Rapid Falls(31)

My chest was aching when we pulled into my father’s driveway. The house looked the same as it always had: an A-frame shingled in cedar that had faded from golden brown to nearly silver. The property was beautiful, nestled into a piece of land hugged by the river on two sides due to a slight bend in its course. I went to bed every night listening to the murmur of the water. I used to think I couldn’t fall asleep without it. My foot landed in a patch of blackened gravel when I stepped out. My dad had changed the oil of our cars here for years.

Rick turned to me, his face worried. “Do you smell smoke?”

The acrid scent caught in my throat before his question was finished. I ran up the flagstone path that my mom had laid. “Dad?” I called as I tried the handle of the front door. It swung open. I was relieved to see the house was clear of fire, but as I crossed through the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of black smoke outside. The barbecue. I flung open the patio door and then stopped in my tracks, bewildered at the sight of the billowing smoke. Rick didn’t hesitate. He crossed the patio and stepped to the back of the propane grill. Its lid was closed, but thick clouds puffed out the side like an angry dragon’s breath. Rick covered his mouth with his hand as he turned the valve on the tank, shutting off the fuel source. Almost immediately the smoke lessened.

“This is hot as hell, Cara. Be careful.”

I pressed myself against the sliding door, frantically looking for my dad. Where the hell was he? Had he collapsed and had a heart attack? Through the blurred glass, I could make out a large shape on the couch. In our hurry to put out the fire, I hadn’t seen him. I slid open the door and walked over to where he was lying prone on the tweed sofa. His eyelids flickered when Rick called, “Close that door or the smoke will get inside too.”

My dad heaved himself up slowly as I slid the glass door shut. His voice was thick; it sounded like his tongue was struggling to push the word out of his mouth. “Cara.”

“Hi, Dad.” I stepped forward as he rose, thinking he would welcome me with an embrace.

“You’re early.” He stood in place, wobbling slightly.

I didn’t respond, still half expecting him to thank us for saving his house from burning down. My gaze returned outside to Rick, who was lifting the grill’s lid with the edge of a pair of barbecue tongs. Smoke billowed out and he stepped back, letting it dissipate before plucking the charcoal lump off the metal grate. He caught my eye as he turned to the house and crossed the deck to the door.

“Hello, sir.” Rick entered the room and extended his hand. My father looked at it, then reached forward with his. “I’m Rick Stanley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

My father nodded but didn’t meet Rick’s eyes. I felt a flush of shame but spoke quickly to cover it.

“Were you making lunch for us?”

My dad looked at me blearily.

“The barbecue?” I coaxed.

“Looks like you had a steak on there.” Rick’s gentle tone flooded me with gratitude.

“Huh.” My dad made a sound that I took for an affirmative answer.

“Do you want me to fix us something else? The steak is a bit well done,” Rick said, smiling. “Sir?”

My dad sat down heavily. The clock ticked. Suddenly he looked up as if he had just realized we were there. “What do you want, Cara?” He sounded exhausted.

Rick walked over to me and slipped his hand into mine. His touch gave me enough strength to answer.

“We talked last week. I told you we were coming. I wanted you to meet—” My throat became too tight for me to continue. I felt humiliated and ashamed.

“It’s not . . . a good time right now.” My father reached a hand over to the side table and picked up a tumbler. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tilted back the glass to finish what was left.

I turned to Rick, half-afraid that my father’s behavior would be enough to make him leave me forever. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Cara. Maybe we should go.”

My father nodded, though his eyes never left the bottom of his empty glass.

“Is that what you want, Dad?”

“It’s . . . not a good time,” he repeated, slurring. I gripped Rick’s hand as he led me back toward the front door.

“Do you want us to leave, Dad?” My heart throbbed when he nodded.

“Not up for a visit.”

“Goodbye, sir,” Rick said. “Nice to meet you.”

I wanted to scream, so I couldn’t trust myself to say anything at all. I turned my back and left my father swaying behind me in the afternoon light.

Once we stepped outside, Rick said, “That barbecue is still hot, Cara. Is there anyone we can call to look in on him . . . in case he tries to use it again?”

Let him burn, I thought to myself. “He’ll be fine.”

We climbed back in the car in silence. As we drove back over the bridge toward the highway, I stared at the water below. Jesse was still down there, somewhere. Whatever was left of him. Anna would be in prison for another year. They were stuck in place, but I wasn’t.

“I’m so sorry, Rick.”

I’d never seen Rick’s eyes look so kind as he touched my cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cara. It’s not your fault.”

I took a deep breath and gave him a small smile. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”