the front door when Kirk spoke.
“Where you going?” His voice didn’t sound so certain any more. I didn’t give a tinker’s damn.
“To Dad’s.”
“Why?”
“Because, being so obviously beneath you, I don’t deserve to be under the same roof as you.” To my horror, my eyes puddled. I angrily swished them away. I could just hear him lambasting
his mother…. “ Mama cried over everything…I never believed the tears were real.”
I turned and dashed out the door. Unloveable…unloveable… unloveable.
“Janeece!” he called. “Don’t do something you’ll be sorry for.”
I didn’t look back.
I had to hand it to Daddy and Anne. They treated my barging in, red-eyed from crying, at ten-twenty on Christmas Eve night, as a common occurrence. They asked no questions, thank the good Lord. Trish took Heather to her bed and soon the baby slept again.
I bedded down on the couch. Through tears, I watched the tree lights twinkle and run.
Why, I wondered, was Kirk so angry? Was I so difficult to love? Still?
Apparently so. I tried to squash down the terrible, terrible gut-crush of rejection. I tossed over and knotted up, staring at the ceiling. Exhaustion won out. I dozed.
At twelve-ten, a rap on the door brought me awake and upright, trembling. I pulled Trish’s yellow robe around me and padded barefoot across the pine floor. “Who is it?” I asked.
Silence. Then, “Kirk.”
I hesitated, then unlocked the door and flipped on the porch light. He looked as miserable as I felt. “Come on in,” I said stiffly and stepped back to let him pass.
I turned from the door and his arms were there , open and without warning, pulling me into their embrace. I stiffened for long moments, still stung from his hateful words, and then I felt him trembling. “Oh, Neecyyy,” he sobbed against my neck. “I can’t live without you.”
Crying? Kirk ? I tried to pull back and look, to make sure, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
I felt my neck grow wet. “Ah, Kirk,” I whispered and slid my arms around him. “Don’t.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against my shoulder. “I’m sucha – a….”
“ Butt,” I flatly finished for him.
He lifted his head, gazed at me, tears dripping and all, and said, “The worst. When I opened that last gift” he stopped for a moment to pull out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes and nose. Then I saw fresh tears and the way he was trying to swallow them and failing. I reached up to touch his cheek.
“I felt like the worst scum on the face of the earth. Please,” he stepped toe to toe with me, “forgive me, honey? It’s not you. Never you. The demons are all mine. God couldn’t have given me a better wife than you.”
In answer, I pulled him to the couch and down beside me. That’s when I heard the crinkle of paper and cardboard from beneath his jacket. He pulled out the still sealed box – my present to him.
Chocolate covered cherries.
BamBamBam.
We’d just finished supper that Saturday evening when the loud banging at our door startled us. Kirk frowned and arose from the table just as the banging recommenced.
“Coming!” boomed Kirk, his brow furrowing as he strode to the door. I washed red spaghetti sauce from Heather’s plump little fingers, removed her bib and lowered her to the floor. Her knees bumpbumpbumped their cadence as she crawled off to explore nooks and crannies from her knee-high angle.
Curious, I keened to hear what transpired between Kirk and the caller. Suddenly, Kirk’s voice projected – and it had that deadly quiet timber. “You’re welcome to come to my home anytime when you’re sober, Dad. But don’t you ever come here again when you’re drunk.”
“Y – you can’t talk li’that to me. I’m your daddy, you little—“
“ Shut up , you sorry excuse for a man,” Kirk spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen up good. I lived in that mess all my life. Now, I don’t have to put up with your drunkenness. I won’t
“Where you going?” His voice didn’t sound so certain any more. I didn’t give a tinker’s damn.
“To Dad’s.”
“Why?”
“Because, being so obviously beneath you, I don’t deserve to be under the same roof as you.” To my horror, my eyes puddled. I angrily swished them away. I could just hear him lambasting
his mother…. “ Mama cried over everything…I never believed the tears were real.”
I turned and dashed out the door. Unloveable…unloveable… unloveable.
“Janeece!” he called. “Don’t do something you’ll be sorry for.”
I didn’t look back.
I had to hand it to Daddy and Anne. They treated my barging in, red-eyed from crying, at ten-twenty on Christmas Eve night, as a common occurrence. They asked no questions, thank the good Lord. Trish took Heather to her bed and soon the baby slept again.
I bedded down on the couch. Through tears, I watched the tree lights twinkle and run.
Why, I wondered, was Kirk so angry? Was I so difficult to love? Still?
Apparently so. I tried to squash down the terrible, terrible gut-crush of rejection. I tossed over and knotted up, staring at the ceiling. Exhaustion won out. I dozed.
At twelve-ten, a rap on the door brought me awake and upright, trembling. I pulled Trish’s yellow robe around me and padded barefoot across the pine floor. “Who is it?” I asked.
Silence. Then, “Kirk.”
I hesitated, then unlocked the door and flipped on the porch light. He looked as miserable as I felt. “Come on in,” I said stiffly and stepped back to let him pass.
I turned from the door and his arms were there , open and without warning, pulling me into their embrace. I stiffened for long moments, still stung from his hateful words, and then I felt him trembling. “Oh, Neecyyy,” he sobbed against my neck. “I can’t live without you.”
Crying? Kirk ? I tried to pull back and look, to make sure, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip.
I felt my neck grow wet. “Ah, Kirk,” I whispered and slid my arms around him. “Don’t.”
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured against my shoulder. “I’m sucha – a….”
“ Butt,” I flatly finished for him.
He lifted his head, gazed at me, tears dripping and all, and said, “The worst. When I opened that last gift” he stopped for a moment to pull out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes and nose. Then I saw fresh tears and the way he was trying to swallow them and failing. I reached up to touch his cheek.
“I felt like the worst scum on the face of the earth. Please,” he stepped toe to toe with me, “forgive me, honey? It’s not you. Never you. The demons are all mine. God couldn’t have given me a better wife than you.”
In answer, I pulled him to the couch and down beside me. That’s when I heard the crinkle of paper and cardboard from beneath his jacket. He pulled out the still sealed box – my present to him.
Chocolate covered cherries.
BamBamBam.
We’d just finished supper that Saturday evening when the loud banging at our door startled us. Kirk frowned and arose from the table just as the banging recommenced.
“Coming!” boomed Kirk, his brow furrowing as he strode to the door. I washed red spaghetti sauce from Heather’s plump little fingers, removed her bib and lowered her to the floor. Her knees bumpbumpbumped their cadence as she crawled off to explore nooks and crannies from her knee-high angle.
Curious, I keened to hear what transpired between Kirk and the caller. Suddenly, Kirk’s voice projected – and it had that deadly quiet timber. “You’re welcome to come to my home anytime when you’re sober, Dad. But don’t you ever come here again when you’re drunk.”
“Y – you can’t talk li’that to me. I’m your daddy, you little—“
“ Shut up , you sorry excuse for a man,” Kirk spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen up good. I lived in that mess all my life. Now, I don’t have to put up with your drunkenness. I won’t
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