Never Let You Go(34)

“It’s a good job opportunity and I’ve missed eleven years of your life. I want to be around more this year, before you go away for university.”

“I didn’t tell Mom I saw you. She’s still really scared of you.”

“I know.” He looks sad, his mouth turning down. “I’m hoping that when she sees I’m not trying to mess up her life, she won’t be scared anymore.”

“You didn’t treat her well,” I say. “You hurt her.” It’s frightening to say the words out loud, but I feel daring and bold and reckless. I feel like she would be proud of me.

“I couldn’t control the drinking,” he says. “Every time it happened, I hated myself for days and I’d think I was never going to do it again, but the second I drank, I turned into someone else. It was like this big dark thing came in and took over and I couldn’t stop.”

“Do you think about the woman?” I almost whisper the question, can feel the dampness of the river and the winter air seeping into my bones. I shiver. I looked her up online, saw the photos of her car, the front all smashed in. Her name was Elizabeth Sanders and she was only twenty-eight years old. They used a photo of her from when she graduated nursing school, looking so happy and proud. I read all the comments underneath. Everyone hated my dad.

“All the time,” he says. “I couldn’t face it for years because I was in denial, but AA taught me about acceptance and forgiveness. One day I sat down and wrote her a letter.”

“She had a family.”

“I know. I wrote them a letter too.”

“Did they answer?”

“No, but I understand. I ruined their lives.” He looks at me. “I messed up yours too.”

“It’s been really hard.”

“I missed you a lot. I didn’t appreciate how good my life was. The stuff I used to get pissed off about…” He shakes his head. “I hate that I scared you and your mom.”

“I don’t remember being scared of you.”

“Are you scared of me now?”

“I don’t really know you anymore.”

“I get that.” He nods, picks up his rod, and walks to the shore. I wait on the log, not sure what to do. I watch him as he casts his fishing lure, and reels it in slowly. Then I push myself up and go over to stand beside him. He glances at me. “So tell me something I don’t know. Your best friend is Delaney. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” I laugh, but the first image that pops into my head is Jared’s face and I wonder why I’m thinking about his sleek black hair or how I might like to draw his crooked nose.

“What about you?” I say. “Do you date people now?” It’s a strange concept, thinking of my father, Andrew, out having dinner with a woman. Would he talk about me? Would she want to meet me? Maybe she’d have kids and then it would be like I had siblings. Then I remember that Mom doesn’t know about any of this. It’s not like I can share Christmases.

“I had the love of my life already.”

“You mean Mom?”

“Always.”

I feel sick in my stomach, the roast beef in uproar. Maybe it’s time to tell him the truth. “She has a boyfriend. I didn’t tell you last time because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

He stares out at the river for a really long time. I can’t read his expression. I thought it was better he knows about Greg so he can move on, but now I wish I hadn’t said anything.

“That’s good,” he finally says. “I want her to be happy.”

“You angry?”

“I’m disappointed, but I understand. She hasn’t talked to me for a long time.”

I have another horrible feeling that I’ve made a big mistake, that maybe he’s doing all this for a different reason. “You can’t come around her. She doesn’t want to see you.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t mess things up this time.” Before I can say anything else, he glances at his watch. “We better get going or I’ll miss the plane back to the island.”

We pack up all our things and I walk him to his truck, where he tells me I owe him twenty dollars for tackle. I know he’s joking because he has that sideways smile, so I laugh, but I’m thinking about how he said this time. As though he still has another chance with her. I’m scared he didn’t hear anything I said about Mom. That he doesn’t believe me.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


LINDSEY

OCTOBER 2005

I was raking leaves in the front yard, and picking up walnuts that stained my fingers black, when my brother pulled into the driveway in his old blue pickup truck.

“Mom said you canceled Sunday dinner,” he said.

I’d carefully applied makeup to my bruises, then wrapped a scarf around my neck. Sophie wanted to know why I was wearing it inside. I told her it was my new style. She wore one to school this morning as well, the ends trailing behind her.

Andrew had watched me while I made breakfast but he didn’t say anything, just drank two cups of coffee back to back and swallowed some Tylenol. I turned around once and saw his eyes settle on my throat, then drift away, something dark coming into his face.

“I’m not feeling good.” My voice still sounded raspy, from pain and fatigue. I’d barely slept all night, could only stare at the ceiling and replay the way Andrew’s hands had felt around my throat, my lungs screaming for air, the certainty that if Sophie hadn’t called out, he’d have kept going until I was dead. She’d saved my life. I used to be able to convince myself that he wouldn’t really hurt me, he wouldn’t go that far, something in him would make him stop. He loved me. I couldn’t lie to myself now. It was going to keep happening.