Just One of the Guys(88)

Dad is sitting like a Labrador retriever who’s scented a pheasant. Ryan glances in the direction of Dad’s gaze, as do we all.

Uh-oh is right. Through the French doors that divide Emo’s bar from the restaurant, we can see Mom and Harry just taking their seats. And my father’s face is like thunder. My heart starts to thud sickly in my throat.

Jack goes over to Dad and puts a hand on his arm. “This is getting out of hand,” my father barks. More than a few people quiet down. Mark and Lucky walk cautiously over to join Jack. I know they won’t let Dad start a fight, but they don’t want to embarrass him, either.

“Back off, boys,” my father mutters. He strides over to the French doors and stands there, staring at his wife and her boyfriend.

“What’s this about?” Ryan asks, coming to my side. He puts his arm around me and kisses my neck.

“Not now, Ryan,” I say, stepping away. “My parents—”

Mom is staring back at Dad, not defiantly, not with anger or arrogance. She just looks at him through the doors. Harry is studying the wine list, looks up and sees Dad, as well. He hesitates, says something to my mom, and she looks away.

At that moment, my father seems to swell in rage. He starts forward, but Jack jerks him back. Dad wheels on his oldest son, his face furious.

“Get your hands off me, John,” he snarls, actually shoving Jack.

A lightning sheet of panic flashes through me. Oh, God, if Dad makes a scene, it’ll be awful.

Then Trevor is there, Trev who has always looked up to Dad, and in recent months has looked after him, as well. He steps between Jack and my father, says something in a low voice. Dad’s jaw is clenched and his eyes cut back and forth between Jack and Trev. Then he looks down, and the moment is over. Trevor nods, squeezes Dad’s shoulder, and Dad walks back toward our booth.

“Dad?” I say, my voice a little shaky.

“Not now, Chastity,” he answers, not looking at me.

“Chastity, would you like a drink?” Ryan asks. As his back was to the action, he missed the whole scene. I ignore him.

“Dad?” I say as my father opens the door.

He finally turns and looks at me, and suddenly, my eternally youthful father looks old, and there’s a look in his eyes, an empty, blank look. “Daddy, are you okay?” I ask, my eyes filling.

“I’m fine,” he answers. “I need to be alone, that’s all.” And then he’s gone, a rush of summer humidity filling the space where he just was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MY GLUM MOOD CONTINUES on Sunday morning. I can’t shake the feeling I got when I saw that emptiness in my father’s eyes. I call my mom, and she’s subdued, as well.

“I’m not doing this to make a point,” Mom says quietly. “Harry’s good to me, Chastity. I care about him, we’re compatible. And I’m just…” She sighs, and I hear years of fatigue in that sigh. “I’m just worn out with your father. I feel like an eraser at the end of a pencil. Just worn down to nothing from years of the same thing.”

“He looked so sad, Mom,” I whisper. “He still loves you.”

“That’s not the point, sweetheart.” She’s quiet for a moment. “How are things with Ryan? Did I see him at Emo’s last night?”

“Don’t change the subject, Mom. What about Dad?”

“What do you want me to say, Chastity?” she snaps. “You don’t want to hear it, let me assure you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“You. You close your eyes to certain things, Chastity.” Her voice is hard.

“Okay, fine. You don’t want to tell me, fine. I have some work to do, anyway.” I click End, wishing for the good old days when a person could slam down the phone.

I don’t work. I go for a long, punishing row instead. It’s humid, the bugs are out, sweat stings my eyes. Perfect. It matches my mood. When I return to my dock, I’m surprised to see Ernesto there. Shit. I forgot I’d promised him another lesson.

“Hey, Chastity!” he says. “Congratulations again on passing the test.”

“Same to you, pal,” I say, climbing out of the boat. “Sorry. I kind of forgot about you.”

“We can skip it,” he offers.

“Nah. You’re here. Let’s do it.”

For the next half hour, I coach Ernesto, who’s actually something of a natural. We talk about the cost of single sculls and where he could keep such a vessel. He’s a nice guy, Ernesto. I’ll miss seeing him every week.

“So, Chas, I got a job with Ames Ambulance Service,” he says. “They hired me two weeks ago, so long as I passed yesterday.”

“Really? That’s great.”

“What about you? Are you going to apply? They’re hiring, you know.”

I grimace. “No, I won’t apply. Even though I passed, Ernie, I’m not really good around blood and gore.”

“Fooled me,” he says.

“Fooled is the right word,” I answer.

I GO TO ANGELA’S FOR DINNER that night. Her house is half of a two-family unit, very cozy and warm. She’s made spinach-and-feta phyllo triangles and marmalade-glazed shrimp and hands me a huge, fruity drink with an umbrella and a straw in it. There’s mango in it, and grapefruit juice and something else, and it’s absolutely fabulous.