More Than Good Enough(27)

“We didn’t know.”

“Well, that doesn’t make it okay. Does it?”

He actually waited for an answer.

“Does it?”

“No,” Pippa said in a small voice.

I wanted to smash the guy’s teeth out. All thirty-two of them.

My dad was waiting for us, hunched in a metal chair, the kind that wreak havoc on your joints no matter which way you sit. Just looking at his face, I could tell he was wasted.

“This is how you treat your old man?” he said. “You go and pull a f*cked-up stunt like this?”

I got a whiff of beer as he stumbled out of the chair. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

“You’re not running the show around here, boy. We’ll talk when I damn well please.” I’d seen him out of control, but never like this.

We had to sit there, listening to this garbage, while the rangers filled out their stupid papers. When they finally let us go, Dad marched to the Jeep at full speed. There was no stopping him.

“Come on, Dad,” I said. “Pass the keys. I’m driving.”

“The hell you are.”

“Seriously. Let me have the keys.”

He opened the door. “You,” he said. “Get in.”

Pippa scrambled into the back. I couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

Actually, I could.

On the ride home, she didn’t say one word. Dad was blabbing so much, nobody had a chance. He’d hitched the Kawasaki to the rack, hopped into the driver’s seat, and gunned it down the road.

We swerved onto the highway, cutting off a minivan. When the guy behind us honked, Dad rolled down the window and flipped him off. I half-expected bullets to start flying. Road rage or whatever. The guy blasted his horn again: a thin, watery note that lost an octave the farther we raced ahead.

“Don’t even start,” Dad muttered.

Was he venting at me or the pissed-off driver?

Dad switched back to his favorite subject: no-good sons. He jerked the wheel and pulled into the next lane. Billboards whizzed past, screaming shit about legal fireworks and gator meat.

“Watch it,” I said, twisting around to check on Pippa in the backseat. It killed me just imagining how she must feel. Her face was against the glass, her neck wet with tears.

Dad punched the breaks and I slammed into the dashboard. I shifted my gaze to the road. All the trees beside the canal looked scorched, as if lightning had struck them one by one.

We turned the corner for the Rez. In the dark, our neighbor’s chickee hut reminded me of a monster, the kind that scared me as a kid staying up and watching late-night horror movies on TV. Then I got a little bigger and wondered what the hell was so scary in the first place.

As we rattled over the driveway, Dad chugged the rest of his Big Gulp. He pitched the cup out the window.

I knew what came next. This is when Angry Dad morphed into Pathetic Dad. If I waited long enough, he’d be sobbing on the couch. Eventually, the sobs faded into snores. The next morning, the stuttery noise of the blender would drill through the house. I’d find him in the garage, pumping iron like nothing ever happened.

Dad wasn’t crying now. He got out of the car, marched to the opposite side, and flung open the passenger door. Before I could pry him off, he dragged me onto the pavement. I skidded on my knees, tasted dirt and blood.

“So what’s the deal?” he said, lurching toward the Jeep. “This your girlfriend?”

I lifted my head. “Leave her alone.”

Dad tugged the handle, but Pippa must’ve locked it. He pounded on the window. “Hey missy. It’s time you got a few things straight,” he said, trying the door again. “My son? See, he’s screwing this little cha-cha.”

“Shut up, Dad. Nobody wants to hear it.”

“Comes and goes whenever he likes. Sleeps all day. Leaves a mess all over the house. He’s even got the balls to steal my beer. So tell me, missy. Do I look like a fool to you?”

“That’s enough. I said shut up. You’re drunk.”

He spun around. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that.”

Dad swung his fist. White heat tunneled through my ribs. I rolled face-down in the grass, tried to shield myself with my arms. Kicks came from all directions. No muscle that didn’t burn. Even the space inside was swollen.

I squeezed my eyes open. Headlights raked the backyard. In the driveway, there was the Jeep, a hulking metal thing. Pippa watched from the front seat. Her silent face floated behind the windshield.

Dad’s voice dissolved into static. It was true, what he said. Pippa deserved better. I was an idiot to think she’d care.

My backpack was on the ground, just a few feet away. It must’ve fallen when he pulled me from the car. If I could reach it, the gun wouldn’t be hard to dig out.

“You got a smart mouth,” Dad was saying, “and it’s doing you no good. You better sharpen up quick. Because you’re no different than me, boy. Your hear that? No different.”

Me and Dad? We had nothing in common. He was an * who wrote bad checks and cheated on my mom, a freak who couldn’t handle a job that required a bigger mental capacity than mowing lawns, a middle-aged loser who got wasted every night just because he couldn’t face the sad reality of his non-existence.