The Lies They Tell(53)
No sign of Dad. Fear trickled in then, running drop by frozen drop down her spine until she was driving much too fast, going up and down every street, praying Dad was on his way home right now and they’d pass each other any moment.
Pearl checked every public lot, every store that Dad went to, but each was closed and quiet. He was nowhere. Why’d she ever let him get rid of his phone? Of the two of them, he was the one who needed a connection. When she pulled into North Beach, it was because she was out of ideas, and North was the only place she wanted to be until she could fight back her panic. And there was the truck, in the far corner spot, completely alone as it faced the bay.
She parked beside him, saw the vague dark shape of him through the glass. She was about to rap on the window when he looked over at her, blinking as if she’d wakened him, and straightened a little.
Pearl let herself in to sit on the bench seat beside him. The air in the cab was stale, used. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Dad shifted, rubbed his eyes with one hand. “It was late. Easier for everybody if I pulled in here.”
“I didn’t know where you were. I thought something had happened.”
He cleared his throat, rolled down the window, and spat. “Well, it didn’t. So you can relax.”
She worked her jaw, remembering Mom’s words: it’s not your job, fixing Dad. Beyond the windshield, the tide was going out, exposing rocks strung with black seaweed, spotted with lichen. She smelled whiskey, saw the glass bottle sheathed in a paper bag nestled beneath his elbow.
Defeat sucked everything away, all her defenses. At once she was so horribly tired that her voice broke when she said, “We can’t keep going like this,” not even fully sure what the words meant, just that it was something to say that he couldn’t ignore.
Dad propped his elbow on the window casing, squeezing his forehead. “It was one night.”
“It’s every night. Either you’re at the Tavern or drinking yourself to sleep at home, and I’m sick of it.” She grabbed for the whiskey protected beneath his arm, succeeded in ripping the bag. “Like this. You’re seriously drinking from the bottle before eight in the morning? Dad—” She shut her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “What the hell?”
He swallowed, staring at the steering wheel. “I could ask you some questions, too. What the hell have you been doing this summer? You’re hardly ever around, and when you are, you’re shut up in your room. That Spencer kid comes by the house in his fancy-ass car looking for you, and then Dickie tells me that word is you were at that ball the other night. People saw you, all dressed up. You didn’t think I’d find out?”
She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I’m trying to help you.”
“How does you running around with some rich summer boy help me? Jesus, Pearl, I thought you were smarter than that. Don’t you know this crap has been going on forever? They come up here, use what we got, and then they go home. You think because he tells you you’re different, that makes it true?”
“Yeah, Dad, that’s it. I’m this pathetic loser now who needs some guy to tell her she’s good enough. You figured it out.”
“I’m not calling you a loser.”
“You’re just mad because I brought up the drinking. Period. You never used to care when I went out at night, or who I was with.”
“That was before.”
Before and After. She was sick of the words, fed up with them both for letting their lives be divided that way for so long. “It wasn’t your fault that they died, okay?” Her voice was loud, filling the cab. He’d never forgive her for bringing it up in the daylight, when he was mostly sober, but she couldn’t stop now. “You didn’t kill them. If the people in this town don’t get that, then maybe it’s time to find another town.”
He snorted, looked out the driver’s-side window at the deserted stretch of beach. “Right. With what money?”
“I don’t know, Dad, we’ll figure it out. God! It’s not like Tenney’s Harbor is the whole world. And you’re not the only one who can earn a paycheck, either. I’ve been doing pretty well for a while now.”
“You’re talking giving up college? Forget it.”
“I’m talking about helping out so it’s not all on you, just like I’ve been doing this whole time. But we can’t keep”—frustration bound her tongue for a moment—“bitching about the summer people for things that they can’t change, and not doing anything to change ourselves, either. You know? It’s stupid, and I won’t do it anymore.”
Her words were the last sound in the cab for some time. An SUV pulled into the lot; the driver let her golden retriever out of the backseat, tossing a rope toy for it to chase.
When Dad spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’ve screwed a lot of things up. I know that. With your mom, and you.” His arm twitched by the bottle, fell still. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure how . . .” He jerked his chin, blinking, a moistness in his eyes that she’d rarely seen. “Guess I need some help.”
Pearl watched him for a moment; then, tentatively, she leaned over and rested her head against his shoulder. On the beach, the dog played in the surf, hunting the rope, which bobbed and rolled, disappearing and reappearing in the waves.