Chapter 37
PILLARS
Winter
I run into the pharmacy to grab my refill on birth control pills while BJ picks up the balloons.
The plaza has a variety of stores, including a convenience store and one of the two liquor stores in town.
On my way out, I slide my prescription into my bag, along with a box of condoms, and almost collide with another person.
“I’m so—” The words get stuck in my mouth when I realize it’s my dad.
His eyes widen. He’s holding a brown paper bag, clearly full of alcohol.
A pack of smokes is tucked into the breast pocket of his thin, worn plaid coat.
His hair is longer, and he has about three days of stubble on his cheeks.
His skin is sallow, and he somehow looks thinner.
And like he’s aged a decade since I last saw him.
That makes sense because there’s no one to take care of him anymore.
“Winter? What are you doing here? I thought you was up in Chicago at that fancy university.”
“It’s winter break. I came back to spend the holidays with Mom.”
He looks away and nods. “How is Lucy?”
“She’s good. Working on her GED.” With the right support, Mom is getting close to being able to take the test. Math has never been her strongest subject, but she has a wonderful teacher who has been helping her get through the curriculum.
And she’s found a new love for audiobooks and sweet romance thanks to Clover.
“Good. That’s good. She was always smarter than me. She feeling better too? Healed up okay?”
“She’s got some new aches and pains, but otherwise she’s doing well.”
“Good. That’s real good.” He blinks a bunch of times.
“I didn’t mean for her to get hurt like that.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. Can you tell her that for me?
That I didn’t mean for her to get hurt? The police said I’m not allowed to talk to her or be near her or I’ll go to jail, otherwise I’d tell her myself. ”
If I put up a filter and view him not as my father, but some sad man who lost his way, it’s easier to find some empathy. I nod. “I can tell her that.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.” He chews on the inside of his lip. “I tried to quit the drink, but, uh, it’s not easy. I went to a couple of those meetings. I might try again after the holidays.”
“I hope that works out for you.” I can’t remember a single day when my dad didn’t have a beer in his hand. Alcohol is the other woman in his life, and I’m not sure he’ll ever be able to leave her.
“You still playing hockey? How’s university?”
“I am. And university is good, challenging, but good.”
He nods. “That’s good. You always had the brains for school.” He exhales a long breath.
“I should probably go.” This is the most interest my dad has ever shown in me, but it’s too little too late, and it’s getting awkward.
Seeing him like this makes me both sad and angry.
Even after losing everything, he still can’t find a reason to turn his life around, and he’s given up so completely.
“Yeah. Of course. You take care, Winter.”
“You too.” I dig around in my pocket with shaking hands for the key to BJ’s Jeep.
“Winter?” My dad’s voice wavers.
I really hope he doesn’t ask me for money. I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He looks away. “For the way I treated you and your mom. I know it’s my fault she left. My temper gets in the way.”
I nod to the bag in his hand. “You can fix that, if you really want to.”
“I’m gonna try. After the holidays.”
The door to the flower store jingles as it opens.
I feel BJ before I see him.
“Snowflake? Everything okay?”
My dad’s gaze moves behind me.
“Yup, we’re all good here.” I offer my dad a small smile. “I really do hope you can kick that habit. Have a merry Christmas.”
“You too, kiddo.” He gets into the passenger seat of an old Ford. I recognize the driver as one of his friends from the trailer park.
BJ’s hand settles on my shoulder as the car leaves the lot. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. He apologized for being a shitty father and husband. He said he’s going to try to kick the booze after the holidays.”
“Do you believe him?”
I sigh and turn to face BJ. “I believe he wants to try. I don’t know if he’ll be successful, but I hope he is.”
He wraps his arms around me. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it? Hope for the best.”
On Christmas Eve, BJ and I drive out to the trailer park with a care package for my dad.
I don’t tell Mom I’m going. She’s doing so well these days, and I don’t want to derail her.
But I want to give my dad a piece of the hope the Ballistics gave me when I needed it most. Maybe it will inspire him to do better, to make the changes he needs to if he wants a place in either of our lives.
The trailer is in pretty bad condition, much worse than it was the last time my mom and I were here.
“He’s living here?” BJ asks. “How does he stay warm during winter?”
“We had a couple of space heaters that kept it decent. But sometimes we’d stay at the shelter during a big storm. If he pays the electric bills, he should be okay.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.
” I worry about that, about him not having electricity or heat.
About something bad happening. But it’s out of my control.
I can’t force him to make better choices.
I can only nudge him in the right direction and hope he’ll choose that path. Before it’s too late.
“You had to do that in the winter sometimes?”
“A few times, yeah.” I squeeze his hand. “I try not to take what I have now for granted.”
“Your life was so fucking hard.”
“It could be, yeah. But it shaped me into the person I am, and the future is a whole lot brighter. That’s what’s important.”
Dad doesn’t answer when I knock, so I find the spare key and let myself in.
The clutter is overwhelming, and the place needs a good cleaning, but that’s not my job.
I put all the perishables in the fridge and leave the nonperishables on the table, along with the card and a gift certificate to the local grocer’s—the one that doesn’t sell booze, so he’ll use it for food.
Then BJ and I return to his house to celebrate the holidays with his family and all our friends.
My mom and I are used to small celebrations.
Usually, my dad would take a shift at the ice cream factory because they paid double, and she and I would celebrate on our own with leftovers from the holiday dinners served at the diner.
So the magnitude of the celebration with the Ballistics is something we haven’t experienced before.
Mom and I spent the days leading up to the celebration making homemade origami ornaments with Clover to put in everyone’s stockings.
It’s hands down the best Christmas we’ve ever had.
BJ’s parents invite us to stay the night, but my mom and I want to start new traditions of our own, so we go home with the promise that we’ll return the following day for more celebrating, including a Christmas brunch.
The cabin is decorated for the holidays, and white lights frame the porch. Some work has been done since I’ve been away at university. The garage has new siding and a new door, which is a huge improvement.
The front steps to the cabin have been replaced, so they no longer sit at an angle.
There’s a new storm door, and the front porch has been cleaned out, no longer stuffed with empty beer cases.
The kitchen counter is clear of empties, and it smells fresher inside, the scent of cigarette smoke almost gone.
There’s a newer couch in the living room, and the old lounger has been replaced with two chairs.
I know the Hockey Academy has been helping out a lot, and through her GED classes, my mom has learned how to create a budget, so she doesn’t stress about the bills anymore. It’s tight, but it’s manageable.
Her new roommate is visiting family upstate for the week, so we have the cabin to ourselves. We put on How the Grinch Stole Christmas and snuggle on the couch, both of us falling asleep partway through.
In the morning, we make coffee and eat cookies while we look through our stockings.
“Your real present is a work in progress,” Mom tells me. “It’s not finished quite yet, but it should be ready when you move back to Pearl Lake for the summer, if that’s still your plan.” She wrings her hands with nervous excitement.
“Yeah, that’s definitely the plan, as long as it’s okay with you.
” I have a place on the women’s team at the Hockey Academy and my part-time job at Boones, so moving home for the summer makes the most sense, even if it means I can’t sleep beside BJ.
We’re not sure how it’s going to work, but we have time to figure out where I’ll sleep, even if we have to convert the front porch into a makeshift extra bedroom.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She stands. “Come on, I want to show you even though it’s not quite ready yet.”
We shrug into our winter coats and shove our feet into boots. She’s practically bouncing with excitement when we reach the garage. “Close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open them, okay?”
“Okay.”
She takes my hand. “Watch the step.”
I edge my foot forward until I hit the lip of the door, then step over it. The floor feels different beneath my feet, not the pitted concrete I remember.
She tugs me forward. “Okay. Now you can open them.”
“Oh my gosh.” I spin around. “What is this?”
“You know the Stitches, who own Stitches Construction? Well, I guess Lily and Randy know them personally, and they’ve been helping me turn this into an apartment, so you have your own space when you come home for the summer.
” She pulls me toward the framed wall in the back corner.
“This will be the bathroom, with a shower.” She motions to the wide-open space.
“And you’ll have a place for your bed, and over here is space for a couch and a TV.
It’ll have a kitchenette and everything.
They’re working on it between jobs, and all the materials are recycled from other homes.
It’ll be a bit of a hodgepodge, but it’ll be yours. ”
“It’s amazing.” Tears sting my eyes. “Can we afford this?”
“Clover helped me apply for a special grant for housing improvements. I wrote them an essay as part of my English course. Got a real good grade on that one.” Her eyes light up.
“And they accepted my application, so here we are.” She takes my hand in hers.
“I know it hasn’t been an easy road for us, Winter, and I made a lot of mistakes in the past, but I’m trying to do better. For both of us.”
“I’m so proud of you.” I throw my arms around her.
It’s another step forward.
Another pillar of support to add to the foundation of our new life.
Built with hope and held together with love.