shit,” he wheezed. “Feel like shit, too. But thanks for coming.”
“What’s wrong, Dad? We could have just talked over the phone. Or do you still distrust phone lines?”
“Look, is it wrong for a man to want to see his daughter every once in a while. It’s not like any of my other kids will still talk to me.”
“Drop the sympathy plea, Dad. You damn near put Ralph in the hospital the last time you saw him, and Claudia’s still in Nova Scotia with her partner.”
“ Partner ,” he said with disdain. “Is that what we’re calling lesbian lovers these days?”
“You’ll never change.”
“You’re right, I won’t, but…” He once more motioned for her to join him on the bench.
“But what?” Her sad expression deepened as she sat. “Is it serious? Are you…are you dying?”
“No,” he said, and wished things were as simple as that. Being alone in the world was a bitch, but getting kicked when he was down made life unbearable. He absently watched a seagull peck a tattered Arby’s bag.
“Rats with fuckin’ wings,” he said.
“I’m going to leave if you don’t cut to the chase,” Samantha said.
There wasn’t much force in her voice. Never had been. And he could tell she’d been crying. At that moment, he almost let her leave. This was unfair to her. He always asked, never gave, and she never could say no to him. He knew she wouldn’t refuse him now. Of course, any decent father would call the whole thing off and find a different way to take care of the loser from the convenience store; a way that didn’t involve the last family member who’d still speak to him. But he couldn’t let things go. He wasn’t a decent father. And he needed her.
Samantha sat still as a stone as he told her about the robbery. Then he talked about the smug asshole from the convenience store. When he finished the story, she grabbed the pack of Marlboros beside him and took one. He sparked his Zippo and lit her cigarette. She always smoked under pressure. Although this wasn’t her mess, she was clearly expecting it to follow her home.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said.
“Not your fault, sweetheart.”
“Didn’t say it was, did I? Said I was sorry. Means I care about you for some stupid reason. We humans like to do this little thing called sympathizing every now and again. It’s not bad. You should try it sometime.”
“Fuck, I guess it’s me who should really be sorry,” he said.
“You think ?”
Shaking his head, he lit another cigarette. He took a deep drag, then looked back at the scarcely populated shoreline. Storm clouds hung dark and low over the ocean, and the last of the tourists were packing up their towels and umbrellas.
After a moment of silence, Samantha asked, “How can you know the guy from the Circle K did it?”
“I’m ninety percent sure,” he said. “Thirty years as a salesman taught me a lot about people, and this guy isn’t right. His clockwork’s off. Hell, he covered his eyes when he sneezed.”
“You mentioned that.”
Phillip shook his head and coughed. “Well, who does a thing like that, unless they’re retarded or something? And this guy isn’t a retard. In fact, he’s smart and…I don’t know…and scary, I guess.”
“Wow, someone who scares you. Remind me to stay away from this person.”
Phillip laughed. “Look, a lot of people have tics and most people strike me as odd, but this fucker rang my bells pretty damn hard.”
“If you didn’t trust him, why’d you let him see your driver’s license?”
He held up a smoldering Marlboro, a grim smile cracking his face. “Out of nails and anxious to get back to building my coffin.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone and never have, so don’t shit me that you gave up your code for a pack of Cowboy Killers. Just admit this guy had you off balance.”
“You trusted your husband for more than a decade, sweetheart, and look how that worked for you. No
“What’s wrong, Dad? We could have just talked over the phone. Or do you still distrust phone lines?”
“Look, is it wrong for a man to want to see his daughter every once in a while. It’s not like any of my other kids will still talk to me.”
“Drop the sympathy plea, Dad. You damn near put Ralph in the hospital the last time you saw him, and Claudia’s still in Nova Scotia with her partner.”
“ Partner ,” he said with disdain. “Is that what we’re calling lesbian lovers these days?”
“You’ll never change.”
“You’re right, I won’t, but…” He once more motioned for her to join him on the bench.
“But what?” Her sad expression deepened as she sat. “Is it serious? Are you…are you dying?”
“No,” he said, and wished things were as simple as that. Being alone in the world was a bitch, but getting kicked when he was down made life unbearable. He absently watched a seagull peck a tattered Arby’s bag.
“Rats with fuckin’ wings,” he said.
“I’m going to leave if you don’t cut to the chase,” Samantha said.
There wasn’t much force in her voice. Never had been. And he could tell she’d been crying. At that moment, he almost let her leave. This was unfair to her. He always asked, never gave, and she never could say no to him. He knew she wouldn’t refuse him now. Of course, any decent father would call the whole thing off and find a different way to take care of the loser from the convenience store; a way that didn’t involve the last family member who’d still speak to him. But he couldn’t let things go. He wasn’t a decent father. And he needed her.
Samantha sat still as a stone as he told her about the robbery. Then he talked about the smug asshole from the convenience store. When he finished the story, she grabbed the pack of Marlboros beside him and took one. He sparked his Zippo and lit her cigarette. She always smoked under pressure. Although this wasn’t her mess, she was clearly expecting it to follow her home.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said.
“Not your fault, sweetheart.”
“Didn’t say it was, did I? Said I was sorry. Means I care about you for some stupid reason. We humans like to do this little thing called sympathizing every now and again. It’s not bad. You should try it sometime.”
“Fuck, I guess it’s me who should really be sorry,” he said.
“You think ?”
Shaking his head, he lit another cigarette. He took a deep drag, then looked back at the scarcely populated shoreline. Storm clouds hung dark and low over the ocean, and the last of the tourists were packing up their towels and umbrellas.
After a moment of silence, Samantha asked, “How can you know the guy from the Circle K did it?”
“I’m ninety percent sure,” he said. “Thirty years as a salesman taught me a lot about people, and this guy isn’t right. His clockwork’s off. Hell, he covered his eyes when he sneezed.”
“You mentioned that.”
Phillip shook his head and coughed. “Well, who does a thing like that, unless they’re retarded or something? And this guy isn’t a retard. In fact, he’s smart and…I don’t know…and scary, I guess.”
“Wow, someone who scares you. Remind me to stay away from this person.”
Phillip laughed. “Look, a lot of people have tics and most people strike me as odd, but this fucker rang my bells pretty damn hard.”
“If you didn’t trust him, why’d you let him see your driver’s license?”
He held up a smoldering Marlboro, a grim smile cracking his face. “Out of nails and anxious to get back to building my coffin.”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone and never have, so don’t shit me that you gave up your code for a pack of Cowboy Killers. Just admit this guy had you off balance.”
“You trusted your husband for more than a decade, sweetheart, and look how that worked for you. No
Similar Books
