4 Dad Is…Just Dad
4
Dad Is…Just Dad
“You’re still in bed? Do you have any idea what day it is?”
I opened my eyes and saw the outline of a person. I blinked and pushed my tangled hair out of my face. Frances was standing at the foot of my bed holding a cardboard box. Confused, I tried to force my brain to work.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you I was going to visit friends in the Eastern Townships this weekend. They’re taking some stuff off my hands.”
That was true. She’d told me several times that week, but my selective hearing had filtered out and suppressed any information related to her departure. I sat up in bed, still groggy. The reds and pink of dawn were gone. Now the bright, white light of day was pouring through the window.
“What time is it?”
“Noon.”
Noon?
“Oh my God, oh my God. Hayley’s going to kill me. I promised I’d get there early.”
I jumped out of bed, showered, and threw on some clothes. I didn’t bother putting on lotion or drying my hair. I drank a nasty cold coffee and hugged Frances goodbye. I tried my best to get into the taxi without wrinkling my maid-of-honor dress, which was on a hanger in a protective plastic covering.
The taxi driver, a gaunt man with a weary face, smiled at me in the rearview mirror. I gave him the address, and he drove through the city without saying a word.
I rested my head against the window and observed the bright, cloudless sky as it appeared between the buildings. As we left the city behind us, the calm, the traffic whirring by on the highway, and the car’s soft movements made me close my eyes for a few minutes.
Our family home was in Léry, thirty or so kilometers outside of Montreal’s center, on the other side of the St. Lawrence River. We crossed the Mercier bridge to the South Shore, passing Kahnawake, the Mohawk reservation on the coast, and through Chateauguay. Not long after that, we were on the avenue that led to the Weston property.
Once through the checkpoint, we drove up to the house. There were a few soft clouds in the sky. It was the perfect day for a wedding in the garden.
In the parking area were countless vehicles belonging to the wedding planners, the caterers, the florists, the band…
“Well, this is really something! Is there a party here?” the taxi driver asked.
I smiled and nodded. “My sister’s getting married this afternoon.”
“Congratulations! I wish her the best of luck.”
I thanked him and got out, feeling flushed and trying to remain relaxed as I walked slowly, mechanically, concentrated on pushing everything else from my mind.
I stood a moment at the front door, stretching out the time before I had to walk into that house that seemed ready to pounce on me. It was an elegant, classical stone structure on the tip of the peninsula, with views of Lake Saint-Louis. Built in the early twentieth century, it had been renovated several times and was now a modern mansion: sophisticated, beautiful, and cold.
Only I knew how alone I had felt, how invisible, within those walls.
I walked in with a self-assured stride. The vestibule was like a subway station at rush hour, full of people I’d never seen, all of them in the same uniform: black pants, white shirt. They were walking back and forth under the orders of a woman with a headset and iPad who pointed where they should go. She looked me up and down before noticing my bag with the dress.
“Are you from the dry cleaner’s?” she asked.
I almost said yes, dropped the dress, and ran out. But instead I forced a smile.
“No. I’m Harper, Harper Weston. Hayley’s sister.”
“Oh! Of course! I apologize for the confusion.” Her stiletto heels echoed off the wooden floor as she approached to give me her hand. She squeezed so hard that I had to shake out my fingers afterward to make sure they still worked. “I’m Minerva Compton, event planner. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Weddings are my specialty. Hayley told us to send you to her room. We’ll take care of your hair and makeup there, and Howard, my assistant, will give you the rundown on how the ceremony’s going to go and where you’ll need to be at any given time. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Since you weren’t able to attend the rehearsal, it’s very important that you pay attention so we don’t have any mix-ups. You can organize everything perfectly, everything can flow right along, but if there’s one simple mistake, the press will jump all over it, and it’ll be the only thing you read about in the society pages.”
Listening to her, I thought: one thing this woman isn’t good at is making others feel calm.
“I’ll pay attention. No one wants my sister’s wedding to be perfect more than I do.”
“Lovely, dear.” She brought her hand to her earpiece and shouted, rolling her eyes, “Does nobody know how to do anything around here?” With a gracious expression, she said, “Nice to meet you, Harper.”
As she departed, I stood there by the staircase like a deer in headlights before closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, and going upstairs, not stopping and not looking back. Hiding, the way I always had in that house.
The hallway was empty, and I tiptoed over the carpet to keep from making noise. The door to the master bedroom was open and I stopped. I don’t know how long I stood there frightened in front of it, waiting for my father to pop out. I tried to avoid letting these visceral feelings get the best of me, but I never succeeded. They were instinctive and rose up from deep inside.
My pulse slowed when I’d convinced myself he wasn’t there.
Pathetic, I know.
I hadn’t been in that room in years. If I asked myself, I’m not sure I could have given a detailed description of it. And now, for some strange reason, I felt the powerful urge to go inside. Against my better judgment, I glanced around to be sure I was still alone and stepped over the threshold.
The wooden floor creaked under my feet, but all I could hear was the blood rushing through my temples. I forced myself to stay calm. To breathe, which I kept forgetting.
I felt like I was six years old again. Glimmers of the past returned to me: blurry, disconnected images. I saw myself running to the bed where my mother rested. She was always resting. I didn’t know then that her days were numbered. I didn’t understand she couldn’t do the same things with me she’d done before. I didn’t understand why she slept so much. Why her skin smelled like medicine instead of flowers.
I felt nervous as I walked between those walls where every piece of furniture, every nook and cranny, awakened memories I thought I’d forgotten. They were like sparks: her sweet smile, the feel of her kisses on my cheeks, her voice whispering stories to me in the darkness. The vibrant echo of her laughter. All of it warmed my heart now, but at the same time, it made me feel I was dying inside.
It’s funny how we can feel happiness and pain at the same time and with the same intensity, and how we end up unable to really say where one feeling begins and the other ends.
I walked toward a table by the window covered in photos in frames of various shapes and sizes. There was an order to them: my brother and sister on their birthdays, at dances, graduating from school… And there were many images of my mother. Pregnant. With Hayley and Hoyt in her arms. Making a snowman with them. Opening Christmas presents by the tree. Sunning themselves on a sailboat.
She was so pretty!
How funny they were, those moments I couldn’t remember. But then I noticed something, and the good feelings disappeared and I couldn’t see any of those faces anymore through the tears. I closed my eyes and bit my lip till it hurt and I could taste blood on the tip of my tongue. But that was better than the ache in my chest that was making me feel faint.
There wasn’t a single photo of me.
Not one.
I took a sip of my second glass of champagne, but without the desired effect. I didn’t feel anything at all. Well, apart from nausea and a slight feeling of vertigo that might have been the result of not eating a single bite at the banquet. But I couldn’t help it.
I stirred in my chair and smiled back at the girl seated across from me, as though to say, What a wonderful night! Isn’t it a shame that it has to end? I looked the way the bride’s sister was supposed to look, making a titanic effort to do so.
That table of photographs went on torturing me. I could think of nothing else, and it filled me with questions. I had a right to my place there. I had been a part of the story represented there on that surface with four carved legs. That was my family. Why the hell wasn’t I…
Stop it for once! I told myself.
A band was there to liven things up, and now they were playing “When You Love Someone” by James TW. Hayley and Scott walked out on the dance floor amid applause. She was radiant, precious, and my brother-in-law looked at her with such admiration that I wondered if there had ever been a man so deeply in love.
I got misty-eyed and felt like a dumb little girl.
Hoyt was at the bar talking with a work colleague he’d invited along as his date. Megan, I think her name was. She seemed to have her wits about her, but she came across as a little cold. Nothing like the girls my brother usually went out with. And yet, he seemed absorbed in their conversation and pleased to be with her.
He liked her.
And I liked seeing him take an interest in someone normal.
As I looked away from them and down at my nails, trimmed short, I felt it. A shiver that made me turn. I got that feeling in my chest like when you jump off a cliff, and you feel dizzy and you flail around for something to hold on to. Trey had passed my table on his way to the bar, sucking up the entire space like a black hole nothing can resist. And that included me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, but I was terrified at the same time that he’d notice me.
All evening, I thought I’d seen him, but when I blinked, he’d be gone. So I wasn’t certain if he was actually there or if my subconscious was just incapable of letting him go.
He was dressed in a classic tux, with cuff links but no bow tie. He didn’t need any accessories to look perfect. Given cover by the distance, I saw how little the four intervening years had changed him. His hair was a little longer and was starting to curl, and the golden flecks in his green eyes reminded me of molten caramel. He had a tan, his jaw was square as ever, his hands just as big. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved slowly up and down, and under his carefully trimmed beard I could see the little scar on his chin, his curved lips… Well, I couldn’t see all those details, but I’d memorized them, and time had done nothing to soften their edges.
Resentment burned my soul. Four years of yoga to try to channel my wounded emotions had gone to hell in just over one day.
“Miss, more champagne?”
I raised my glass to the waiter who had stopped next to me. I’d drunk my entire glass without realizing it. I shook my head and sank in my chair, frustrated that I felt so terrible.
It was a party, dammit, and there I was looking pathetic!
The problem was that I struggled to have fun when my senses were on alert. It’s like when you walk down a dark street and you don’t dare look back because you’re afraid there’s someone creeping up behind you…
“You feel like a dance?”
I looked up at Dustin with disdain. I was angry with him for allowing my father to seat us at the same table. Angry because he was still pretending we were together. Angry because he was acting like I was a sad little girl who didn’t know what was best for her. And angry with myself, above all, for not knowing how to put him in his place.
“I don’t want to dance at all, and certainly not with you.”
“Come on, Harper, try and make an effort. You’ve been ignoring me all night, and it’s starting to feel nasty. People are noticing,” he whispered in my ear.
That was true. My sister’s friends were very interested in what was going on. That was understandable: the tension between us was palpable.
I wanted to get up and run out. So I did. I said a soft sorry and went off to find somewhere I could relax and put back together the shattered pieces of my mask of happiness. The fact is, whether our situation is good or bad depends on our perspective, and my perspective was unstable, shifting constantly between highs and lows. Sometimes I was calm, sometimes frantic. My whole life was that way, and it was exhausting.
Up all of a sudden.
Down just as fast.
On my way across the garden, I felt as though the waves were dragging me out to sea.
“When are you going to stop being so irresponsible?”
Dustin had followed me out there.
I needed a few seconds to take in his words. Then I turned around and gave him a stare that could have struck him dead. “What did you say?”
“Come on, Harper. This was funny at first, and I even found it attractive, you being so rebellious. But now you’re taking it too far.”
I tried to control my nausea and my urge to explode. Then again, I thought, I could just puke all over his designer shoes. I guess things weren’t going bad for him if he could afford them. “I’m taking it too far?”
“It’s been months now. You’ve made your point. Now it’s time to take your future seriously.”
“What future?”
“What do you mean, what future?” he said, as if I were an idiot. “Your future, our future…our family’s future.”
“Our family? You mean the Westons? My family?” I didn’t try to hide my sarcasm.
He knit his brows and his ears reddened. I could see the muscles tensing in his jaw. “Yeah. I mean, no.” He looked exasperated. “You understand perfectly what I mean.”
With a humorless smile, I placed my hand dramatically over my heart. “Of course I understand. You made it perfectly clear the last time you called me, and the time before that, and the time before that… And the response is still the same. I’m not getting engaged to you, Dustin. I’m not getting married. I’m not going to turn myself into your baby factory to guarantee you a spot at my father’s firm kissing his ass for the rest of your life.”
He went pale.
“That’s not what I…”
“Isn’t it?”
“No! What the hell’s up with you? We were good together!”
“According to you we were. And it did work back when you were fun and had principles and wanted to be a good person and save the world. Back when you respected my ideas and understood my aspirations and wanted to be with me. With me alone.”
“That’s still what I want,” he said, reaching out toward me and stepping forward.
I blew him off. He didn’t understand me, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He never had been able to, even if there was a time in our relationship when I thought otherwise.
“Don’t make me laugh, Dustin, and don’t take another step, because I’m about to puke all over your pretty little suit.”
Actually, I would have liked that. He scowled at me, accusingly.
“You’re intoxicated? At your sister’s wedding, of all places?”
I laughed and stumbled.
“I’m not intoxicated, I’m drunk. Maybe you don’t know there’s a difference, but there is.”
“Jesus, Harper. Imagine if someone saw you like that. Your father…”
“Oooooh, my father! If I say his name in front of the mirror three times, will he appear like the boogeyman? Bloody Nolan, Bloody Nolan…”
“Behave, there are people watching us.”
The words Fuck you danced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them, and they stung going down.
“I used to like you. I really did. I thought you were a sweetie. But you’ve changed…”
“I haven’t. I’m still the same guy.” He ran his hand through his hair and looked around at the garden before settling his eyes on me again. “But I see things differently now. I’m more realistic. And if you weren’t so proud and hardheaded, you’d get that. You’d realize that…”
That flipped a switch in me.
“Proud? How…how can you…?”
Those words were barely audible when I saw my father striding toward us. I had managed to duck him all day, and there was a part of me—an immature part, I admit—that thought I could make it out without seeing him. My father was the type of man who managed to make everyone and everything around him shrink, to the point that even the air around him seemed to grow thinner.
“Harper.” His voice was thundering. “Do you think I have the time and patience for these stupid games? To have you here acting like a spoiled child? You’ve been ignoring my calls. Don’t do it again.”
“I was busy,” I murmured.
“Busy with what? Wasting your time on nonsense?” He shook his head and a few dark hairs fell over his forehead. He pushed them aside and glared at me. His eyes were bottomless black pits. For a moment, I thought he was vacillating, but no—my father was incapable of that. He didn’t know what self-doubt was. He was cold, distant, a rock covered in jagged edges. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Here.”
I couldn’t move at first. I had to squint when I grabbed the card to see the tiny shiny letters that seemed to float over the paper.
“What’s this?”
“Call that number. It’s a real estate agent who’s done work for us. Set up a meeting with him and give him whatever he wants. Keys, documents, whatever he needs to sell the house and the bookstore ASAP. He’ll make it a priority.”
The alcohol, which had made everything feel dull before, now evaporated through my pores like a cold sweat. My heart sped up as I found the courage to look him in the eyes.
“I haven’t decided yet. On that, or on anything else…Dad.” This last word tasted bitter on my lips. “I need to take my time and think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about. You aren’t keeping that woman’s house, let alone the bookstore.”
“ That woman was my grandmother.”
“ That woman made the Antichrist look charming.”
Rage like hot lava flowed through my veins. He was talking about the person I’d loved most in the world. The person whose absence made my soul ache inconsolably. I clenched my fists.
“You have no right to talk about her that way. You don’t…”
“Me?” He shouted me down. “That woman’s the one who filled your head with all those stupid ideas. I gave in when you decided to waste your life studying literature…”
“That wasn’t a waste. Mom did the same thing…”
Sweat pearled on his forehead as he stepped even closer to me.
“How dare you mention your mother?”
I breathed in and out slowly and tried to stop trembling. I could feel his eyes burning holes in me, searing my skin, my muscles, charring my bones. He was making a tremendous effort to keep his cool. He always had to when he was with me. I wondered what would happen if one day he couldn’t, if his rage just kept growing and growing. I suppose the whole world would explode.
I would disappear.
And he’d be happy.
He looked at Dustin as if he’d just noticed his presence. Then he focused on me again and slowly, the color drained from his face.
“Grow up, Harper. Forget literature, editing, writing your little stories, and the rest of that junk. Come home, sell the bookstore, and know your role. You’re a Weston! Do you understand what that means? The responsibility you have to this family, to me, to your brother and sister? Jesus, stop being such a baby.”
Why did that word always sound so humiliating coming from him? He was the very embodiment of contempt.
“I’m not a baby.”
“Dad, that’s enough.” My brother appeared behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. I hadn’t realized he was there until I heard his soft voice.
“Hoyt, don’t tell me…”
My brother came around between us, and I took shelter behind his back. That’s what Hoyt meant to me: safety. He was the closest thing I had to a real father figure, even if he was only four years older than me.
“Dad, Hayley and Scott are about to leave, and they’re waiting for you to see them off. That’s what matters tonight.”
For a few long seconds, Dad said nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Try to get your sister to listen to reason. My patience is running out with her. Either she does her duty, or she can forget about this family.”
He turned around and walked toward the house. Briefly, the tension he’d brought to the atmosphere lingered behind him, and it felt cold and humid. Or maybe the night really was that way because of the air rising off the lake. But I’ve always been imaginative and dramatic. No one’s ever called me simple .
“Harper, your dad’s right—” Dustin started to say.
Hoyt turned to him. “Shut your mouth if you don’t want me to shut it for you.”
“I’m just worried about her. She’s my—”
My brother grabbed his lapels and narrowed his eyes. His mouth was a thin, tense line. He’d never liked Dustin, and he’d have no problem showing that now.
“Let’s see if you can understand me, blockhead. She’s nothing to you. Now scram.”
Dustin hurried away, glancing back several times over his shoulder. His wounded ego was evident in his eyes.
Hoyt turned to me. I smiled, shyly at first, as though wanting to say sorry , and then without regrets.
“Blockhead?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to swear. In my head I was calling him a piece of shit and telling him I’d tear him to bits.”
“Now that’s more like it,” I replied.
He reached a hand and cupped my cheek, looking worried. “You okay?”
I shrugged. No, I wasn’t. I was the furthest thing from okay. The week before, all kinds of things had happened I’d have preferred to forget. The straight line of my path, my everyday life, the future I had told myself lay before me, was now full of potholes. I couldn’t see it clearly. All I saw were shadows that told me where the road once lay, the way traces of letters remain on a chalkboard after you’ve erased it. And there I was, lost in a pile of chalk dust.
Hoyt tried to smooth out the wrinkles between my eyes.
“You know Dad … He’s just Dad. You don’t have to pay attention to him if you don’t want. You need to make your own decisions.”
“It’s easy to say that when you’re not the one who’s always disappointing him.”
“I’ve disappointed him lots of times.”
“That’s not true,” I moaned. I felt like a loser. I almost always did, and yet I had no idea what I was doing wrong. “He’s always loved you. You and Hayley. But me… I–I mean, who am I even?”
“You’re my little pumpkin.” He hugged me tight and kissed my forehead and added, “He’s a tough man, but he loves you. I know he loves you.”
There was no point in arguing about it.
Since I’d refused to spend the night there, Hoyt insisted on driving me home. The party was still going even after the newlyweds and many of the guests had gone.
“What’s up with your date?”
“She’ll stay in one of the guest rooms. Don’t worry about her.”
“One of the guest rooms?” I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d seen how they’d looked at each other. “Yeah, right.”
With a sly smirk, he said, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m being serious! She’s different, and I–I want to take it slow. I don’t want to spoil things.”
I nodded. I was happy for him. He kissed the crown of my head and said, “I gotta go get the car keys. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
I followed him up to the house and waited in the vestibule while he went up to his room. Looking out the windows, I could see couples dancing to the soft rhythms of sensual soul music that echoed faintly where I stood. Past the dance floor, there were other couples listening to the lapping of the waves and watching the stars. The house was in a beautiful location with a strange enchantment, and the lake views made it almost perfect.
I turned toward the door. I was tired and my feet were killing me in those new high heels, which I would never have agreed to wear on my own. I saw my reflection in the mirror over the console. God, I looked horrible! My hair had been in a bun, but now strands of it were falling everywhere. I walked closer and started pulling out the hairpins with their little jewels until my hair fell over my face and shoulders. Then I ran my fingers through the little knots and tried to relax. The night was all over.
That’s when I saw him.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Our eyes connected in the mirror.
And as we looked at each other, I felt everything vanish. His expression was dark, hard, defiant.
Nervously, I found the energy to leave. With firm steps, I walked outside, and the humid air hit me in the face, so dense it was almost impossible to breathe.
“Are you running away from me?”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Trey had followed me out. “How observant of you.” I walked downstairs and to the fountain. He came to a stop next to me.
“What the hell is up with you?”
“Like you don’t know,” I said.
I felt his fingers suddenly grab my wrist, forcing me to turn toward him. His hand trembled in contact with my skin, or maybe it was my arm that was shaking.
“I don’t like riddles, Harper. So if you have a problem with me, just spit it out.”
I pulled away. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“That’s not what it seems like. And judging from your face, there’s a whole speech inside you just waiting to be delivered.”
“One you’ve already heard before.”
“Here we go again,” he grunted.
I sighed loudly and tried to hide as best I could how little control I felt over the situation.
I watched myself through his eyes, and for some strange reason they looked sincere as he lied to me, acting like he didn’t know the origin of the gulf that separated us. For a moment, I saw myself as he saw me. A spoiled, whiny little girl who used silence as a punishment. Stupid, immature, and a bunch of other things I didn’t want to think about just then. It was true, too. That was how I was acting, and I didn’t know why.
I should have screamed at him. Should have let it all out, one detail at a time. What it feels like when you break into a million pieces and nothing can put you together again. How hard it is to admit that you meant less than nothing to someone. The hatred, the pain and disappointment I felt when I saw him fall off the pedestal where I’d put him. It would have made me feel better, but I said nothing because my heart needed him to open that door. I needed him to say sorry, to repent, and he hadn’t done it. I needed to know why. Perhaps that would erase from my mind what he’d said to me back then.
Insolently, I said to him, “Isn’t there something horrible you should be doing?”
He clenched his teeth audibly, and a faint grin appeared on his face, venomous. My hair stood on end as he bent down over me, invading my personal space. He knew how to get my attention, and he knew how to intimidate me.
“Doing horrible things is my day job. By night I like to drive girls like you crazy.”
He’d hit the button. I tensed up. I hated that word; I hated it with all my might.
“Are you calling me a girl?”
“Yeah, a whiny little girl,” he whispered, so close I could smell his breath. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but just so you know, I couldn’t care less.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Very mature response.”
“You’re one to talk about maturity, Pumpkin.”
“You have no right to call me that,” I said.
“Pumpkin!”
“Shut up!”
“Or what?”
Just then, I heard another voice shout, “There you are!” It was Hoyt, now walking out the door. He had changed out of his suit into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Trey and I separated, but we were still eyeing each other as if we were in a duel and whoever blinked first would lose. I remained firm until he shook his head, smirked, and started walking away.
When he reached us, Hoyt said, “Hey, Trey, are you going?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You okay, man?”
Trey raised his hand with a thumbs-up on his way to the parking lot beneath the orange light of the lampposts and of the Tiki torches lining the path.
“I’m great,” he shouted back. “I’m going to try to find a cat to kick or a baby whose pacifier I can steal. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even push an old lady into traffic while I’m at it.”
I blushed. Maybe I’d gone too far in what I’d said.
Lines appeared across Hoyt’s forehead. “Did something happen between you guys?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
I looked away before answering. “Yeah, we just talked. I mean, he wanted to talk, and I didn’t really feel like it.”
“When’s the last time you saw each other?”
“Four years ago.”
He opened his eyes, surprised. “Four years?”
I felt a twinge of guilt. Actually, we’d talked two days before, twice, but I wasn’t going to tell Hoyt that. Just like I wasn’t going to tell him what happened between us. I wasn’t such a bad person that I was willing to ruin Trey’s friendship with my brother just to get revenge. I loved Hoyt too much for that, and Hoyt loved Trey.
“Yeah,” I responded with more energy than I thought I had.
“And you didn’t feel like talking to him after all that time? I thought you two liked each other.”
“That’s debatable.”
Hoyt looked anxious as he rubbed his face and passed an arm over my shoulder on the way to the car. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
“I just don’t feel like talking to him. I realize he’s your best friend and all, but he’s not a good guy, and you know that. He’s an idiot.” As I saw the sarcasm in Hoyt’s expression, I continued, “It’s true! I didn’t realize it when I was little, I even thought he was nice, but I’ve grown. Now I see people the way they are, and I just don’t want anything to do with Trey.”
Once we reached the garage, my brother hit the remote, and the door lifted to reveal several cars. The lights on his Jeep blinked. I got inside and took off my shoes. Hoyt put it in gear and we left Léry without a word, him thinking his thoughts and me thinking mine. Eventually, after those tense hours, I fell into a not unpleasant lethargy.
“Trey isn’t the same guy he used to be,” my brother murmured after a while.
I opened my eyes and looked away from the window I’d been leaning on. My face was starting to feel numb. “That’s what you say.”
“That is what I say.” His tone led me to think he might be irritated with me. “He’s not the guy he used to be. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”
“You’re telling me he’s no longer a womanizer and a moron?” That stung him. Whatever I might have thought or felt, Trey and he were close. I almost regretted my words.
He looked as if an immense weight were burdening him. “He’s changed. We all have a right to change. And all of us do change with time. Some more than others. Don’t you think?”
I nodded, but I wasn’t really sure. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure at all. Many people never even tried to change, either because they didn’t believe they could have a better life or they didn’t want one. Whether that meant being a better person or…just anything. Why would Trey Holt bother changing if he’d always had the world at his feet?
My brother cleared his throat.
“I’ve learned some things these past few years. First, appearances can be deceiving. Second, when we judge someone based on past prejudices and not firsthand, we’re often mistaken. And if we refuse to look beyond the surface, if we refuse to dig any deeper, then maybe the problem is us and the way we see reality.”
My cheeks reddened, and I felt like a student caught cheating on a test. My brother was young, but still, he had more or less raised me. Since our mother left us, he had simply accepted that I was another of his obligations. He worried about my grades, my friendships, my behavior, and he wasn’t shy about chewing me out or putting limits on me if necessary.
I was grateful for all that, for him giving up a part of his adolescence to make sure mine could be as normal as possible. That meant I couldn’t bear disappointing him. And just then, it seemed that I had.
His words made me feel bad about myself. At the same time, there was fury burning in my chest, and the fire refused to go out. I couldn’t accept that Trey had changed, that he was no longer who I thought he was. It’s easy to hate the bad guy in a movie. But when he repents or redeems himself or dies, that hatred turns to pity, and pity into forgiveness. And I didn’t know if I could forgive him. But I didn’t forget what my brother said.