“I did give him a chance to talk, English. Even before you were around. Countless times. I asked him over and over to tell me—”
“No, Axel. You’d make a statement, and ask a question, but it was obvious no answer would have been good enough for you in the heat of that moment. Because you’re hurting. You talk about his wall. Well, he taught you how to build walls too, baby, because now that this is all exposed, he can’t get over yours. You built it too high! You have to give him a chance to climb over. Throw him a rope. Not to hang himself, but to meet you halfway.”
He hung his head. It was all he could do. Look down at his boots. He didn’t want to feel this anymore… He didn’t want it to continue. It took all he had in him—more upsetting than having to shoot a man dead. Worse than Ms. Florence’s funeral. This pain gnawed at him from the inside. It was an old pain, one determined to be a part of him. English grabbed his hand once again and squeezed.
“When you see him, you see lies, despair, and evil. You have to listen to his lies, to get to the truth, Axel. I know that sounds crazy, but just listen. I gave a good look at your father. I know he is everything you and your mother said he was, but I also saw how he looked at you when we first got to that jail. When we picked him up, he was so happy to see you! It was a genuine smile.”
“That’s just because he was happy to be out of that cell. He don’t care about me.”
“I don’t believe that, Axel. I think your father is a frightened little man. Little in character, not stature. When people lie all the time, especially to those they love, it means they are trying to hide something. Something they may be ashamed of. I was lyin’ to my parents about Master all the time. I never did that before. I was ashamed of the truth, so I hid it from them. I think before you drive off, you need to toss him a lifeline, and listen. You need to hear him…”
Chills ran down his spine. That was exactly what Ms. Florence had said. He looked at the radio, and wondered if that song was on again. He swallowed, turned it on, and something else was playing. He sighed with relief.
“Just because Hall and Oates isn’t playing, baby, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.” There she was, reading his mind again. Just like he often read hers. “If Ms. Florence did that song business that happened earlier, mess with the radio, then she already said her peace. She doesn’t need to repeat it and play that song again, like a broken record. YOU HEARD HER JUST FINE THE FIRST TIME…”
Axel’s father was now sitting on the steps, looking down. Looking broken, like an old toy.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, Axel, regarding this whole Ms. Florence business, but to dismiss it I believe would be more foolish than not believing it. There are things in this world and beyond that we can’t explain. To some folks, it’s a miracle that you and I even met. To other folks, we shouldn’t even be together. What matters is only what you and I think.” She pointed at him, then herself. “Now, you go on and talk to that man, and you do so with an open mind. I’m going to sit right here in this truck and read, send an email or two. He probably will do what he always does and not tell the truth, for whatever reason,” she lifted both hands and shrugged, “but this is actually not about him, baby. It’s about you. And if I believe in you, which I do with all of my heart and soul, then I believe in your peace and healing, too.”
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. The sight tore him apart.
“The promise you made to Ms. Florence wasn’t for her, baby. She had you make that promise for you.” She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against his.
Wrapping his hand around her neck, he drew her impossibly closer to deepen their kiss. Then, he reluctantly pulled away, opened the driver’s door, and stepped out onto the driveway. When he closed the door, his father slowly lifted his head. Father and son were looking at one another. The eyes were the windows to their torn apart souls.
Chapter Twenty-One
The front screen door creaked open like a slowly opening mouth. Tammy stood in the doorway, her brown hair in a plastic clip and a bandage on her arm. An oversized denim dress flowed down to her swollen ankles and puffy bare feet. In the background, the sounds of Christopher Cross’, ‘Ride Like the Wind’ could be heard.