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He looks confused too. "You didn't? Mark said you moved away. That's why your number went out of service and you didn't come by anymore."
My mouth drops open at the barrel of lies just dumped on me. "I've lived a few miles from here for the last nine years."
He frowns, eyes darting around my face. "Then...why didn't you come back and visit?"
I step back, drop to the old flower-patterned couch, and prop my elbows on my knees. I stare at the middle of his chest. "Dad, every time I saw Mark, he said how happy you were to be rid of me. How much better things were without me at home. You barely noticed me when I was here."
My father seems to wilt right where he stands, shoulders rolling in, head bowing. He stays there, still, for minutes, breathing deeply. Finally, he meets my gaze, a wash of tears in his eyes.
"I would never, never, think that, Janey." His hand curls into a fist, and he groans. "That boy. He's like a damned runaway freight train, destroying everything in his path."
His words suck all the breath out of my lungs and send fragile hope rising in me. "So...you w-wanted to see me?"
He scowls and slices a hand through the air. "You're my daughter. Of course, I want to see you. I always want to see you."
"But, you didn't seem to care. All those years I lived here, it felt like you just tolerated me."
He wets his lips, and winces. "I wasn't a good dad, I know that. You basically raised yourself, Janey. But I hoped that one day, you might forgive me, and we could be family again."
He exhales and takes a small step toward me, hands curling and uncurling at his sides. "That wasn't me, not really. That was the booze, and the pain. When you left and I didn't hear from you, I realized I had to shape up if I ever wanted to have you in my life again. So I did. It took a few tries, but I kicked the booze, Janey. And the community center installed a little gym, so I started going there, and the pain got a little better.” His mouth twists. “Turns out, sitting around drinking was harder on my body than the injury.”
"So your back is..."
"It's good. Not all the way better, and I can still tell when the weather is going to change. But I can get up and go to work without pain most days."
I press my hand to my cheek, staring at him. "You're working?"
"Yeah. Not at the factory. My back couldn't handle all that physical work again, but I started helping Mrs. Gutierriez at the Bodega a while back. Mr. Guiterriez passed a few years ago, and she was thinking she'd have to sell, so it worked out for both of us. She does mornings, and I handle the evenings until close." He smiles and scratches his cheek. "I don't usually fall into bed until late, but I'm still a bit of an early bird, so afternoons, I like to have a little nap."
He used to sit in that chair in a drunken stupor, eyes glazed from the booze and the pain. But that's not what he was doing when I walked in. He was...napping after a long shift at his job. He has a job.
My head is spinning. Nothing I thought is real anymore."The Bodega...just around the corner? I remember the lady who ran it. She was always really nice to me."
Jonas moves further into the room. "He lied to you. About all of it. He's been taking your money all this time, and it was a lie?"
Dad straightens up, and turns to Jonas, raising a challenging brow. "Taking whose money?"
“Janey's. She's been giving Mark more than half her paycheck for years. To support both of you."
"Janey," Dad breathes, turning to me, face falling. "Mark hasn't lived here in years. I kicked him out around the time I got sober. He was up to no good, that boy. I couldn't have it in my home. It made it too easy for me to fall back to my old ways. You've been giving him money?"
I nod slowly and stand, the reality of everything Mark's stolen from me flashing through my mind. The money's the least of it. "After everything that happened that night...in high school. I just wanted to support him. Support both of you. It felt like I owed him." He took my confidence and my money, but worst of all, he took away my father. And I didn't know.
My dad takes a hesitant step forward and puts his hands on my shoulders. This close, I have to look up at him. I don't remember him being this tall. "You don't owe him shit Janey. He shouldn't have taken you there, and he shouldn't have left you alone. He failed you. None of it would have happened if he'd just protected you like a big brother should. It's his fault, not yours. None of it is yours."
It feels like his words, one by one, pierce the lead balloons that have been weighing me down, freeing me from my history. From all my wrongdoing. I can't stop the tears. They well up and overflow before I can blink them back. Memories of other times I cried and the harsh words that would be thrown my way fill my mind, but they're washed away by the gentle touch of my father's fingertips.
He brushes them away, one by one until they slow. When I finally focus on him, I'm shocked to see the tears in his eyes too. "Daddy," I whisper, raising my hand to his face.
A laughing sob escapes him, and he wipes roughly at his cheeks, then presses my hand to his mouth. "I'm so sorry, my Janey. I'm sorry I didn't try harder. I'm sorry I believed Mark. I'm just so damned sorry."
I want to hug him, but I'm also unsure. And maybe a little wary. What if this is all just an act? What if it's lies? Only time will tell.
"So you don't need any financial help?" Jonas asks, expression guarded as he looks at my Dad.
Dad turns to him, but doesn't let go of my hand. "I do just fine for myself. Who exactly are you?"
Jonas turns to look at me, but doesn't speak. He doesn't need to.
