Chapter Seventeen Milo #2
“If we open that can of worms, we’d be here till the bar’s opening,” I say, bringing my knees up off the floor and wrapping my arms around them. “And that wouldn’t even cover half of it.”
“So, we ignore it?” Nik asks. I can sense his eyes on my profile, but I don’t look back at him. “How’s that working out for everyone?”
“Fine,” Nadia and I answer at the same time.
“Sure.” Nik sighs.
I swallow the question I’ve wanted to ask a hundred times before, but it’s harder than it normally is.
The urge to bolt buzzes under my skin, like a force bigger than me is desperate to pull me away.
I stare at the blank wall, counting cement blocks while forcing thoughts away that I try to never allow.
Thoughts of closed doors and muffled cries and the crack of a belt.
“Did”—the word falls out of my mouth, and tugs another along with it, ending the long, dreadful silence—“did Dad—”
“Yes,” Nik answers, interrupting as if he couldn’t hold it in another second. “Me too,” he chokes out, then clears his throat. “He hurt me too.”
I never expected, never wanted, to have this conversation with my siblings today. And the sickening feeling that follows Nik’s answer, one that I’d hoped against but always suspected, makes bile crawl up my throat.
“I can’t do this,” Nadia says before standing up and walking off down the hall toward the delivery entrance.
“I should go after—”
“Mi,” Nik pleads as I stand to follow Nadia. “Mi, c’mon, let’s finally just say it. Let’s get it out.”
I drag my foot on the floor, drawing an imaginary line in the space between us.
“I don’t think so, man.” I look up hesitantly, meeting his gaze.
“I’m sorry. This is just way too much for me.
” A tear falls off my chin before I even realize it was there.
I turn in the direction Nadia just took off in and follow her lead.
“For fuck’s sake, when are you going to stop running?” Nik calls after me as I hear his boots hit the ground, following me.
Not today, that’s for damn sure.
“Milo, c’mon, come back.”
I walk right out of the brewery, grabbing a six-pack on my way out the door, as Nik continues to call after me. I walk past Nadia, who’s lighting a cigarette as she begins pacing at the edge of the parking lot, looking out into the street, ignoring us both.
Without thinking, I find myself in Prue’s backyard, unsure of where else to go. Hot-faced and eyes stinging with tears, I make my way down to her dock, and plant myself at the end of it, watching the water come in and out as I drink myself into a deeper hole.
My dad was, is, a mean bastard. A cruel and unkind man.
That’s a truth I’ve come to accept. One that I’ve confessed to a dozen strangers sharing my bed and even begun to unpack with a handful of them.
But I’ve not confronted the actual reality of it in a very, very long time.
The three broken people raised in that house that eventually got out, some sooner than others.
Avoiding the topic only makes it all the more real. All the more deadly. But talking about it could feel worse. And I can’t even fathom what that would feel like.
“Milo?” Tom’s peppy voice calls out from the top of the steep hill. “Milo, is that you, son?”
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I say, waving over my shoulder. “Hi, I’m sorry, sir, I—”
“Is my daughter expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” I reply, lowering my beer to the space between my knees.
Tom nods, then begins making his way down.
I turn back around, listening intently to his footsteps on the rocky stairs, remembering the nights when I’d count my father’s footfalls in the hallway, frozen in fear.
With every step Tom takes, I stare into the water, considering if throwing myself into the lake would get me out of the mess I’ve made by coming here.
“Any of those left?” he asks, joyful in his approach.
“No, sorry,” I say, finishing off the last can with a final sip.
“Are we celebrating or commiserating?” Tom brushes off the back of his legs before groaning, lowering himself to sit next to me. I keep my stare focused on the other side of the lake, and the boat passing by, as the sun ducks behind a row of pine trees in the distance.
“Sorry, sir. I can—”
“My dock is yours to use, kid,” Tom interrupts. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay down here. Alcohol and proximity to water aren’t always a winning combination.” He laughs, then pauses abruptly, when I fight to smile back at him. “Especially when alone…and not feeling our best.”
“I’m okay,” I say, looking toward him. My face, a little numb, struggles to smile the way I usually would.
I can tell that’s the case when Tom’s eyes narrow on me, a weary expression that I’ve seen on his daughter.
His kind, loyal, compassionate daughter.
The daughter that a man like me has no right to talk to let alone touch or want. “It’s just been one of those days.”
“Yeah,” Tom says, taking a deep breath. “We’ve had one of those too.”
“I should have saved you one,” I say, looking at the cardboard tray of empties. “Prue texted me earlier, it sounds like Mrs. Welch is having a hard time?”
“Nothing she can’t handle,” Tom says, sighing once again. “Prue’s good at that.”
“Mm-hmm,” I agree.
“Has she mentioned our agreement to you?”
“Your ultimatum?”
“Oh, is that what she’s calling it? Okay…” Tom smiles softly, his face pointed down. “Well, yeah, I suppose that’s what it is.”
“She really wants things to stay as they are.” It’s not my place to say anything, but the alcohol in my bloodstream doesn’t seem to know that.
“They can’t, unfortunately.”
“So, you’ve already made up your mind?” I whistle, long and low. “You might want to tell your daughter that.”
“I’m hoping she comes to realize on her own just how beautiful her life could be outside of this town.”
“Why?” I ask abruptly, then clear my throat. “Sorry, just, if she is content with being here…Wouldn’t you want her here?”
“That”—Tom points my way, laughing dryly—“is an excellent question.”
“Mm-hmm,” I agree absently, watching a storm brew behind Tom’s blue eyes.
“How drunk are you, Milo?”
“Mildly,” I answer. “Why?”
“You and my daughter both love that word,” he mumbles, moving to face his body toward mine. “Because I would like to ask you a favor, and I need to know if you’ll remember what it is.”
I nod, slowly. “I’ll remember.”
“In that case, I’m going to ask that the next part of our conversation stays between us. For now. Until I can tell Prue myself.”
I flip my baseball cap around, then back again. “Okay, yeah…What is it?”
“I need Prue to decide for herself if this is where she wants to be, before that decision is made for her,” Tom says, then swallows. “I told Prue that we have until January because, well, because that is when I have no choice but to start treatment. I’ve put it off as long as I can.”
“Treatment?” I ask, blinking quickly. “What do you mean tr—”
“I’ve got the big C,” Tom jokes wryly. “Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
It’s treatable, they caught it early and I’ve got great odds, but the treatment is intense and vigorous and I—” He stops, blowing out a long breath as he tilts his smile up to the sky.
“And, according to the doctors, I will not be able to continue to look after my wife or the shop while I sort myself out.”
God, that is sobering. “Tom, I’m so sorry.”
“Ah, well.”
“And Prue doesn’t know?”
“No, she doesn’t…. And I need to keep it that way…
for now.” Tom nods reassuringly, as if he hears how fucked-up that is and is convincing himself otherwise.
“If I told Prue, before she’s made up her mind as to what she wants…
the decision would be made for her. I know my daughter.
She’d go from my wife’s caregiver to mine—jumping from one sinking ship to another without a second thought. That’s not fair to her.”
I remove my hat and run my hands through my hair. “She should know, Tom. She should have the information she needs to make a decision for herself. You have to—”
“I have been selfish, Milo. I’ve kept her here, let her spend her early twenties helping her mother, because I wasn’t ready for—” His voice cracks, then he coughs.
“I wasn’t ready for my Julia, or Prudence, to be anywhere else but here, with me.
” He rolls his tongue from one cheek to the other.
“As soon as I got the courage to let them both go, I got my diagnosis. And, well, that’s fate, I suppose.
It can be cruel like that. But I will not keep her here any longer.
I won’t keep burdening her. That is why I need your help. ”
“And you want me to help, how, exactly?”
“My daughter tells me you’re not planning on sticking around,” he says, his tone leading. I nod, scratching at my neck and jaw. “So tell her why that is. Tell Prue what’s out there for her. Or, better yet, if you’d like to, show her yourself.”
That’s another cruel irony. Because before Tom found me, I was sitting here, six beers deep, wondering what my reason for not wanting to stick around here—or anywhere —is.
More than that, I was questioning whether I could convince myself to stay in one place long enough to look that ugly truth in the eye and tell it to quit shadowing me.
And, yes, of course I’ve loved traveling.
I’ve driven, hiked, surfed, danced, and fucked my way through most of the two western continents.
But nothing has come as close to filling that nagging, empty bowl inside of me.
I hadn’t even noticed how empty it was before I got here.
Before nieces and nephews running rampant and Sef’s home-cooked dinners and seeing Nik fulfill his dreams and having eyes on Nadia and painting and, of course, her.
Now, I’m being asked to sell the concept of a world of unknowns to the woman who is responsible for making me think, for the first time in a long time, that maybe, just maybe, I could be happy accepting a smaller slice of life.
“Tom, I feel for you, man, but—”
“I could be fighting this thing, on and off again, for the rest of my life. Should Prue stay here because of that? With potential like hers? Her talents?”
“I…” I don’t have that answer. Mrs. Welch taught me everything I know about art. Her talent for painting literally changed my whole worldview. Yet, she was here, in a small town making a life for herself. That was enough for her. Why shouldn’t it be enough for her daughter too?
“Have you read some of her stuff yet?”
I nod, hoping this entire conversation is under oath.
“It’s good, right?”
I nod again. “Yeah, it is.”
“She should do something with that gift. She doesn’t have the time, stuck here. Not with her mom and me falling apart every minute.”
“I—” I run my tongue over my teeth. “I don’t think she’ll change her mind, sir.”
Tom rolls his shoulders back, staring up at the sunset with a stoic confidence. “Yeah, maybe not. But at least I’ll know she decided for herself.”
“And, if she chose to leave, what would…” I stop myself, finding better wording. “I mean, would you be all right? With treatment? With all of it?”
“Now, that’s the beauty of it, right?” Tom says, smiling proudly toward me. “That’ll be my burden to bear.”
I nod, my thumbnail scraping the side of my nose as I look away from him. “I’m going to be honest, sir. I don’t feel comfortable keeping this from—”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Tom says in the kindest form of dismissal I’ve ever heard. As if my previous promise, before I’d really known what I was agreeing to, still stands. “But I know my daughter. I know what she needs. I know, deep down, that you’ll see that too.”
“I—” I sigh, resigned to losing.
“And, who knows, maybe if we both do our fair share of convincing, you could have a companion for all of these adventures of yours?”
“Sir, I—” I start to disagree, again, but imagining Prue in Bertha’s front seat with the wind in her hair, letting out that laugh that knocks me off my feet, stops me in my tracks. Fuck, I really am in deep with this girl.
“I remember that look,” Tom says, smiling warmly. “The I’m screwed look…” He gestures to my face with two fingers moving in a circle. “You wear it well.”
“How did…With Mrs. Welch…” I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. “ Jesus, never mind.”
“Embarrassed?”
I huff a laugh.
“Ask me anyway,” Tom says, standing and offering me a hand up, despite the size difference between us. I take his assist, rising to stand next to him.
“When you met Mrs. Welch—”
“Julia,” Tom corrects teasingly as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks up to speak to me.
“Mrs. Welch,” I reinstate, smiling. “How did you…”
Tom gestures for me to go on with a waving hand when I pause again.
I groan, feeling a rush of anxiety run through my spine that tightens my shoulders. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. A question like that is the emotional equivalent of offering your neck to a lion. But, shit, I want to know. I need to know.
“C’mon, spit it out, son.”
Fuck it.
“When you met Mrs. Welch, how did you know she was the one?” I let the words fly free, faster than I usually speak.
Tom’s lips thin as a wide smile spreads across his face.
His eyes glaze over, as they do whenever someone replays a vivid memory in their mind.
After a thoughtful pause, he answers, “The night we met I realized that, no matter what happened, there was always going to be a before Julia and an after Julia. That my life, whether I liked it or not, was going to be forever split into two parts.”
I don’t know if I’m elated or afraid to hear the words that perfectly describe how I feel about Prue spoken to me.
My heart races all the same. The hairs on the back of my neck stand all the same.
My skin warms all the same. And I wonder whether it matters if it’s fear or joy I’m feeling.
I wonder if that is how falling in love feels.
Exciting and terrifying in equal measure.
Tom pats my shoulder twice, then begins to walk away. “And if you’re asking yourself that, son, well, you probably already know the answer.”
“And if I do?” I call after him.
“Well then, that’s up to you, son,” he says, waving over his shoulder as he continues up the steep steps.