JК
Ыоуве Been Warned :: Patterson James
Страница: 117 из 138He helped to build so many homes but ultimately couldn’t afford to keep his own.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad had my mother been a little more understanding. She wasn’t, though. I remember the night at the dinner table when she called him a failure in life, right to his face.
That’s about when the drinking got out of control. But never in front of me. Never. I was his princess, his girl. No matter how bad things got, he always had a hug and a smile for me.
Right up until the end. Less than an hour before Dad shot himself in our dilapidated backyard shed, he held me in his arms and squeezed me tight. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in my ear.
I never forgave him for that lie. I know that I should’ve felt sorry for him, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.
Now, after all these years, he shows up somehow on a street corner in Manhattan. If only he hadn’t run away that morning. I’d have given him the biggest hug and kiss, and whispered softly in his ear, “It’s okay, Dad. I understand.”
Chapter 91
I’M CRYING IN MY DARKROOM, the tears falling faster than I can wipe them away. I miss my dad. I miss a lot of things right now, but most of all my own sanity.
Could I be more of a mess?
It’s late, and I’ve given up on trying to reach Michael tonight. I’m exhausted and should get some sleep.
But knowing that the dream – and God knows what else – awaits me in the morning, I instead reach for the shots I snapped of Penley and Stephen in front of the hotel.
Talk about a great Exhibit A.
In fact, it’s enough to swing my mood. As I look at the first shot, I can’t help relishing the thought of Michael going for the jugular in divorce court. I’m so giddy – or is it punchy? – I actually start singing, “Penley and Stephen in NYC, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
But the feeling is short-lived.
I stare at Stephen’s transparent image – the exact same ghosting effect – and I surrender all faith in myself and in the real world as I experienced it before the last few days. I know I stood outside the Fálcon and watched those gurneys get wheeled to the curb, but I also know a pattern when I see one.
First Penley.
Then Michael.
Now Stephen.
One by one, the body bags are being accounted for, and I don’t have to be Einstein to do the math.
There’s one left.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad had my mother been a little more understanding. She wasn’t, though. I remember the night at the dinner table when she called him a failure in life, right to his face.
That’s about when the drinking got out of control. But never in front of me. Never. I was his princess, his girl. No matter how bad things got, he always had a hug and a smile for me.
Right up until the end. Less than an hour before Dad shot himself in our dilapidated backyard shed, he held me in his arms and squeezed me tight. “It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in my ear.
I never forgave him for that lie. I know that I should’ve felt sorry for him, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.
Now, after all these years, he shows up somehow on a street corner in Manhattan. If only he hadn’t run away that morning. I’d have given him the biggest hug and kiss, and whispered softly in his ear, “It’s okay, Dad. I understand.”
Chapter 91
I’M CRYING IN MY DARKROOM, the tears falling faster than I can wipe them away. I miss my dad. I miss a lot of things right now, but most of all my own sanity.
Could I be more of a mess?
It’s late, and I’ve given up on trying to reach Michael tonight. I’m exhausted and should get some sleep.
But knowing that the dream – and God knows what else – awaits me in the morning, I instead reach for the shots I snapped of Penley and Stephen in front of the hotel.
Talk about a great Exhibit A.
In fact, it’s enough to swing my mood. As I look at the first shot, I can’t help relishing the thought of Michael going for the jugular in divorce court. I’m so giddy – or is it punchy? – I actually start singing, “Penley and Stephen in NYC, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”
But the feeling is short-lived.
I stare at Stephen’s transparent image – the exact same ghosting effect – and I surrender all faith in myself and in the real world as I experienced it before the last few days. I know I stood outside the Fálcon and watched those gurneys get wheeled to the curb, but I also know a pattern when I see one.
First Penley.
Then Michael.
Now Stephen.
One by one, the body bags are being accounted for, and I don’t have to be Einstein to do the math.
There’s one left.