A Deep and Dark December(26)
“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?” Graham asked.
“I don’t have to. It got me reelected every term and you elected in my place. And someday if you ever shave your beard, get a wife, and act like you give a darn, it’ll get your son elected sheriff, too. That’s the way of it.”
“Pop, you know I’m only filling in until Adam gets home. I’ve got a job, a home, a life in Los Angeles that I want to get back to.” Or more like a life he wanted to rebuild in L.A.
“Your brother’s a second son. Only first sons become sheriff, you know that. Besides, Adam signed up for another tour of duty. He’s not coming home any time soon.”
“Son of a— ”
“I told you to watch your mouth in my house,” Ham growled. Ham could still be intimidating, Graham realized with surprise.
Graham slid to the front of his chair and slammed his empty cup on the desk, crumpling it. “When did this happen?”
“About three months ago.”
“You let me think…all the time you were in the hospital and through that farce of an election, you let me think this whole thing was temporary.”
He’d gone along with it to placate his father. He didn’t think Ham’s health could take a lot of pushback at the time. Stepping in temporarily also gave Graham time to figure his own shit out and if he should go back to L.A. or someplace else where his past didn’t trail out behind him. He’d thought he had an out. But now…
Graham pushed to his feet and leaned across the desk. “You tricked me.”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort. You sit down and listen.” Ham glared at his son until Graham dropped back into his seat with a huff. “You have a responsibility to me, this family, and this town.” Ham pointed at Graham. “You’re a Doran. It’s high time you lived up to your heritage.”
Graham rubbed a finger across his bearded chin, looking everywhere but at his father. Trapped. He was well and truly trapped. His father had boxed him in, knowing it was always Graham’s plan to leave this godforsaken town. Ham knew that Graham wasn’t going to stay. Son of a mother-f*cking bitch!
“When you come to accept what is, you’ll see I’m right,” Ham said.
“Pax should have been elected sheriff. He’s put in the time and he already lives here. He’s a good man.”
“Pax isn’t a Doran. Now, that’s the end of it.”
And the sad thing was, his father was right. This was the end of it. The end of his career in the LAPD narcotics squad. The end of his life being his. He’d thought almost losing his father had been bad. This was ten times worse. Almost losing something was nothing like actually losing it.
“What did your witness say in her statement?” Ham asked.
Graham dropped heavily back into his chair. Old resentments rose up, threatening to choke him. He’d thought by leaving, things would change, his father would change. But nothing changed in a town that stayed the same year after year, decade after decade, generation after generation. By returning he’d been sucked back into the expectations and responsibilities he’d run from. He doubted he’d be able to escape a second time. Maybe this was his punishment for what had happened in L.A. with Patricia. Maybe this was his comeuppance. God knew he deserved this and more. He couldn’t have chosen a more ironic penance than this.
“Pretty much what I already told you.” Graham couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone. “She’s not giving her formal statement until tomorrow. Do you mind if I go? It’s late.”
“Sure, son.”
Graham stood. “Well, good-night.” He started for the door, his tread heavy.
“Graham?” He looked back at his father. “It’s good to have you home.”
He nodded and left the study, wishing he could escape responsibility as easily. He’d counted on his father to be sheriff until Adam came home. Had hoped his move to Los Angeles would have been enough, but here he was, right back where he didn’t want to be.
The sea wind hit him full force, a briny slap in the face. He jogged to his car and climbed in, needing to get the hell out of there. He was trapped. Trapped by tradition and familial expectations. Trapped in a town that ate at his soul. He hated the confines of small town life, the small minds and big mouths. He could almost feel it closing in on him, suffocating him. He didn’t belong here and he couldn’t quite see his way back to L.A. and the memories that waited for him there.
He sped down the deserted streets, passing memories along the way. The corner where he’d crashed his first bike. The diner where he’d had his first date. The baseball field where he’d played Little League. He knew the name of the family that lived in almost every house he passed. He knew which businesses were new and which had been around for generations, transitioning from one family member to the next.
He’d never thought of his family’s legacy as anything other than a burden, a duty to escape from, like mowing the lawn or hauling out the trash. His father spoke of it as though it was an honor. He wished he felt the same. He would always fail his father in that way. His father’s disappointment in him had become a near tangible thing he brushed and bumped up against almost constantly. He didn’t know how to be the son his father wanted him to be.
He stopped his car and suddenly realized he’d come to the bluffs, the highest point in San Rey. The muffled roar of the sea dashing on the rocks below drew him out of the car. He’d often come here as a teenager to think or try to get in some girl’s pants. Forgoing the bench, he stood at the railing and looked out over the night-blackened ocean. There was something about the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide that soothed him. It was constant, dependable. He pulled in a deep breath and tilted his face into the misty breeze, closing his eyes. If only he could be like the waves, coming and going as he pleased.