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Dad just let his own tears keep flowing freely, then reached up to pushed a strand of hair back from my face before he pulled my head down to his thin shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Pips," he said as he stroked my head. "I love you, and I'm sorry."
~
Another hour and many more tears around the room later, Dad and I had eaten a brief lunch in the cafeteria and were strolling the grounds of the center while he enjoyed a much-needed cigarette.
"You look good, Dad," I said as I observed the decent-sized plot of land. The center was a converted colonial house on two full acres, most of it lush grass. "They're treating you well here, huh?"
He pulled out his cigarette and lit it carefully, but I was surprised by the scent, which actually smelled sweet.
"Is that herbal?" I asked as the smoke wafted around me.
Dad gave me a wry grin, one I hadn't seen in a while. He took a long pull that hollowed out his cheeks, then exhaled two faint rings.
"Well, it ain't pot, if that's what you're asking," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "I know that. I know what weed smells like, Dad."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't remind me you're old enough for that." He took another drag. "It's a placeholder, they say. I'm here to beat one addiction; I might as well beat 'em both."
I looked dubiously down at the cigarette in his hand. "Is it a good idea to be adding that kind of stress on your life?"
Dad just chuckled. "I never thought you'd be trying to get me to smoke, Pips, since you've been nagging at me to stop since you first found out it caused cancer." He snorted. "You always thought the best of me, kid. Better than I deserved. Took good care of me, too."
"Did I?" I asked softly. "I'm not so sure."
"Aw, kiddo."
Dad stopped walking when we reached a big oak tree at the top of the hill. He sat down on the grass, and I plopped down beside him, laying my crutches beside me. I was off them around the apartment, but found I still needed them for longer walks.
"You know, I meant everything I said in there," he said. "Every word." He peered at me with sad eyes. "I've been a shitty father to you, Pips."
"That's ridiculous––" I started to protest, but Dad held up his hand, the left one, which still had dark scars crisscrossing over the top.
"No," he said. "I've put myself before you too many times to count. How many times I practiced piano instead of playing with you growing up? How many times I packed off to Nick's for the weekend, let Ma take you to your music lessons and your swim practices? I don't even wanna get into the mistakes I made with your mother."
My shoulders dropped at the mention of Janette. "Dad––"
"Let me finish, Pips," he interrupted gently. "You know, we do this thing in here where we look at accountability. Me and this guy from Atlantic City––boy, does he have a gambling problem, let me tell you––we calculated all of the money we'd spent at the track and the interest built up from all those bad loans. And when I did, it was like someone punched me in the gut, kid." He turned and looked at me straight on with a sad expression. "I could have put you through college twice over, baby. You wouldn't have had to take a red cent from Janette, that viper. And she would have had no reason to invite herself back into your life. Even that's my fault. I see that now."
I opened my mouth again to argue, but then closed it. I wouldn't have asked him to pay the kind of money Janette had to put me through school, but then again, if he had had the money, my dad probably would have just done it. And I couldn't argue with that fact that my life now would certainly be better if my mother hadn't come back into it, even if the secret she'd used to blackmail me shouldn't have been a secret in the first place.
"So, what now?" I asked finally as we stood up and kept walking.
"We talk a lot about what's next," Dad said. He gazed toward the canopy of trees at the bottom of the hill and played with one side of his mustache before sucking again on the end of his fake cigarette.
"What does that mean?"
"Honestly, Pips? I got no fuckin' clue." Dad turned with a crooked half-smile. "Excuse my French, kiddo. But you're a big girl. You can handle it."
I bit my lip. Dad was scared––that much was clear. He had literally had everything taken from him in the last six months, all of it from his own folly. For now, he was safe, under the careful guard of his assigned bodyguards and the watchful eyes of the center. But in three more weeks, when he finished the program, he was looking at nothing.
No band.
No job.
No house.
