10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Prez must be out of his mind. He’s got a hot blonde on the back of his bike. Some chick Big Daddy asked him to get out of town. Faye is going to flip her shit if she sees him pull up to the clubhouse with this woman.
His ol’ lady is a certified bitch. We all hate her, but tolerate her for him.
They started as an arranged marriage for business, but Woods has tried to love her and make their marriage real, but their love is about as real as Dirty Diana’s tits.
I can’t believe they still allow that crazy cunt at the rally.
I wouldn’t have believed she was still alive if I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes with some guy called Maverick. As Grannie Mags would say, ‘Not my pasture, not my bullshit.’
I’ve got to treat Woods’s bringing this chick home with us the same way. He’s the Prez, and I respect his decisions even when I don’t understand or agree with them. That’s my job as his VP and his best friend.
Not that I have any room to judge his choices. I’m seeing his sister behind his back.
We’re about ten minutes from the clubhouse, and now that we’re home, the bubble of being at the rally has burst. It’s back to reality.
I drop Willow off and watch for the fireworks between Faye and Woods to explode when she sees Jessika on the back of his bike, but she does the opposite. She greets her man with a kiss.
“See you later, pipsqueak.” I wink at Low as she moves off to take care of our parting gift from the rally.
I drive to my homeplace. I pay the mortgage, but it’s still in my old man’s name.
I greet our old dog, Blue. “Hey bud.” I bend down and scratch him behind the ears as I walk up onto the porch.
The screen door squeaks as I push it open.
The second I step through the door, I can see my father has been on a bender.
There’s a pyramid of beer cans on the coffee table and the ashtray is overflowing.
There’s new burn marks on the couch and on the floor.
One day he’s going to set the whole fucking place on fire.
If he burned with it, no one would give a fuck. He’s a sorry, drunken, hateful bastard.
I don’t know why I bother with him, but I do.
I walk into the kitchen, disgusted by the amount of fruit flies buzzing around a moldy TV dinner that never made it off the baking sheet. Looks like he made it and forgot about it.
I grab a trash bag from under the sink and sigh.
I’m dead tired. The last thing I want is to clean up another of his messes, but I can’t stand the filth. I’d hired a lady to clean, but she stopped showing up after she walked in on him passed out naked on the couch in a puddle of his own piss and vomit one morning.
I can’t blame her. She thought he was dead and had called an ambulance.
No one wants to deal with that shit.
The ugly side of dealing with an alcoholic. I don’t know how his liver still functions after so many years of abuse. He’s already down to one kidney and has pancreatitis.
I buy his beer and pay his bills. I know I’m enabling him. I shouldn’t, but he’s my father and I can’t seem to turn my back on him.
My mother gets pissed at me. I know why she walked out. It wasn’t even the cheating and gambling that did it. She couldn’t stand the drinking and his temper. He never hit her. Sure, he burns and breaks things, but he never became violent toward her.
When he’s not drinking, he’s the best man you’ve ever met. But when he goes on a bender, he’s your worst fucking nightmare. He’s a complicated man.
I pick up his garbage and sweep the floor.
If I’m lucky, he’s upstairs sleeping this shit off.
Blue scratches at the front door, and I let him in.
Poor thing is probably hungry. Who knows when he was last fed?
“Come on, old boy.” I get his bowls refilled, and he scarfs his food down.
“I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll make sure you get fed next time I’m gone. ”
I make my way down the driveway to collect the mail that’s overflowing from the box and sort it into piles on the kitchen counter.
I toss the junk mail into the garbage and take it out to the burn barrel out back with the rest of his cardboard.
I pay for garbage pickup, but we’re only allotted so many bags.
I grab lighter fluid from the barn and light the trash on fire. I watch the black smoke curl and disappear. Sometimes I wish I could be that smoke when it comes to dealing with my father and his bullshit.
The back door bangs against the house. I turn and see Willow standing there as though I dreamed her into existence.
“What are you doing here?”
“Grannie Mags made an extra pan of lasagna and asked me to drop it off for Bill and you.”
“She doesn’t have to keep feeding us.”
“I think it gives her something to do. Besides, you know she thinks of you like one of her own. She can’t stand the thought of you coming home and eating a microwave dinner.”
“Fair enough, but you’ve got to be tired.” I walk up to the back porch and pull her in for a hug.
“I wasn’t planning to stay. The front door was unlocked, so I put the food in the oven and set a timer for you.”
“Did you eat anything yet?”
She shakes her head.
“Come set the table while I try to wake the old asshole up.”
Willow knows all about my home life. I’ve spent too many nights crashing on her grannie’s couch as a teen for her not to know.
Hell, everyone in this town calls my dad Crazy ol’ Bill.
I’m just grateful he no longer drives or has access to a vehicle.
Fletcher threatened to take away the keys to his tractor if he drove it into town again after he got drunk and crashed it into the drive-thru at the carryout.
My dad is lucky that our sheriff is one of Grannie Mag’s boys and that I’m best friends with his brother.
Anyone else would have locked his ass up. Instead, Fletcher called me to pick him up from the station. Woods drove his ass home, and I had to drive the tractor home. It’s been parked in the barn ever since then.
I leave Willow in the kitchen, thankful that I had cleaned before she showed up. Not that I mind her coming or the meal, but the way my father leaves shit is embarrassing.
I wash my face and hands and prepare myself for what I might find in his room. The mess downstairs is always just a teaser for the horror that awaits in his room.
I brace myself, always prepared for the possibility of the day I will find him dead, whether it’s from organ failure, a stroke, or an unfortunate accident. I know that one day it will happen. The way he lives his life, it’s inevitable. I made my peace with it a long time ago.
I push his door open and find him snoring in his bed.
I’d be a liar if I said I’m not relieved to see he’s breathing.
I love the man and hate him at the same time.
He gave me life. Taught me to be a man. Maybe not a good one, but he never walked out. Not like my mother did. She left, and it wasn’t until I was already an adult before she reached out to see if I was even alive. If it wasn’t for Woods and the club, I’d probably be dead.
“Yo, Pops.” I shake his foot, careful not to startle him. He’s got PTSD from his time in the Army. I know what he saw during his tour of duty is what drove him to drink. Like I said, I love and hate him at the same time. “Come on. Get up and take a shower. Dinner will be ready soon.”
He does a slow blink and coughs. “Hey, son.”
“Willow’s here. She brought lasagna.”
“Okay.” It’s moments like this I always long for. Sober him and drunk him are like daylight and dark. He’ll function like this for a few days, then something will trigger him and he’ll drink too fuckin’ much and act like the world’s greatest asshole.
When he pulls that shit, I take off. The club keeps me busy and gives me the means to keep the farm even if it’s no longer operational. Maybe one day I’ll get it running again.
Back in the kitchen, I find Willow making a pitcher of sweet tea and another of lemonade.
“You don’t have to do that.” I wrap my arms around her from behind. “But thank you.”
“Of course.”
I kiss her neck then hear the washing machine starting up. “Babe.”
“Hmm.” She measures out more sugar for the tea.
“Did you put my clothes in the wash?” I grin and kiss the shell of her ear.
“Your stuff was lying there, so I thought I’d help out just a teeny bit.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me.”
She’s been doing shit like this since she learned how to drive. She’d hop on a four-wheeler to bring us dinner or a pie. Grannie Mags has always kept me fed. On that thought, I open the fridge and glance back at her as she hums to herself, stirring the tea.
“I take it this was your doing?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I figured you might need a restock.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“I can think of a way for you to show your gratitude.”
“I bet you can.”
The stairs creak at the sound of my father coming down them. I close the fridge and grab some glasses from the cabinet and fill them with ice for the tea.
To someone on the outside looking in, we’d appear normal. We don’t even come close. We’re as dysfunctional as they come. But while Willow is here, we can pretend.
The three of us, well four if you count Blue because Willow gives him a serving, have dinner together, making small talk. Willow treats my father like he’s normal. Not like a loser who can’t get out of bed most days. He’s not held a job since I was fifteen.
Again, it’s a thin line between love and hate.
“Give my thanks to Mags,” he tells Willow.
“Of course. You know she’d love to see you come to church on Sunday.”
“Why? Does she want it to burn down?” he laughs and sips his tea.
“It would not.”
“You’re a damn fine girl, but you ain’t gotta lie to this old man. I know what people think and say about me.”
“Well, they can think and say all they want. Doesn’t make it true.”
“You’re a sweetheart. Brax should put a ring on your finger.”
Willow’s cheeks go red. “Who says I’d want to marry him? I hope you saved room for peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” He pats his stomach.
“You stay there and I’ll serve you a piece. Brax? You want any?”
“I’ll have my dessert later. I’m going to go smoke a cigarette.” There’s only so much of his good guy act I can stomach before it wears on me.
Willow follows me soon as she serves him his cobbler.
“Bill seems like he’s in a good mood.” She takes the seat next to me on the porch swing. Blue settles at our feet.
“For now. I’m sorry he put you on the spot in there.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Bill was just being Bill. And you’re you. Two completely different people.”
I wish I believed that.
We’re more alike than I care to admit.
“Don’t forget to put those clothes in the dryer.”
“You leaving?”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“I’ve not had dessert yet.”