That One Day (That One #1.5) (21 page)

Preparations for Christmas are in full swing. We’ve decorated the tree and the rest of the house, and everyone has been sneaking off to do their Christmas shopping.

Frankie is still at work for another hour, and I’ve just finished up in the shed where I’ve been working most of the day. I decided not to buy Frankie anything, but to make her a gift. I know that will mean way more to her than anything I could buy, and maybe help us to make progress and head in the right direction instead of treading water.

Before I leave the shed, I take another look at the heart-shaped pendant I’ve been carving from light and dark wood. After four failed attempts, it’s starting to take shape. Thank fuck, or I would never finish it in time.

Locking the shed behind me, I decide it might be a good idea to hop in the shower and then call my dad before he starts to worry again.

“Hey, Mrs. Walsh,” I say, walking into the living room where she’s watching Archer.

I bend down to kiss Archer and give Mrs. Walsh a peck on her cheek.

“If I were only younger,” she sighs jokingly.

“Then you’d be way too hot for me,” I say with a wink.

She swats at my arm just before I’m out of reach.

“Suck up. I wonder how Frankie manages to keep her panties on with you around.”

I do a double take at Mrs. Walsh, unsure if I heard her correctly. But, then again, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. She’s a sorority girl stuck in an old woman’s body.

“Trust me, I’m working on that.”

She laughs so loud Archer looks up, forgetting about the toys he’s been playing with and gives her a puzzled look. She ruffles his hair, making him giggle. “Your daddy is trying to get in your mommy’s pants.”

“Not the info my son needed,” I quip.

“If he could talk he’d probably agree you should get your game on and finally win her over.”

“It’s not as easy as you might think. She’s more guarded than Fort Knox.” I pause, thinking about the past few weeks. “We made some progress. It’s less awkward and tense, but she isn’t ready to let me in. Some days I’m not sure she’ll ever be.”

“You might have guessed it, but she’s scared. Scared you’ll hurt her again or that the secrets you are keeping will.”

I tense up, my muscles coiling tight like they do every time anyone mentions anything about the stuff I’m hiding.

“Chill, Benjamin. I’m not trying to pry. I’m just telling you how she feels.”

“I know. I wish I could tell her.” Sighing, I turn to leave the room, but Mrs. Walsh’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“Why can’t you, Ben? What are you so afraid of?”

I look back at her. The worry is visible on her face, and I don’t think it’s just worry for Frankie and her feelings, but for me, as well. It’s why I can’t ignore her question or feed her a lie.

“I’m scared to lose her if she finds out the truth.”

I’m nearly at the stairs when she calls out after me. “Ever heard the phrase
the truth will set you free?
Think about it.”

I take two steps at a time, needing some peace and quiet before I call my dad.

It’s true. There is a good chance the truth would set me free. But, it could also destroy everything I have in my life now.

***

After a quick shower to wash off the dust of the shed, I grab my phone off the nightstand and turn on some music. The first song I select is “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed. Call it a sick and twisted humor, but talking to my dad makes the song I’m choosing strangely fitting.

It takes a few moments for the nurse to call my dad to the phone and I’m leaning against the window sill, tapping my fingers along to the music.

“Son, how are you?” Dad sounds more upbeat than he has during the past few calls. I hope for once there will be no meltdowns, weird moments, or drama. I could use a break.

“I’m good, Dad. What’s new with you?”

I hear him laugh. “Oh, I’m good. Nothing exciting happening here. We have a new couch in the recreation room. One patient decided to defecate on the old one, unhappy that there was no Jell-O for lunch.”

Welcome to my dad’s crazy world.

“That’s different for sure.”

“So Ben, when are you going to be here for Christmas?”

Fuck, I didn’t even think about bringing Christmas up before. I thought it was clear I wouldn’t be coming back that soon. I only left a few weeks ago.

From the sound of it, he’s expecting me to be on my way any day now.

“Um, I’m not going to visit for Christmas. I’m spending the holidays with Frankie and Archer. Sorry.” I cringe inwardly and rub my neck, preparing myself for what’s to come.

“Well, you could bring her and Archer with you. I want to meet my grandson and the woman who has you wrapped around her finger,” he says, his tone clipped and stern.

I don’t know what to tell him. My brain suddenly goes blank, unsure which lie to tell my father this time. He seems to read the silence better than I would have thought he could.

“Does she know about me?”

My stomach turns, knowing I’ve been caught and fearing what his reaction will be when he finds out I kept him a secret.

“Dad, please understand. I didn’t know how to tell her.” I take a breath. “This isn’t the easiest situation to begin with and I don’t want to complicate it.” I omit the rest of my reasons. It’s the best I can do without worrying he’s going to spend his holidays deeply depressed and highly medicated.

“What does that mean, Ben?” His voice is loud and shaking, a mix of anger and hurt evident in it.

Between making sure I don’t upset him and trying to win Frankie back, I feel like I’m burning the candle at both ends. Maybe Mrs. Walsh’s advice from earlier had some truth to it. It might be worth giving it a go.

“Dad, I’m trying to win this girl back, to win her trust back. Taking her to the place you’re at hardly makes a good impression when I’m still in the dog house.”

“So you’re ashamed of your father? You’re ashamed of my illness? After everything I’ve been through, everything
we’ve
been through.” He takes in a ragged breath.

Fuck my life. I’m doing everything wrong and it’s starting to catch up with me right about now.

“No, it’s not that. I’m not ashamed of you. I just don’t know how she’ll react.”

The continued silence on the other end of the line makes me feel on edge. The room has gotten a few degrees hotter. Sweat is forming on my forehead as I’m caught in my own personal hell.

My dad clears his throat. “Sorry, Son. It must be hard on you. It’s hard on all of us. And I suppose it’s not easy to tell the girl you’re after that your old man has been driven mad by your mother.” He chuckles, again reminding me of how imbalanced his illness makes him. “I just really wish we could spend Christmas together.”

I was expecting more opposition from him. I thought he’d give me more of a hard time. His sudden shift in moods is something I welcome for once.

“Yeah, I’d love for us to spend Christmas together. But, I can’t. Not this year. Hopefully next year.”

“That’s a long time. But it’ll be worth the wait. I really want to meet my grandson as soon as possible.”

I smile, relief washing through me. “Yeah, I want you to meet Archer, as well.”

I push off the window sill, feeling the need to move around the room to loosen the tension that has crept up on me during the phone call, but I stop mid-step when Frankie walks into my room.

Shit, this is not how I want her to find out about my dad.

“Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call later.”

I hear my dad mumble “Okay,” before I hang up the phone and look at Frankie. I study her for a few seconds and am taken aback by the look on her face, concerned something happened. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears and her pretty lips are drawn into a scowl. The look she gives me is a potent mix of hatred, pain, and disgust.

“Hey babe, you okay?” I’m worried and it doesn’t get better once she speaks in an eerily calm tone, the kind normally reserved for serial killers in movies.

“Who was that?” She studies my face. Her jaw is clenched like she’s fighting for composure or self-restraint. Either way, something’s going on and it’s nothing good.

I don’t want to make whatever is happening worse and it’s not the right moment to get into the whole drama with my mom, Ron, and my dad. So my only option is to evade her question again, feeling like a fucking jerk.

“Oh, that. No one. Nothing important.”

“No one important, huh?” A look of pain washes over her features, but is quickly replaced by anger. Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow when she crosses her arms over her chest.

I need to get the conversation off the phone call and into a safer territory, so I ask, “Yeah, how was your day?” in an attempt at nonchalance.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Ben? You know, playing dumb really doesn’t suit you.” Her voice is hard, sharp, and hostile; I’m surprised there are no cuts on my skin. I have no idea what’s gotten into her. She has never spoken to me like this—not even during our blowout in the park.

“What? Of course not. What are you talking about?” I shake my head, confusion making it impossible to follow her train of thought.

With quick steps she’s in front of me, mere inches separating us before she starts yelling.

“I’m talking about you, you asshole. You skulk off regularly to talk to someone on the phone, yet every time I enter the room, you promptly end the conversation. And now I hear you talking about not being able to meet up for Christmas, to introduce our son.”

I finally connect the dots and it feels like a freight train just hit me. She thinks there’s another woman. She couldn’t be more wrong. I try to calm her down, placing my hands on her shoulders. “It’s not what you think.”

But she shakes them off, taking a step back, her face red with rage, her eyes filled with tears.

“I hope to God you don’t think you can bring some random slut to be around my son and to play family together,” she spits out, venom lacing her words.

Her accusation hits me like a punch to the stomach and I flinch. I might’ve been keeping secrets from her, but she should know me well enough to know I don’t play with anyone’s emotions. Not even back in the day when I was chasing girls left, right, and center, did I ever play them. I was always honest about my intentions.

I didn’t tell her where I’ve been or why I left in the first place, but I’ve been doing everything to show her I mean business—that I want to win her back. I’ve been going out of my way to prove myself to her; that I’m here for her and Archer, that I’m worthy of both of them. Her lack of trust fucking burns and it wakes up my own anger. Anger that needs an outlet.

“How can you say that? I’d never do that. You know me, Frankie.”

“Do I? Do I fucking know you? I don’t know shit since you won’t tell me anything. I know nothing of what happened while you were gone. I don’t know why you left. Although now, I think I might have a bit of an idea.”

I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. The shit she’s flinging at me is fucking unfair. I’ve been obsessing over her since I left. She was on my mind day and night. It’s torture to know how low her opinion of me is. It makes my stomach churn and my blood boil, forcing words out that are uncalled for.

“You don’t have the slightest clue. What happened while I was gone has nothing to do with you. How about you fucking trust me? I don’t keep asking you about what you were doing while I was gone, do I?”

I can see her heart breaking at my words. The tears are running down her face now, making me feel like a total piece of shit.

“Fuck you, Ben. I was here, pregnant with your child. And with a broken heart after you left me behind like some cheap whore. How dare you to even question me?” Her hands reach out and she tries to push me. When I don’t move, it makes her angrier. Her breathing gets harsher and her face turns even redder.

Our conversation is a complete train wreck. Now we’re just hurting each other with no real reason. I have to stop this.

“Frankie, if you’d just calm down and listen to me.” I try to take ahold of her shoulders again, but she takes a step back, shaking her head, closing her eyes briefly in a mix of resignation, anger, and hurt. I can see it in her posture the moment she gives up. Gives up on the conversation, on me, on us; and seeing this, I can barely breathe.

“You know what, I don’t care. We’re not together. Never were. You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Or whoever you want. I’m done with this. I thought I could deal with your secrets, telling myself you needed time, you’re not ready. I realize now it’s all bullshit. I’m done being taken for a fool. I’m done pretending every day like there isn’t an elephant in the room. Like you aren’t keeping things from me, only allowing me to see the parts you want me to see.” Her body shakes with sobs. Every other word is followed by a heartbreaking hiccup. “I’m done putting my trust in you. I’m done with you. Go spend Christmas with whoever the hell you want to spend it with. I’m done.”