The Impossible Knife of Memory(68)

“Did they arrest him?”

She shook her head. “I smoothed it over, gave them the background. God, how many times have I done that before?”

I was thinking the same thing.

“I paid for his tab and our meals. They won’t press charges as long as he stays away.”

We sat without talking for a long time, the clock ticking against the wall.

“Has he ever hurt you?” Trish finally asked. “I know he’d never do it on purpose, but . . .”

“Of course not,” I lied as the scene in front of the bonfire and the confrontation on Halloween night played out in my mind. “He wasn’t this bad before you got here. I think you should leave, go back to Texas.”

She stood up. “You could be right.”

After a long shower, I got into bed and texted: not going to school tomorw

Finn didn’t answer.





_*_ 69 _*_

A sharp knock woke me up.

“What’s-his-name is going to be here soon,” Dad said

through the closed door.

“I’m not going,” I said with a groan. “And his name is

Finn. Why are you up so early?”

“Are you sick?” he asked.

This was the day he’d normally stay in bed past noon,

resting up so he could drink himself blind by midnight.

“Have you been up all night?” I asked.

“Are you sick?” he repeated. “Honest now.”

“No, but the bus has already left,” I said. “I told Finn not

to pick me up.”

“Trish can take you.”

“I’d rather crawl over broken glass.”

Silence.

“Can I borrow your truck?” I asked.

He sighed loudly.

“I’ll come straight home after school, I promise.” “No,” he said firmly. “I’ll drive you. Be ready in ten.”

Five minutes later, I was ready. Dad was still in the shower so I headed to the kitchen. Trish was pouring water into the coffeepot, wearing a robe and slippers.

“Coffee will only take a minute,” she said.

I took an apple out of the fridge. “Thought you were leaving.”

“Never did like mornings much, did you?”

I took the keys off the nail by the back door and went out through the garage. The truck started on the first try, and the cab was toasty warm by the time I’d finished my apple. Ten minutes had come and gone. I turned on the radio and watched the front door, fearing the steadily increasing chance that Trish was going to come through it and say that Dad had changed his mind. I put my foot on the brake and shifted into reverse. The second she showed her face, I’d take off.

The front door opened.

A soldier stepped into the cold sunshine, an army captain in full-dress uniform: polished black boots, regulation-creased pants, blindingly white shirt, and black tie under a blue wool jacket decorated with captain’s bars, Ranger tab on his left shoulder, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, oak leaf clusters, and the fruit salad of ribbons and hardware that meant he had led troops into battle and tried his best to bring them all home.

I turned off the radio.

He walked slowly toward the truck, his eyes on me the whole way, black beret tilted at exactly the right angle on his head. The swelling around his eye had gone down. The plum-colored bruise looked painful.

I put the truck in park, opened the door, and got out.

“Well?” he asked.

One side of my heart tha-thumped like I was a little kid and he’d just come home and I could run across the hangar floor when the order releasing the troops was shouted, and Daddy would pick me up so I could hug him around the neck and, nose to nose, look into his sky-colored eyes and tell him that I missed him so much. The other side of my heart froze in panic because now I was old enough to understand where he got that limp and why he screamed in his sleep and that something inside him was broken. I didn’t know how to fix it or if it could be fixed.

He tugged at the bottom of his jacket. “There’s some stupid assembly at your school. I never promised your counselor that I’d go. I might change my mind in five minutes, just warning you.”

I nodded, speechless.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Is this a good idea?” I asked.

“Figured it was worth a shot.”

I nodded again.

He wiped away the tears rolling down my face. “What’s all this about?”

I cleared my throat. “Sun’s in my eyes, Daddy.”

“Bullshit, princess.”

“A llergies.”

He kissed my forehead. “You drive.”





_*_ 70 _*_

After signing in at the office, I took Dad to Ms. Benedetti’s office. She melted a little, the way a lot of women do when my dad is more-or-less sober, cleaned up, and in uniform. They chatted about her brother and a few wild things Dad had never mentioned he did in high school. Benedetti did not ask about the shiner. She explained how the assembly was going to be run: boring speeches, a short video, more boring speeches, and then each veteran onstage would be presented with a bouquet of flowers and a Belmont High Machinists stadium blanket.

A muscle twitched below Dad’s ear. He clenched his jaw. “The vets will be onstage for the whole thing?” I asked. “Absolutely! We want our veterans to know how much