Father's Keeper (11 page)

Chapter
13

At the tavern, I relived those moments
in my head over and over. I could feel the small bruises on my breasts from
Gil’s teeth thump in time with my heart. I’d even caught myself glancing at
them when I dressed for work. I pressed them with my fingertips off and on to
feel the sharp little flash of pain and then the dull thumping pleasure that
followed.

Carl sat with the band over in the
corner. His landscaping buddies bought rounds of beers and I tried to be calm
and professional when I served them. Carl glanced at me one moment looking
chagrined, the next looking enraged. I could only assume that he wasn’t taking
the break up well at all.

I did my best to avoid him and when
the after dinner crowd came rushing through the front door, it was easy to get
swallowed up by the crowd. It was easy to not pay attention to Carl or his
group or even Tammy the slut who fucked everyone’s boyfriend.

“Careful. Don’t be too judgmental,” I
reminded myself with a snicker.

“Who you talking to?” John asked,
grinning.

“Myself. I am old and senile and I
talk to myself,” I said pulling a draft beer and slapping a bowl of pretzels on
my tray.

“Just as long as you don’t answer
yourself,” he said, winking. “At least that’s what my grandmother always said.”

“True story,” I laughed.

My shift passed pretty fast thanks to
all the daydreaming. I glanced up to find only fifteen minutes left in my
shift. Then I could go home. Would Gil be there? Would he take me again? Would
he want me? Would he bite me when he fucked me?

John yelled out, “Yo, Jenny!” and
waved an empty napkin holder at me. The appetizer special tonight were wings
and we’d blown through enough napkins to sink a ship. I nodded and headed back
to the storage room to grab more.

I pushed through the crowded back room
and passed the back door to the tavern and unlocked the door to the small
storage room. I scanned the shelves for napkins when I felt the hands shove me
hard. I stumbled into the small storage room with a yell and Carl rushed in
behind me. Crowding me in, smashing me to the shelving unit.

“What’s it like to fuck your father?”
he spat. I could tell by his boozy breath that he’d been doing shots. Shots and
Carl do not mix. Carl is a beer guy, put hard liquor in him and move out of the
way. He’s a mean drunk when it’s hard stuff he’s swigging.

“Carl, let me get you some coffee,” I
said. If I was calm and easy he’d let me out and let me fix him up. In a few
hours he’d be his normal nice guy self.

“Fuck you, cunt,” he said. “I asked
you a question.” He took a step toward me and I tried to back up, my shoulder
blades pressed to the metal shelf. There was really nowhere for me to go at
all.

“Carl, I don’t know what you think
you--”

He tugged my hair hard and I winced.
Carl stared at the blue bits, snorted, dropped it like it disgusted him. “I
heard
you fucking your father. Gil. I
heard you
!” He pointed at me, his eyes
narrow slits of rage. “I came to get my stuff last night and heard you in there
together. You been fucking him the whole time we’ve been here? Did we come here
so you could fuck your daddy, you little whore?”

Spit flew from his mouth and my own
rage swooped down on me. My hand flew up before I could think and I smacked his
face hard. “Who are you talking to you cocksucker? You fucked Tammy. Tammy
fucks everybody.”

“Tammy’s not my kin,” he spat and
slapped me back. The force behind his hand rocked my head back and my skull
connected with the shelf with a crack that sounded like a shotgun going off in
my brain. “You are fucking your daddy, Jennifer.”

“He’s not my daddy,” I said. “You know
that. You just want it to be worse than it is. And I think we were over a long
time ago, Carl. You were just a dick with legs to me. A nice dick with legs,
but still…”

He cocked his arm to hit me again but
the door swung open and John filled the doorway. All six foot four of him and
every inch of it pissed off. He grabbed Carl’s arm and turned him with an easy
twist of his arm. “Now what kind of pussy hits on girls?” he asked almost
conversationally and marched Carl out back. I heard one solid punch connect and
then John was coming in the backdoor, smiling and gently rubbing his fist.

“Go punch out and go home. I’m calling
Gil to keep an eye on you. You need a ride?”

I shook my head no because my tongue
wouldn’t work to talk. I would walk. Maybe I’d walk off the shakes I had now
that the adrenaline was pumping through my system like a tidal wave.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine,” I managed. “I want to
walk.”

“Hmm, I’m not too keen on that.”

“I’ll call as soon as I get home,” I
assured him.

“Promise?”

I nodded, waiting for my heart to stop
pounding. My head ached from hitting it and my stomach was sick with the fear
I’d felt. That helpless feeling always left me feeling shaken and messy.
“Promise,” I whispered.

“Alright then. Call me if you need to
take tomorrow off.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” I said. Because I
was hell bent that I would be fine. Not being fine was not an option. Too much
in my life was crushing me down, making me feel like a victim. I didn’t want to
be a victim and I didn’t want to be a babysitter to Carl. I walked at first,
then broke out in a run. Running so that my heart pounded with a sickening rush.
But it made me feel alive to feel it racing in my chest.

I was almost home when I saw Gil’s
truck round the corner. I didn’t  realize I was crying until he pulled up and
popped the interior light on. “Get in,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I said. Why was I being so
stubborn when he was just watching out for me? Taking care of me. It was
something my mother rarely did, she wanted to be my friend more than my mother.
Carl sure as shit never took care of me, and sometimes, because I was stubborn
and stupid, I didn’t even take care of myself. Here was Gil reaching out to me
and I was acting like the brat I’d been in high school.

“Get. In. The. Truck. It’s not a
question,” he said and leaned over the seat and popped the door.

I climbed up into the cab and sat
back, heart still trip hammering in my chest from running and from fear. “I’m
fine,” I said again, though I felt the raw spot on my scalp from Carl yanking
my hair.

“I know what happened. It’s all I have
in me not to find that boy and beat him down with a baseball bat,” Carl said
lowly. “So I can drop you off and let you be
fine
on your own but that
means I’ll be out looking for your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said.

“
Or
you can stay here with me
and let me take you home so that I am satisfied in my heart of nosy hearts that
you are indeed safe and sound,” Gil finished.

I actually laughed. I couldn’t help
it. The way he said it made it clear I had no choice but we could pretend I
did. “Fine, fine. Take me home, Jeeves. Make me a grilled cheese and a cold cola.”

“Good girl,” Gil said and patted my
leg. When he touched me I hoped there’d be more in the deal than a grilled
cheese for me at home.

I borrowed Gil’s cell to call John and
assure him I was safe. “Let me know about tomorrow,” he said. “The offer still
stands.”

“I will, I will,” I said.

In the house Gil looked me over and I
rolled my eyes. “You’re making me feel like a dog being checked for ticks,” I
said. “I’m fine.” I might have a bruise on my arm from him holding me. I might
have one on my shoulder blades from backing up into the shelves. I might have
one on my scalp because he pulled my hair but Mary Warden pulled my hair in the
third grade and I survived. I tried to laugh it off but he ran his fingers over
my arm and then spun me around and raised my shirt to check my back.

When he clucked and I winced I knew
there was a bit of bruising on my back. Gil’s warm lips fell on that tender
spot and I held my breath as he kissed it for me. “Fucker. What a fucker,
fucker, fucker,” he said softly.

“Yes, he is a fucker, fucker, fucker,”
I said and hung my head, letting myself relax as he kissed a line from one
shoulder blade to the other.

Gil’s lips traveled to the side and I
lifted my arm. He raised my shirt, kissed under my arm, across my side and then
captured my nipple in his mouth and sucked. I sighed and kept my head down,
watching the back of his dark head. Spying the sterling silver strands of hair
shot through his dark hair. Gil sucked the other nipple in and his hands--big
and hot and strong--found my waist. His fingers flexed against my flesh and
then he raised his head, blue eyes flashing, to study my forehead. “Only a tiny
speck of blood. Barely visible through this blue stuff,” he said and tickled my
nose with the blue strand.

“Har, har,” I said but my voice was
weak with want.

“Now food,” Gil said and kissed my
nose. He let me go and started to butter two thick slices of bread.

“Food?” I squeaked. “Food?”

“Yes, food,” he mimicked me.

“But
. . .
but--”

“After food,” he said. “I’ll make you
feel all better, Jen, after food.”

“But why do I need food?” I balked.

“When was the last time you ate,
Jennifer?” he asked. The phone rang and we both ignored it. The only person I
wanted to talk to was right here. I could only hope Gil felt the same. “I rest
my case,” he said.

I looked around at the boxes in the
kitchen while he cooked. “You really leaving?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Why not? This isn’t my
house. It’s your mother’s, even if she is off on a boat with Marty McMurtry.
There’s no reason for me to stay here in a home that isn’t mine where I’m
reminded of a woman who didn’t love me.”

That made my throat go tight a little.
Once upon a time this home had been full of laughter and love. My mother had
always been a little distant, a little odd, but Gil and I more than made up for
it with humor and fun and pulling her into the circle of activity. For a while
it had worked. It was my turn to shrug. “I understand. It just makes me sad is
all. I hate to think of my home being gone.”

“You’re home is right here,” he
laughed. “I’m no lawyer but it might even be yours when I leave.”

“My house is here,” I corrected him.
“My home is in here and it’s falling apart.” I touched my chest and shook my
head, determined not to cry.

Gil smiled wryly and handed me a
grilled sharp cheddar and bacon and I grabbed some chips for my plate. “Well,
if I’m part of that--what’s in there--I’m not leaving you. Just this house.
This building.”

I nodded. We ate in silence at the
table and I sighed when I was done. “goddamn you make the best grilled
cheeses,” I said. “Always have. All we were missing was some cream of tomato
soup.”

“We were out,” he laughed.

“Oh, the humanity!” I laughed but then
grimaced. My shoulder’s really hurt.

“That fucker. I can’t believe he
slammed you up against--”

“He didn’t so much slam me. Not on
purpose, I don’t think. It’s just a small room and he was drunk and…”

“Don’t.” Gil got up and took my plate.

“Don’t what?” I went in the powder
room off the dining room and turned the light on. Under the shoots of blue hair
was a tiny bit of red blood and some irritated skin.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Gil
said, sticking his head in the tiny bathroom. “You always make excuses for
people treating you like shit,” he said and frowned.

“I
. . .
um.
. .oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to say to that. It made me feel like crying
that he thought I did that. What really made me want to cry was that if he
thought I did it, I probably did.

“Don’t excuse people for treating you
poorly.” He reached over me and opened the small medicine cabinet. He drowned a
bit of cotton fluff in peroxide and frowned at me in the mirror. “Turn.”

I spun, my hips against the sink, my
body humming with mixed emotions. “I didn’t know I was prone to doing that,” I
admitted.

Gil tilted my chin up and squinted at
the raw patch on my scalp. “You do. And it pisses me off. You keep choosing
slacker douche bags who eventually treat you like a inflatable sex doll or
their property.”

“Slacker douche bags?” I wheezed,
nervous laughter taking me over.

“Yes. Slacker douche bags,” he said
again, but grinned. Gil dabbed the sore spot on my brow and I hissed.

“Damn that stuff burns. Good thing I
like a bit of pain,” I said.

The air in the room changed. I had
meant it to be a joke, but it hung there in the tiny room like something solid.
He cocked his head and I had to fight the urge to lean in and bite him on the
edge of his jaw. And then to kiss him and run my hand along his fly to see if
I’d made him hard.

“Do you? Do you really?”

I thought of lying. I thought of bowing
out of the room and blowing it off. Instead I gave a small, quick nod. “Yeah. A
bit. Sometimes. Not a ton and not extreme. And it has to be someone who knows
my limits and respects them and can
…
” I trailed off feeling the flush of
heat that had rushed to my cheeks.