Chapter Twenty-Four
Gavin
Gavin hadn’t realized how close his parents lived to them until he made the drive. Less than twenty miles lay between them, but it felt like they were worlds away. The points on the map between his parents’ house and his own felt like a wasteland of pain and anger, regret and broken promises, not side streets and suburbs.
He parked his car across from the house and sat silently for a long time. How long, he had no idea. An hour? Maybe more. Gavin thought back over his entire childhood. Not all bad, but not much good, either. His mother had never been especially warm, and his father ran a twisted circuit between stern and almost loving that sometimes curved into unexpectedly cruel. Gavin couldn’t put a finger on it, couldn’t point at one defining moment and say, there, that was the abuse. But he felt abused. Even now, years later, he felt it. Deep in his bones, he felt… ashamed. And how fucked-up was that?
He couldn’t even say they were bad people. Not entirely bad anyway. They never beat him or his brothers and sisters. Sure, they got an ass tanning from time to time with their father’s belt, but a lot of kids did. There weren’t a lot of hugs and kisses, even when they were little, but that’s not a crime, right? His mother volunteered at a food bank once a week, and their father hired homeless people who were trying to get back on their feet. Good things, right? Charitable. Christian. Why couldn’t they extend that charity to their own children? Why couldn’t they teach their kids about God’s love, forgiveness, kindness? Why was it all about the wrath and the disappointment and making Baby Jesus bleed when they sinned? Why did they expect so damn much from children? Gavin doubted he’d ever figure that out.
The last time he’d tried was the day he graduated, days before his eighteenth birthday. He went to the house, holding his transcript in his hand. He didn’t have his actual diploma since those weren’t mailed out yet, but he had the record for them to see. For some reason it felt very important to him at the time, to show them that he’d made it. Despite having been kicked out, despite having lived on couches and having to work, he’d graduated on time. He’d even gotten a decent GPA, all things considered. He’d stopped trying to get them to listen to him, get them to see reason, or hear him out. The last time he was there, he’d just wanted them to know how well he was doing without them.
He never got a word out, though. His mother had opened the door, his father had come around the corner with Elise on his heels, and then, as soon as she realized who was on her doorstep, his mother quietly closed the door again. Not nearly as dramatic as it felt. Simple, almost silent rejection. Gavin knew for a fact that she would have at least said something to a salesman. If he’d been a stranger asking for food, she might have even asked him in to dinner. But, no. To her, Gavin was only the ghostly reminder of the son she never should have had.
Maybe she thought Gavin would be a strike against her good name in heaven.
Shifting in his seat, Gavin pulled out the Bible page from his wallet. Last night, he had no idea why he’d kept it. But as he and Ben had gone about their morning, been so happy together, so peaceful, that scripture had rankled deeper and deeper. Now, he stared at it. He read the words over and over, and then he looked at the house again. The shame was falling away, burning up and turning to ash in the fiery rage in his chest.
Gavin got out of the car and strode across the street, thinking he’d like to tear that house down, brick by brick. Instead, he lifted the doorknocker and tucked the thin paper under it, then silently walked away.
He was going to be late picking Nora up if he didn’t hurry, and Christ knew, he shouldn’t waste another second of his life thinking about Carter and Patricia Van Loen.