy rubs her arms. “I get that you’re angry with him. But money doesn’t do any good in the bank. You could fund scholarships for underprivileged youth or invest in anti-bullying campaigns. Many schools lack funding to help children from impoverished backgrounds.”
I can’t imagine anything that came from him would create joy. Although, I guess it didn’t come from him. It came from his adoptive family.
I flick my hand. “I walled myself off from anything to do with him. It’s easier that way. I don’t have to make peace with any of it. Eventually, this place will melt into the ground, and I’ll donate the land for the public good.”
She steps back, away from the fire. “Do you want to go back into town and stay there tonight?”
