Chapter 22 #2
When he opens the door, the clean scent of bleach hits me first. Then the bright, asylum-white of my bedding, made tidily with sharp hospital corners. A soft, handwoven, oatmeal-colored rug sits centered on the polished hardwood floors, matching the single throw pillow on my twin bed.
“It’s so clean,” I say, sitting on the bed. I can’t believe it. The last time I peeked in this bedroom, the chaos had all but taken over.
“It was the easiest one to work on,” Dad says, lingering by the door. “A parent should always make space for their child. You never know when they’ll have a minor nervous breakdown and need to come home.”
I laugh, and he sits beside me on the bed. I hug the pillow to my chest. “But how did you—”
“Cognitive behavior therapy is what it’s called.
Casey referred me to someone that his grief counselor recommended.
It only works about twenty percent of the time on people like me.
The sessions are boring as hell, but this room alone proves it’s time well spent.
” Dad looks around at the clean white walls.
“Sometimes I come in here to sit in all this open space and feel a little bit proud of myself. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. ”
“It’s wonderful,” I say, hugging him. “I’m so proud of you.”
A single photo sits on the nightstand, in a frame dotted with seashells. Ally and me, with brace-filled smiles and lake-wet hair, standing on a dock with our arms around each other.
“I remember this day.” I lift the frame to study the picture. “You let us stay in the water as long as we wanted. We swam until the sun went down. Then we fished off the dock and didn’t catch anything, so you grilled us hot dogs on the beach for dinner.”
“A good day,” he says with a nod. “And a bad one.”
I look up, surprised. “But nothing about that day was bad.” In my memory, it was the best day ever.
Ally’s laughs as I splashed her, lying on the warm wood of the dock to let the sun dry our skin, sand in our toes and the comforting, ever-present smell of Dad’s pipe tobacco wafting from where he read a legal brief nearby.
And a sleepover at Ally’s, during which we made up dance routines and then fell asleep squeezed into her twin bed, taking turns gently drawing and guessing letters in aloe vera gel on each other’s sunburned backs.
“It was the day your mom left,” Dad goes on. “She wanted to make it easy on you, so we kept you away from the house while she packed.”
Dad lies right through his earnest laugh lines and intelligent eyes. Even now, he’s protecting her. Long ago, I would have believed she cared enough to give me a good day by the lake, but now I know better. Everything good in my childhood came from him.
“I know my … issues … drove her away. Girls need a mother, and because of me, you didn’t get one.” He pulls out a tissue from his pocket and presses it to his eyes.
“She wanted a different life, Dad. It wasn’t all your fault. I don’t think there is anything we could have done to make her stay.”
He looks at me, his eyes shining. “I’m so sorry she couldn’t love us the right way.”
“It’s OK. You loved me the right way.” I put my hand on his shoulder. He’s gotten older lately. His arms feel too thin under my fingertips. “I know you like it when I visit Mom each year, but I’d like to stop seeing her now, if it’s OK with you. It’s not a real relationship, and it never will be.”
Dad sighs. “Honey, if I’d known you were only going to humor your old man, I would have told you to stop ages ago. Love shouldn’t be one-sided.”
Relief filters through me. Oh, thank god.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and traverse to my calendar app, deleting the recurring invite request to my mother for our yearly dinner.
The moment it clears, a massive weight lifts from my shoulders.
The strained conversation. The awkward silences.
The relief of the check arriving and the disappointment of bumping into her again in the valet line.
All of it is finally over. I can’t help but exhale.
“I’m sorry, Lu,” Dad says, taking in my obvious relief.
“I always thought visiting her was good for you. It couldn’t have been easy, growing up with just me as your role model.
Most of what you learned was what not to do.
Don’t drink in the morning. Don’t leave dishes in the sink.
Don’t ignore pink bills in the mail. But there’s one thing I wish I could have showed you how to do the right way. ”
“How to get out of a speeding ticket? You taught me.”
“No. How to play in the gray.” He looks at me, his blue-gray eyes solemn.
“If being a public defender all those years taught me anything, it’s that sometimes to do what’s ethical—what’s moral—you have to bend some rules.
There are a million stupid rules that don’t deserve your adherence.
And there are even more predatory ones that only deserve your teeth. ”
Dad was always breaking rules … but it was always to better the circumstances of those around him.
Sneaking binders of photocopied Stephen King novels to his clients under the guise of case documents.
Stashing candy bars in the tray of the price-gouging vending machine so inmates had a gift for their visiting kids.
At the time, I was jealous of how he cared for alleged criminals while I was largely left to fend for myself, with prepackaged convenience foods in the freezer and Disney VHS tapes leaned against the TV.
But now I suppose I’m grateful. Grateful that, somewhere along the way, his maverick brand of empathy seeped in.
“Thanks for clearing space for my nervous breakdown. It means a lot,” I say, putting my arms around him. “But using this letterhead could get you in huge trouble with the bar association. Too many people in the community rely on your pro bono legal advice. We’ll find another way.”
We rejoin Maya and Corinne in the dining room, where they’re setting up Dad’s ancient Scrabble board.
“She won’t go for it,” Dad says, moving a stack of magazines and sitting on the chair next to Maya. “Afraid of breaking the rules.”
“We’ve taught her nothing.” Maya shakes her head, handing him the velvet bag of tiles. He grunts in agreement, choosing his letters.
“So, what do we do?” Corinne asks.
“Even though I’m technically retired, my emeritus pro bono status will let me help with the hearing itself,” Dad says, “but to get quick movement from the USADA, you’ll have to find a lawyer whose letterhead is stamped with something more intimidating than ‘Legal Aid Volunteer.’ And they’ll need to be capable of writing one hell of a venomous demand letter. ”
I sigh heavily, plopping down in the seat next to Dad, the tawny scales of Helena’s snakeskin clutch coming to mind.
“I know who I can call.”
Dad rests his pipe on the salmon ashtray I made for him in third grade. He settles the word qat on the board.
“There is no way that’s a real word,” Corinne says, crossing her arms. Maya and I smile at each other. We know better than to question Dad’s vocabulary.
“Ah, I admire your bellicosity, Mademoiselle Corinne,” Dad says, his eye twinkling.
“Formal challenges enhance the game. Alas, I believe Wikipedia will agree that a qat is a flowering plant native to eastern Africa containing a stimulant believed to cause excitement and euphoria. It certainly excites me, as a Q word untethered to a U.”
Corinne frowns, verifying the word on her phone. “Damn. I lose my turn.”
Dad leans over to me, and I reflexively cover my letters. He’s been known to peek, to give himself an extra—though obviously unneeded—edge.
“Thanks for bringing your friends over, Lulu,” he says, instead of cheating. “I love the company.”
“Anytime.”
“When your demand letter goes through, this thing may take on a life of its own. Arbitrators, investigations. You sure this guy is worth all the trouble?”
“No,” I say truthfully, setting some tiles down on the board. “But in his way, he’s helped me work through some things. And I’m sure he’s worth the risk.”
Helena’s office is nestled in the leafy, college-like atmosphere of Microsoft’s Redmond campus. Cyclists pedal down designated bike trails, their lanyards flying like kites behind them as they commute to work.
Helena’s assistant, a goth person with spiky jewelry called Siobhan, lets me in.
“Lauren,” Helena says, standing. She’s wearing a skintight forest-green dress with a black blazer and heels so sharp I’m surprised they don’t pierce the baseboards. “How can I help you?”
I fill her in on Danny and the demand letter needed to petition the Anti-Doping Agency for an expedited copy of his drug test, but leave out the part where my father was willing to use illegally forged state letterhead on my behalf.
“Sure,” she says, as if I’d asked her for a piece of sugar-free gum. She glides her wheeled leather chair over to the oversized dual screens on her desk and taps out a demand letter. Minutes later, her printer whirs to life.
“Don’t you want to know if he did it first?” I say, frowning. “The drugs?”
“Not my business,” she says, handing me the paper, still warm from the machine.
“Thank you,” I say, filing it in my bag.
“No, thank you. You really saved me in front of Casey’s mother. I appreciate it.”
“Sheila has always been a piece of work. Rigid and miserable to be around. It used to drive Ally crazy.”
“What would Sheila do?”
“Oh, you know. Criticize her parenting. Touch dust on the railing. Basic mother-in-law terrorism.”
“Something to look forward to, I guess.” Her eyes tick up to mine. “Have you talked to Casey recently?”
I shrug. “About the girls.” And how apparently there was a time he wanted me too. Oh, and he may have almost leaned in to kiss me at your going-away party. “But not much. I’ve been super busy with work.”