Pretty Instinct (40 page)

“She’s very good. What happened to the restaurant? You said
used
to own.”

“Her husband was killed in a motor vehicle accident, hit and run. She sold it to pay costs and support her four children.”

“Only the one marriage? One dad for all four kids?” I pry.

“Yes to both.”

Not only do I not hate her, I respect her. “Good kids?”

“Very. Vaughn’s fifteen,” he chuckles, “so sometimes he tends to have a smart mouth, but Laura has no qualms lining him out, I assure you. Hope’s a little doll, Lisa’s away at college, and Bryson is quite shy. All different, but yes, all good kids.”

“Do you love them?”
In for me
. I wait for his reply, no idea what answer I’m hoping for. On one hand, it’d be nice to hear he has the capability to, but on the other…

“I love
you,
Elizabeth.”
Out for him.
“And Conner.” He leans forward, stinky cigar gone, forearms resting on his knees. “Do you want to discuss your mother’s letter?”

I shrug, trying to seek out the moon through the heavy cloud cover. “You already admitted your wrongs; shitty, but I forgive you. She admitted hers, shitty and irreversible, but I would’ve forgiven her too. So I’m angry with her, yes, but mostly I feel sorry for her, and fortunate I didn’t inherit such hopelessness. Was she on medication? I mean the right kind, for that depression?”

He sighs and tears up, obvious even in dusk. Running a hand through his still thick and dark hair, with the tiniest bit of gray hinting, he speaks painfully, as though he’s living it over again. “Every kind they make, trials, combos, you name it. Nothing worked, not that it’s supposed to when you skip doses, then overuse, then swallow it with liters of alcohol. It’s excusable, but I didn’t cheat for almost 20 years, Elizabeth, and it wasn’t any better. That’s why you never had maternal grandparents around this house; they loved you kids, but gave up on her long before I did. But no matter what, look at me,” he barks and my eyes snap to compliance, “she did
not
mean to hurt your bother, and it’s the one thing she couldn’t find a pill cocktail to forget.”

I don’t mind the handkerchief now, he needs it badly, his whole body convulsing with wracking sobs. Seeing a man cry is startling enough, but one you’ve barely even seen smile? Witnessing his utter emotional breakdown, which I have no doubt is sincere, penetrates a part of me…I’ve never met.

“Why’d you do it?” I open my third beer, taking a long, therapeutic swig. “Bring a date to the funeral? Fall on your sword? Let me treat you like shit, blame you, investigate you in hopes of keeping your son from you?”

He ticks them off on his fingers. “So they’d frown upon me instead of her. Lots of people had formed opinions and whispered grumblings; I couldn’t allow it. And yes, I was sleeping with Cheryl, so it served its purpose well. I let you hate me because you were angry, understandably so, and I’d rather have borne the brunt than have you in bar brawls, jail, or worse…in bed and despondent. And Conner…you couldn’t have really kept him away for too long. If forced, he knew the truth; I just hoped it’d never come to having to hypnotize or medicate him to remember. I kept you both as secure as I could, exactly where you both needed to be, with each other. You’re so good with him, Bethy, and his unfailing adoration of you tells me all I’ve ever needed to know. Sometimes I bit back, and I’m sorry, but it hurts,” he clasps a hand on his chest, “to know your baby girl hates you and you can’t say anything. I would rather fall on my sword, as you say, than disparage your mother when she can’t defend herself, or make Conner relive it. After all, for anything nasty or cruel people could say, she gave me you and your brother, and nothing can take that from her.”

He literally collapses back in the chair, wailing, shoulders visibly shaking. “This isn’t what I wanted for my children.” Then he snaps, turns a complete 180, and leans across to tap his beer bottle to mine. “We really should start old and get young, or for fuck’s sake, at least get two chances. Cheers!”

“Um, cheers,” I mutter, sipping my drink as he throttles his in one guzzle…after saying fuck and calling me Bethy. Should I cut him off? Are you allowed to cut your father off?

Seems we all have “crazy” in us, most often hidden, but sometimes, in our own ways, it comes out full force. To be human, which it turns out he is, means some crazy; maybe he’s just crazier than the rest of us. What’s the heavier burden to bear, knowledge with silence, or not knowing?

“BETHY! COME FIND ME!” The windows shake as Bubs screams inside, sending delightful fire to my heart.

“Does he have another volume?” My dad winces and rubs his temples as I die laughing.

“Sorta. I’ll show you a few tricks.” I stand, sliding open the French doors. “On the deck, Bubs!”

Oh Lord, glasses shake in the cabinets and the overhead light sways as the thunder gets closer and closer. “
Soft
love, Bubs, you hear me?”

He slides to a stop around the corner, big ole’ body trembling with restraint. “Medium?”

“Okay.” I giggle and hold open my arms. “Humph,” I grunt. “That was not medium, stinker.” I pinch his nose. “Where’s Cannon?”

“Asleep on the couch. That’s not his.”

“Son, don’t be rude. He’s welcome to rest on the couch. Come out with us and sit down.
Soft
sit down.” He sneaks a smile my way, getting the hang of it, and pats the spot beside him. “Conner, tell me about Cannon.” My dad eyes me teasingly across the way.

“He loves me. Bethy more, though. He sings good, good guitar, really, really good at breakfast. Bad at puzzles. His fish is the white one.”

Damn fish
—will they never be forgotten?

“Are you okay with him always around?”

“Yes, very, very good.”

This makes my father beam and shoot me a thumbs up. Which I didn’t realize he knew how to do.

“Bubs, go get Cannon.
Soft
wake him up. And ask Laura to come out too, please. Hell, bring the whole gang if you want.”

“You’ll meet them soon, but they’re young and self-absorbed in kid stuff,” my father comments, dismissing the idea. “Just Cannon and Laura please, Conner.”

Laura’s first to appear a few minutes later, with a leery smile and glass of red wine, and she takes a seat by my father. Conner’s next, bouncing in one move from inside the kitchen to right in front of me.

“Sit, please.” I point to a chair. “Big news, but only if you chill.”

“Chilled, Sister.” He nods, folding his hands politely in his lap.

And last out, there drudges a sleepy, wild-haired Cannon. “Sorry, Siren, I tried, I swear, but that little girl had
The Sound of Music
on. Have you seen it?” I nod with a shiver. “Cool, you understand then. Hop up,” he says and I do so he can sit and pull me down on his lap, doing a quick survey of all occupants on the deck. “Everyone’s alive, no bleeding, good stuff.” He kisses my cheek. “Proud of you.”

“So, we’re gathered here today to begin Operation Lizzie’s Informed and Wants Her Life Back. Dad, I love Cannon more than anything in the world, and he and I have bought an adorable house in Richmond. It’s perfectly placed right between you and his parents. And,” I turn to Conner, “it has a secret special house in the back that will be all yours.”

“In-law suite,” I mouth to my father and he nods, swiping at tears.

“Okay, okay.” Conner flails his hands like Flappy Birds. “Okay, Bethy, okay. So I get my own house?”

“Yes.”

“With a door and bed and TV and fish tank and shower and lawnmower and fish?” He’s screaming, jumping up and down and clearly holding in his need to pee.

“Bubs, go pee and come right back.”

Zoom—Flash Carmichael out.

“Bethy,” my dad worries aloud.

“It’s ten steps away and it has an alarm. The gas stove and fireplace will be disconnected,
Cannon
will mow the lawn, the yard has sensors and windows and doors are included in the ADT Security. What else?” I quirk both brows and cross my arms.

He looks at Laura and she simply snickers. “She’s her father’s daughter. Give it up,” she says, giving him a comforting pat on the leg.

“And I thought I could hire Alma part time, if she’d like? I’ll pay her well, of course, in case Cannon and I want a vacation or break, and maybe to check in two weekdays and nights, so he feels like it’s company and not an overbearing sister?”

“Definitely. You and I can speak with her tomorrow. And the band, done?” he asks, his optimism sounding through loud and clear.

“Yeah, I’m good. I gave the bus to Rhett and Jarrett. They’re the rock stars, not me. I don’t need it.”

“And Cannon, how long do you propose I allow you to ‘shack up’ with my only daughter?” Dad presses his lips together, eyes cold
er
, but not exactly
cold
.

“As long as it takes to get her to marry me, sir. You ready?” he asks me with a wink.

“Not yet,” I whisper, blushing.

“Little longer, sir,” he says, my dad throwing his head back and…laughing? I’ve never seen it before, but yes, I think he’s laughing. Or having a seizure. Possibly choking, but Laura doesn’t seem concerned.

He recovers quickly, smiling at my love, whose neck I wrap my hand around and rub. “Anything I should know?”

“Yes, sir, I was engaged for two months, only two months ago. She tied her tubes, lied, and dumped me on the side of the road. I never looked back and wasn’t sorry. I stayed because her dad was powerful, my boss, and I had nothing better. I won’t speak ill of her, so I’ll just quit speaking of her.”

“I will,” I jump in. “She’s a manipulative bitch. She keyed his car and threatened to sic her daddy on me. She sent him stories about us from the internet and called me a dyke
several
times. I hate her and adore him, end of.” I bob my chin, daring argument or further scrutiny.

“Do you work?” Richard asks.

“Not yet; her dad had his thumb on that. But I will now that I know where I’m going to be living. I have a degree from IU. I’ll be fine.”

“I could—”

Cannon holds up a hand and stops him. “No offense, sir, and I appreciate it, but I’d just as soon do things myself this time.”

“Very well.” My father nods, pleased and impressed, Laura also bobbing her head in respectful agreement. “So when do you move in to this place?”

“Two days. Well, that’s when it’s ours. We have absolutely nothing
to
move in,” Cannon answers and we laugh together.

“And you’re staying where until then?”

“Four Seasons,” Cannon answers.

“Nonsense, you’ll stay here. Honey, could you ask Alma to make up a guest room?”

“Of course.” Laura immediately stands, only to get trampled by Conner.

“Sorry, Laura-mom, sorry. Sister! I’m ready!”

“Con, house isn’t ready for a few days. We’re all going to stay here until it is, but tomorrow, I’ll take you to pick out stuff for
your house
, okay?”

He’s stunned silent—no, really—looking frantically between our father and I. “You don’t hate Dad no more?”

“No Conner,” I smile briefly in my dad’s direction, “I don’t.”

“AND I get my own house?”

“Yes.” I snicker, my favorite look of pure glee radiating of him.

But then, he gives me a new favorite. He lifts his head to the sky and folds his hands, and in a
legit
whisper, says, “Thank you, guys; I mean you, Mom and God.”

Men, women, old, young, usually stoic or not…there’s not a dry eye on that deck.

The next two days, while we wait to take ownership of our house—
our house
!—were what I now refer to “coming home days.” Obviously, because that’s exactly what we’ll be doing, but more over because that’s what I did. I came home.

My mother, in death, set me free to love, forgive, smile, laugh, and live with as much fucking happy as I can possibly pack in one day. And with Conner and Cannon by my side, that’s
a lot
of happy.

The real estate agent graciously agreed to let us in real quick to take some pictures so we could start planning. It felt intoxicatingly like
Ocean’s Eleven,
as if we’d just pulled off a master caper—get in, snap pics, get out. Conner wanted to drop in from the ceiling and squeal around in a van to make it more authentic, but that just didn’t sound like a good plan to me.

Now we stand in Mears Home Makeovers & More and Conner has filled four carts—for one room. I don’t think he understood the dimensions of said bedroom.

“What’s the wood for?” I ask, puzzled by the planks in cart three.

“The fort,” he answers with a dumbfounded stare, clueless as to why I’m clueless.

“Bubs, you can’t build a fort in your room, sorry.”

He rolls his eyes and waves his hands, clearly unable to “deal with me” and starts to walk away. “Cannon, handle Sister. I give up!”

I spin around to find my man red-faced and suffocating on his laughter. “Deal with me, Yoda,” I snap.

“Not to make light,” he tries to harbor his chortling ridicule, “seriously, not at all. But honestly, Conner is the coolest person. On. The. Planet.” I frown, feigning miffed. “Except you, Siren, except you.”

“So you think it’s
cool
to build a fort in his room? Actual wood, Cannon? Whatever happened to blanket forts?”

“Backyard, baby.” He winks. “The fort goes in the
backyard
.”

Oh.
Well, sure it makes sense, when you tell it right.

“Where’d he go?” I frantically search the store. “What else could he possibly need?” I spread my arms, indicating the four carts.

Cannon sticks both fingers in his mouth and wolf whistles (since we’re not in public or anything) and Conner screams from somewhere, “Row of paint!” Since we’re not in public or anything.

“That’s
if
we’re done. Get him and meet me at the checkout.” I duck my head and take an alternate route to the registers.

***

That evening, Laura and I both insist Alma take some “her” time and make dinner together. I can’t help the nagging devil on my shoulder telling me I’m moving too fast, caring way soon, but…it feels nice to have “a family,” or at least the atmosphere of one…and maybe if I start looking for the good, I’ll find it.