Chapter 51
Seth
While Layla does her nightly reading with Jasmine, I walk down the hall to my father’s room. I don’t remember the last time I sought him out or the last time I went into his room. I stopped doing it when we were in the trailer, and once I went to college, I only stayed there a handful of times.
When he moved here, I had the trailer dismantled, and other than when I did the walkthrough of this house after construction, I’ve never stepped foot in his bedroom.
All the memories I have of his old bedroom are negative. He piled it with so much crap, it was hard to get the door open. After a while, he gave up and would sleep on the couch. He was on that thing day and night, and I only wish I could have set it on fire myself when it came time to move.
It’s strange to see him outside, especially three times in two days. I didn’t believe him when he said he wanted to go out to dinner and that he had made a reservation, but I was wrong because he did both things.
Dr. Reynolds met us here and rode in my car with us. The restaurant is in the mall, and I had to drop them off at the entrance so I could park. The reservation was early. Too early for me to eat dinner, but I guess he wanted to have it at a slow time of day. By the time I parked and got inside, they were seated in a private room.
Dr. Reynolds sat next to my dad and every few minutes, he would remind him to do his breathing exercises.
“You’re here with me and your family,” he had whispered. “Breathe like we practiced.”
“How much do you think this is costing me?” I had whispered to Layla who elbowed me in the ribs. “I guess I’m buying his dinner too.”
“You are, so hush.” She looked at me and widened her eyes as if she were daring me to contradict her. I never had a woman boss me around before, but it works for Coach and Chastain. Not that I’ll ever be a simp like them but having a woman in my life is not so bad. On the contrary. It’s quite good.
When our server comes, Layla orders a cocktail, but I stick to water since I’m driving everyone.
“What are you having, Dad?” I asked a few minutes later.
The drinks are delivered, and Layla offers me some of hers. It’s so good, I drink half of it.
“Keep it,” she says and orders another.
The dinner is almost normal, even though I don’t remember a single time before today that I had dinner out with my father. Dad orders steak and shrimp, but only eats half. He’d normally eat twice as much when I make it at home. He sweats through his clothes despite the cool room, but Layla keeps the conversation going, and I focused on my own dinner and my daughter and let the doctor handle my father. Lord knows I’m paying him enough. He should do his damn job.
By the time dinner is over and we get back to the car, I can tell my dad is relieved. Instead of playing with Jasmine like I expect when we get back to the house, he goes to his room and hasn’t come out. Of course, Layla insists I go check on him.
I stand outside his door for a full five minutes. I know he’s in there because not only can I hear the television, but the light is also on. After debating on whether I should leave, I knock on the door. When he doesn’t respond, I turn the knob and go inside. He’s starting to sit up on the bed when I walk in.
“Oh, Sethie. I was coming to open the door for you.”
I look around the room, and I’m shocked to see that it’s free of clutter. Then I remember I gave the housekeeper explicit orders to clean his room twice a week and to throw away any crap he has in here.
He groans as he gets up. It’s almost as if he’s twenty years older than his forty-six years.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I look down at him. He nods without making eye contact with me. “You don’t have to push yourself.” I almost want to bite my tongue at the absurdity of my statement. He’s been outside a few times in ten years. That’s the opposite of pushing oneself. I don’t want to say that, though, so I shut up.
“I can’t do this anymore, Seth. I can’t be in this prison anymore.”
“So, don’t. You’re the one who put yourself in this prison, Dad.” In no mood to listen to him feeling sorry for himself, I stand to leave. I did what Layla asked. I checked on him, and he’s fine.
“You think I did this to myself?” I pause mid-step at his question before I turn to face him. He’s looking up at me now with a mixture of pain and anger on his face. I always try to avoid talking about his issues at all costs, but I will send the occasional jab. He never responds, so this question takes me by surprise.
“Who else? I don’t remember anyone locking you in the house and preventing you from leaving. I remember begging you to come out. Come to one of my games. Do something with me, but you wouldn’t. Hell, you wouldn’t even do anything with me inside the house.”
“I couldn’t,” he corrects. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“But you know what I’ve been through. You should since you’re the one who put me through it,” I counter. “Don’t play with me. I can match you fucked up childhood for fucked up childhood.”
His face turns ashen, but I won’t take back my words.
“You didn’t have horrible things happen to you like they did to me,” he says.
“And how would you know? You were out of it drinking beer and watching daytime TV from the time I was a kid until I moved out. You didn’t care what I did as long as I took care of you. You—”
“Stop.” He holds up his hands and sighs. “Stop. I know. I know. I’m a shitty father, but I swear, I’m trying. Things are going to be different now. The therapy is working, and I want—”
“Why? Why now? Why not ten years ago? Hell, why not eight years ago? If you’re doing this for me, don’t because I don’t need it anymore. I made it, and it was all despite you instead of because of you.”
“Does it make you feel better to hurt me?” he asks.
“Well, the truth hurts,” is all I say.
“I know I can never make it up to you,” he says.
“I don’t need you to do anything for me. You’re the one who needs me, not the other way around.”
“You needed a parent and—”
“Oh my god! I know. You couldn’t. Boo freakin hoo. You are the first person in the history of the world to have something happen to them. It was easier for you to just give up than to fight for me. If you’re looking for sympathy, I’m fresh out, Dad.”
His face crumbles, and I wait for him to start sobbing, but he doesn’t. He stands again and reaches for my hand, but I pull away as if his touch is fire.
“I’m not looking for anything other than a little understanding.”
“I’ll give you some understanding as soon as you understand what you took from me.”
“You don’t think I know?” He raises his voice. He’s never raised his voice at me. Never. Before his complete breakdown, he never once yelled at me. “You don’t think that’s all I’ve talked about with Dr. Reynolds? You don’t think the guilt isn’t crippling?”
I look at him before I do a slow clap. “I believe you know. I just don’t think you care. If you cared, you would have gotten off your ass years ago, but you didn’t. You buried yourself under a mountain of filthy blankets and left me to fend for myself and for you.”
Right on cue, his tears start, and I instantly feel bad. Just like I did that day I told him off before I went away to college. That anger lasted the longest. It lasted for days after I left. He stood at the door of that filthy trailer and cried. I didn’t look back when I got into my coach’s car. Dad didn’t even thank him for doing his job.
He angrily swipes his tears and glares up at me. He’s never done that before. He normally shrivels up like ten-day-old grapes at the first sign of anger from me.
“I was assaulted, Seth!” he yells. “When I was a kid. It happened repeatedly.”
I put my hand on my hips and wait for his words to sink in. “Assaulted? You were hit?” I ask. I’m not surprised if that was the case. My grandfather was a mean man who bragged about shooting a dog when he was a teenager. He died when I was thirteen, and I haven’t thought of him since. Dad didn’t go to the funeral and neither did I.
“I was assaulted,” he repeats. “Sexually.” He whispers the last word and I come to a complete stop. I don’t breathe, and I don’t blink.
“What the hell did you just say?” I ask, sure that I either heard wrong or misunderstood.
“I can’t repeat it. I won’t repeat it,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s taken me years to admit to myself. It took all I had to tell the doctor, and I’m not telling you now for sympathy. I need understanding. I need you to understand.” He quickly grabs my hands and holds them.
“Who?” is all I can think of to say. “Who did it? Because after I rip them apart with my bare fucking hands, I’m going to have them arrested and prosecuted. Whoever did this is going to spend the rest of his miserable life in a cell, and that’s if I don’t kill him first.” When all he does is cry, I yell, “Tell me who the fuck did this?”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead,” he says through his tears. “He died a long time ago.”
“Was it grandpa?” I ask with my eyes wide.
“No,” he says quickly. “He was mean, but he would never do that. It was a family friend, and he would watch me. I don’t want to say any more about that to you. That’s for me and Dr. Reynolds to figure out, but that’s been my problem. There was so much shame and hurt and anger. It’s crippled me for years. I didn’t know how to process it. I couldn’t deal with it. I wouldn’t even admit it to myself, so I collapsed. I stopped functioning. And you’re right. I am a shitty father. I’m a weak man, and you’ve suffered because I couldn’t get my shit together. I’m so sorry.”
I try to pull my hands away so I can punch the wall, but he won’t let me go. I don’t know if it’s because he knows my intentions or if this is the longest time I’ve let him touch me.
Parts of my childhood flash through my mind, and I wonder how I could have missed the signs, but I was so angry. All I thought about was how his actions affected me, not the cause of why he is the way he is. When I got older and forced into therapy, I was looking for a magic pill to cure him. I never once thought about what made him this way. I guess, I failed him too.
“Dad,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.” I tug at his hands, and I wrap my arms around him like he’s a child. He lets out a loud sob and cries into my chest. I hold him and let him have this moment. I hope it’s cathartic and brings him a sense of peace. It’s not until I feel my own tears streaming down my face that I realize I’m crying too.
I let go and weep with my father. I cry for the scared boy he must have been. I cry for the broken man who’s made himself a prisoner for over a decade because he could no longer face what he had been through. I cry for myself and for dealing with the consequences of what happened to my father. We both stand there and cry for what could have been hours.
“I promise I’m going to get better so I can come to Manhattan and visit.” He sounds hopeful and lets out a laugh.
“I’d really like that,” I say, meaning it.
“And then, I want to come to one of your games, but that might take a little bit longer.” He sounds sheepish, and I can feel him tense in my arms. I wonder if he’s waiting for me to remind him he’s never made the effort before, and he shouldn’t bother.
“The games will be there when you’re ready,” is all I say, and he sighs with relief. He steps out of my arms and gestures for me to sit on the bed. When I do, he sits next to me and takes my hands again.
“I’m proud of you, Seth,” he says. “You’ve always been such a good boy and an even better son. I would have died a long time ago without you. Thank you for not turning your back on me because I know it’s what I deserve, but I’ve always needed you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Dad,” I say. I manage to pull my hands from his and throw an arm across his shoulders. He rests his head on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t been that good. I’ve been awful to you, but if I had known—”
“I didn’t want you to know. Ever. I would have spent the rest of my life without you knowing, but Dr. Reynolds said telling you would help me. And you’ve been so angry with me. Don’t apologize to me for anything, Seth. Like I said, you’re the best son I could have asked for. I love you a lot, Son.”