Season of Gifts (Neighborly Affection #8)

39. Alice

Chapter thirty-nine

Alice

D ad no longer resembled the man who’d raised her. He was in his fifties but stooped like an old man, one hand clenched around a drugstore cane with flexible feet. A trail of finger-swipes stained his sweatshirt. As Alice emerged from the basement, he grunted at her over the buzz of the TV. “You pregnant? Come back here asking for money? Don’t show up for years to help your mother and me, and now you come begging for money.”

He’d lost the power to shock her long ago. Picking fights, that was his favorite pastime.

She silently warned her fingers not to crunch the ornaments through the shoebox, but they seemed determined to do it. The rationalizations ran through her head, years of them, the side effects from the drugs, the pain from his back, the resentment and futility and depression. Life was unfair, sure. But taking that out on everyone around him was a choice, and he could make a better one any damn time he wanted.

“Not pregnant. And I haven’t asked you for money since I was thirteen, Dad.” She’d known better. Rationed out the money from her piggy bank to Ollie on a weekly basis when the debt piled up and Mom’s frown lines deepened and Dad sulked and swore at his physical therapist. Here, Ollie, I forgot, Dad already paid me for the chores—this is your half. “Is this how you treat Ollie when she visits? This is what being a dad is to you?”

Fuck, she’d meant to be kinder. Meek Alice cowered behind her ribs, thirteen years old and urging her not to fight, to accept the blame, to slip away without starting an argument Ollie would hear.

“Your sister actually shows up, which is more than you’ve done in ten years.” Dad shuffled deeper into the kitchen, barely lifting his feet from the linoleum. His socks had little grippy dots all over the bottom and partly up the side, twisted from his shuffle. “Every time she calls, she’s singing your praises. You think I don’t know you’re paying for her schooling?”

As he thrust open the fridge, condiments rattled and the door hit the limit of the hinges. His hair had gotten bushy on top, overdue for a date with the trimmers Mom kept in the linen closet. The wheat-blond waves matched Alice’s. The urge flitted past to snatch up scissors and hack hers off, to erase everything in her that might be like him. “It’s not a secret, Dad. School’s expensive, and she deserves—”

“Go on, throw that in my face, girlie. Can’t provide for my family. No help from you, and I don’t want none, not one cent.” He pointed past her, finger striking like a snake. “Lori, you’d better not be taking this girl’s money.”

So which was it, Dad? Was she the beggar come home looking for cash or the rich bitch come to dazzle them with her wealth? Didn’t even matter to him—he’d tear down anyone’s happiness to make himself less miserable.

Mom clasped Alice’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Isn’t it wonderful to have Alice home, honey? Just a short visit, she’s so busy with work, but look how grown up she is. We should get a family picture. Where did I stash that old camera?”

Mom did appeasement like a champ. She’d had more years of practice. Meek Alice applauded. Angry Alice fished in her pocket.

“I can take one on my phone, Mom. Here.” She reversed the image, snapping a half-dozen selfies with Mom beside her. Plenty of family to fill a frame.

“That the kind of fancy thing your big money job pays for? She’s too good for her parents, Lori.” Dad tossed a leftovers container on the counter, and the lid popped loose. Half a burger and fries slapped the edge. “Runs off to college and blue collar’s beneath her notice now. You ashamed of where you come from, Allie? That it?”

Ashamed to show Henry and Jay the little house she grew up in? No. Ashamed of her father and his attitudes? Yes, a thousand times yes.

She laid the shoebox on the table. Easier to protect that from damage than to protect her insides, which curdled with a weary dread. The exhaustion, jeez, she’d forgotten how tiring living with him could be. “I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you or show you up, Dad. I’m trying to rebuild something we lost a long time ago. I’m sorry you can’t see that.”

“I know you think I’m stupid.” He yanked a plastic plate off a stack on the counter and dumped the food onto it. “Think the pain’s all in my head, think I’m pathetic. Think you’re better than me”—he jammed the plate into the microwave, beeps sounding as he put it to work—“think sending your sister to college gets her on your side, and now you come here to turn your mom against me.” He bobbed like a linebacker about to rush her. “I see it, Allie. I have eyes.”

She had eyes, too. He’d gotten so much worse. When he turned back to the microwave, she leaned into Mom, lips barely moving. “Is it always like this now?”

“No, honey, no. He just gets these little moods sometimes.” Mom rubbed her back like she was eight and home sick from school with a chest cold. “It’s fine, he’ll settle down soon.”

She’d been away too long to know if Mom was lying. Placating and denying were the biggest tools in her toolbox. She’d lost all credibility years ago.

Alice bit her tongue on another I’m sorry . She didn’t owe Dad any apologies, and she shouldn’t have to apologize for his behavior either. If they were balancing equations, he owed her a shit-ton, but she’d have better luck waiting for a meteor to strike the ground she stood on than waiting on an apology from him. “I was doing some work in Sioux Falls, Dad. Heading back to Boston in the morning. I just wanted to visit, that’s all.”

The microwave celebrated itself with five blaring beeps. Mom rushed over and retrieved Dad’s plate. “How about dinner at the table tonight, honey? You can visit with Alice while I get dressed for work.”

Dad snorted. “Pointless.” He fetched a drink, grumbling as Mom set his plate down and Alice slid her box of ornaments to the far side. “Your mom won’t eat until she goes into work. Hardly have dinner with someone if they aren’t here. You eating, Allie?”

He swung the cane and knocked another chair back. Her coat slipped off one corner. “Sit. Tell me what it’s like to be smart and rich and not in pain every damn day.”

Her stomach turned over and flooded, like a car that wouldn’t start. Coming here had been a mistake. “Don’t do this, Dad. I didn’t—”

His hand slammed down on the table. “You don’t come in my house and tell me what to do. You think I’m not in charge of my own house?”

“I don’t think that, Dad.” But she did. Watching her mom clean up spilled pop from the turned-over soda can before it made a sticky mess, maybe she wouldn’t have thought it until this year. Until she’d seen and felt the difference between dominance and bullying, between submission and people-pleasing.

Dad knew he wasn’t in charge, no matter how much Mom pretended he was, and it ate at him sure as rust was hollowing out the old truck in the driveway. Maybe Mom missed the days when Dad was the provider and the rock for their family. But trying to recapture those days only made him irritable. Acting like a jackass because her deferring to him felt like a pity fuck.

“Leave it.” Dad wrenched the plate from Mom’s grip as she ran the dishrag underneath it. “Gotta get ready for work, don’t ya?”

“Well, I can…” Mom glanced from Dad to her and back again, her friendly waitress smile firmly in place. “I have a few minutes. Allie, why don’t I make you a plate?”

Here was her mom, carefully trying not to usurp her dad’s place, and here was her dad, bitter because he thought it already taken from him. You’re fucking it up, Dad. Jesus.

“You don’t have to do that, Mom, thanks.” She dug for a white lie to make it easier. Turning down service, even gently, could rattle a people-pleaser. Another thing she’d learned this year. “There’s a dinner in Sioux Falls tonight with the company bigwigs.”

Not entirely a lie. She just wasn’t attending.

“Oh, oh, of course!” Mom dropped the dishrag in the sink and swept Alice into a hug. “Can’t neglect your work. We’re so proud of you, honey. You and your sister both, you’re doing—”

“By all that’s holy, Lori, stop showering that girl with praise. What’d she do to earn it? Run off at eighteen—”

“You wanna know what I think, Dad?” Alice carefully pulled free of Mom’s embrace. Not one more time would she listen to that rant. “I’ll tell you.”

Meek Alice frantically rattled her rib cage. Bones splintered and bled. But Henry’s speech to incoming dominants rang in her ears. The health and safety of your subs is your first priority. Once you’ve accepted their service, you must tend to their needs. To do otherwise is a betrayal of the trust between you. Maybe the vows at Mom and Dad’s wedding had been different, but love, honor, and cherish had sure as fuck been in there somewhere.

“I think you’re lousy at being in charge, that’s what I think.” She crushed her hands around the back of the chair, leaning forward, looming toward him. “Mom pays the price for that. Do you even think about that at all anymore? She’s still here, Dad. ”

“I won’t be talked—”

“She’s sitting here every goddamned night, listening to your self-pity and stubborn pride for sixteen years. Sixteen!” Disjointed and broken, all the bones in her body, jabbing her with shards so sharp they’d leave her a bloody mess. She choked on something rising—a laugh, a sob, they were all the same. “You were a good man before the accident. A good father.” A thousand memories in this kitchen, and the bad ones crowded so thick the weight of them compressed the rest into thin wafers she could barely touch most days. “I wish you could find that man in yourself again.”

Mom sobbed, her hands cupped around her nose and mouth, her pale brown eyes a streaming marsh in flood season.

Alice jammed her hand into her front pocket. Where—there. Her fingers closed around the promise Henry and Jay had given her. She shoved the ring back in its rightful place on her hand. “I got married. That’s what I wanted to tell you. It’s a good marriage. I’m happy. And I want that for you. I want it for you so much that it hurts not to see it. That’s why I don’t visit. Please try, Daddy. Please. Don’t you see how much you’re hurting her?”

Face blazing red, he pushed to his feet, steadying himself with the cane. “I see how much you’re hurting her. Don’t you come back here, Allie-girl. No daughter of mine would behave like this.”

“Then I guess I don’t have a father.” Fingers numb, she lifted her coat and slipped into it. Picked up the favorite ornaments of her childhood and tucked them under her arm as the blank chill spread to her chest.

Mom’s crying was the only sound over the rumble of the TV from the living room.

“I love you, Mom. If you need anything, call me.”

The storm door clattered shut behind her as she left.