The Words We Leave Unspoken(58)

I take a deep breath, completely caught off guard and say, “Yes, I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, at first you were too young to know the truth. And I don’t know, I guess after sheltering you from it all for so long, it just seemed easier to let you think what you wanted about Dad... and Mom... about the whole thing. It was hard to keep track of him, he moved around a lot. First it was small apartments in the city and then he crashed on other people’s couches until eventually he ran out of options. Mom always seemed to keep tabs on him.”

Charley’s a grownup but she always seems so fragile. I’ve always protected her from this truth as if it would be too much for her, but maybe she should’ve known the truth all along. Maybe it wasn’t right to keep it all from her, like the way I kept my cancer from John.

“What about Mom? She said that she was broken when Dad left and that’s why she shut us out, but why didn’t she fight for him? Why did she give up so easily?” Charley sounds like that little girl that I remember. In so many ways, when it comes to her emotions, she still is a little girl. And maybe that’s my fault.

“His drinking had been spiraling out of control, getting worse by the day. Mom and Dad were fighting constantly and he was always angry. Some nights he didn’t even bother to come home. The night before he left, he came home late. I heard him stumble in and then heard Mom and Dad arguing. I opened my bedroom door to see what was going on and I could tell he was drunk. He could hardly walk and Mom was beyond upset. She was screaming at him and... he hit her, Charley. He actually hit her.”

I bring my hand to my cheek, lost in the memory, picturing my mother’s tear-streaked face and the shock written in her expression. I watched her raise her chin slightly in defiance, but before she could respond, my father pushed her back against the wall where she hit her head and fell slowly to the ground. I wanted to run to her, overcome with a fierce protectiveness, but I was scared, rooted in my spot where I watched it all from my bedroom doorway. Watched my dad morph into a stranger, become someone I didn’t know. I just stood there and watched when he kicked her in the stomach over and over as she was lying defenseless on her side, all the while he was muttering things about how she never respects him, how tiring her nagging has become, and what a terrible wife and mother she is. I tell this all to Charley now in excruciating detail.

“Is that the man that you wanted Mom to fight for?” I ask.

Of course, I also remember, minutes later, when it was over, my father was full of apologies and almost terrified of what he had done, and my mother was no fool, told him in the most heartbreaking voice that he couldn’t stay unless he got sober. That enough was enough. I knew then, that it was the first and last time he would ever hurt my mother. At least with his fists.

I can feel myself getting angry. All those nights I heard my Mom crying. All those nights I listened to Charley dream about him coming back for her. I never wanted him to come back. I felt relieved that he was gone. I felt guilty for feeling that way, knowing that his absence caused both my mother and Charley so much pain but I was relieved.

“I didn’t know,” Charley whispers, looking down at the brush in her hands, fingering the course bristles.

“Mom gave him a choice, Charley. His family or the booze and he chose... well you know what he chose. He left us because he’s a coward. He wasn’t strong enough to choose us. Mom was devastated. She loved him so much. She would’ve done anything for him, but she wasn’t willing to risk our safety. She did it for us, made him choose, but she couldn’t handle the fact that he left. She struggled with depression. She could hardly get out of bed for months and I held us all together. I bought the groceries, bathed you, took you to school, cooked our meals. I did it all. And then came all the men. And they all left too, one after the other...”

“I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t know,” she says, shifting around until she’s facing me on the bed, a single tear sliding down her cheek. I watch her reach up and wipe it away. Her hair is messy and falling in her face, her skin flawless. Her beauty sometimes catches me off guard, seeing the woman that she’s become.

“I know. I didn’t want you to know.”

“The part that I can’t let go of, the part that’s eating me up inside is why someone would choose that life, choose such a lonely and cold existence when they could be surrounded by love?” Tears are flowing steady down her face, breaking my heart again. She sniffs and then says, “Because I would’ve loved him, Gwen. I would’ve loved him so much.”

“I don’t know why,” I whisper, shaking my head. “It’s funny... well not funny... but I sometimes find myself asking the same question about you.” I look into Charley’s eyes to gauge her reaction.

“Me? What does one have to do with the other?” she asks, confused.

“Is it not the same? I worry about you and why you always choose to be alone over love. I try to tell myself that you just haven’t met the right person, but come on, we both know that’s not it.”

She’s quiet for a moment and I worry that I’ve said too much.

Her brows are pulled in tight as she looks from her hands to my face.

“You think I’m a coward, like him? Is that what you’re saying?” Her voice is quiet and hoarse.

“I don’t think you’re a coward, Charley,” Gwen whispers. “There’s a big difference between being afraid and being a coward. But yes, I think you push people away because you’re afraid. And Dad? Choosing the easy road makes him a coward.” I think of my father, leaving without even trying to change, without even giving it a shot.