I don’t take my eyes off my father as the sun sets low in the sky, casting calm shadows around the room.
I simply hold Dad’s hand while Mom clasps the other.
“He’s so proud of who you’ve become,” Mom whispers, breaking the silence in the room.
I don’t argue with her. The confessions I made to Dad aren’t hers to hear.
“I know he wishes that he could’ve done more for our family, but I’ve lived a happy life.”
I nod, knowing now that the material things I used to get so upset about not being able to afford don’t mean a damn thing now. If I could turn back time and return everything, give up all the comforts we were able to manage, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I want to barter. I want to beg, and plead, and sacrifice every single thing to keep him with us, but deep down I know it won’t change a thing.
Tonight was inevitable long before the ambulance arrived after I yelled at him at the supper table, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from renewing and weighing heavy on my shoulders. If only things could be different.
“He’s a great dad,” I tell her instead. “The best I could’ve asked for.”
It’s hard to be strong for my mom right now when I want to scream and pull my hair out. When I want to yell at God for doing this to us, but I somehow manage to keep my jaw tight and my words in my head.
We sit, silence once again surrounding us, and as the sun sets completely, Dad takes his last ragged breath.
My world just implodes, and I don’t have any clue how to live in a world that doesn’t have my father.Chapter 24Frankie
Various sounds I’ll never hear again once I return home create the symphony I’m enjoying as I relax on Nan’s front porch. It’s late, and Nan has already gone to bed with the reminder to make sure I’m packed for my flight that leaves first thing in the morning.
I didn’t bother telling her that I’ve been living out of my suitcase for the last week, contemplating if I should change my flight time and go home early because staying here in Utah hurts more than it should.
But right now, it’s quiet. There isn’t an angry boy sneering in my direction. There isn’t a heaviness in the air making me wonder when the next insult is going to fly my way.
Taking a deep breath, I look up at the stars, committing them to memory. I’m on the fence between hating my time here and loving it. I know I’m going to miss Nan, and as much as I want to take her up on her offer to visit more often, I also know I can’t handle much more of Zeke and his hateful attitude.
I’ll miss Rowdy, but we made plans to keep in touch, and that’s the best I can do.
Zeke is a whole other story. I’ll miss the nice side of him, the side that treated me well. I’ll miss the way he would look at me sometimes and the soft brush of his hand when he’d push hair out of my face. I’ll miss the softness of his lips, and the way he made me feel pinned to the wall in the haunted house, but none of that cancels the hate he spewed nearly every chance he got.
I know I’ll never be able to forget him, not for as long as I live.
Freezing as a shadowy figure walks toward the barn, my blood fills with terror until I recognize the easy swagger that belongs to Zeke, only right now it’s hindered. It’s as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, dragging him down, as he disappears into the barn.
I stay seated on the porch, contemplating whether I should get up and tell him goodbye, or walk in the house like I never saw him. I could put this entire summer behind me come morning. I could act as if the boy never existed, as if he didn’t get more of my firsts than I’d like to admit. But that’s not fair. I willingly gave him my first kiss, my first touch, and he was kind in those moments, handling me with care and passion. It was the aftermath that sucked, and that’s where my regrets lie.
The unexplainable need to speak with him one last time wins out, and I slowly step off the porch and make my way to the barn. I keep my steps even but stilted as I approach, still not one hundred percent sure I want to speak with him. I’m seconds from backing away, having decided to leave him alone, when a sob echoes through the barn.
All the hairs on my arms raise in response to the emotion he’s struggling with, and before I know it, I’m moving in the direction of the guttural sound. He’s not in the storage room, but I feel the air shift when I step inside the darkened tack room.