It wasn’t his fault they were wired one and the same. Dad and Calum were combustible around each other; a storm of butane and fire. Their tempers clashed enough that I didn’t want to add to it, and have my dad blame Calum’s example.
Gramps always told me I had plenty of room to make my own mistakes, but I never felt I could. The ache of his loss slashed through me again, and new tears spilled down my cheeks as my parents’ SUV turned onto the street.
“Call me later,” Lara insisted, wrapping me in another huge hug before releasing me.
Dad pulled up to the curb and I opened the door, climbing in. He observed me, his dark brows drawn in sorrow, his blue eyes—so much like my brother’s—aching. Dad and Gramps had never really been close, but they’d had a mutual respect for one another. Tears poured freely down my cheeks as I leaned across the center console to hug him.
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, not saying a thing. Like Calum, my dad wasn’t always very articulate with emotions and feelings, and it took him a moment to form his thoughts. I knew if he could, he’d take away the grief and sadness I felt with the snap of his fingers, just as I knew it frustrated him that he couldn’t ease my pain.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Try to remember he isn’t suffering anymore, and he’s with your nan. He’ll be really happy about that.”
Gramps never reallyactedas if he were in pain, but he was the kind of guy to shovel snow with a broken foot. Not much slowed him down, not even the cancer that had ravaged his body for the last few years. He’d taken it all in stride, joking he’d die of old age before the cancer had a chance to take him.
“I know, but I’m going to miss him so much, Daddy,” I sobbed, my shoulders shaking.
“Missing someone is how we deal with all the love we had for them,” he said, pulling back to look at me. “He’ll be watching over you. I know he will.”
His words were a comforting surprise, something I hadn’t expected him to say. They soothed me just enough to stop the onslaught of tears. Nodding and wiping my damp cheeks, I leaned back in my seat and buckled up. “I need to grab some things from the dorm before we go.”
Nodding, he put the SUV in gear and pulled out from the parking spot. He offered to come in, but I waved him off. I only needed a few things, and nobody really wanted their father trekking around their dorm, no matter the circumstances. He would likely be horrified by the things he saw.
I ran about, packing clothes and shoving them blindly into an overnight bag. I usually brought my dirty laundry home with me, but I wasn’t supposed to be back in Lunenburg until next weekend, and the basket of dirty laundry was only half-full.
Fresh tears pooled as I grabbed my laptop and schoolwork, tucking it all into my backpack. Then I placed my overnight bag in the laundry basket, so I’d be able to carry them both down.
Once I was sure I had everything I thought I’d need for the next few days, I changed back into my leggings and band shirt, grabbing a sweater and tugging it on. After tugging the straps of my backpack on over my shoulders, I picked up the laundry basket and headed back down.
Dad was waiting in the SUV with the trunk open. I put my backpack and the laundry basket inside and closed the trunk before climbing into the front passenger seat. He put it in drive, and we pulled away from the dorm.
We drove in silence, not even the radio on to break up the piercing quiet. For once, I didn’t reach for it—didn’t turn it on to my favourite station.
My father was weird about music. For the most part, he ignored its existence. He wouldn’t put the radio on, but he wouldn’t object to someone else doing it.
He was there in the audience at every piano recital I ever had. He’d paid for my piano lessons and Calum’s guitar lessons, even though he thought they were frivolous endeavors.
He recognized it would look great on university applications, and that was good enough for him. Music lessons were a little more affordable than sports, so that helped soften his stance on them. But he never thought it would be a viable career choice and scoffed at Calum every time my brother said he already knew it was what he was destined to do.
Ironic, considering he fell in love with my mother, who was a singer and a pianist. Both of my grandparents had been musicians, so Mom grew up in a household full of music. Had she not met and fell in love with my dad, she likely would have gone on to be the next Celine Dion or Reba MacNeil. Instead, she got pregnant with Calum and married Dad, then had me a few years later.
My parents were as different as night and day. Mom was light, airy, and happy, always singing, always smiling. Dad was heavy—he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he had what he liked to consider a more “realistic” view on life—although it bordered on being more of a negative outlook.
Despite their many differences, my parents had remained happily married for twenty-nine years. They had the kind of love that was passionate and seemed strong enough to weather any storms—even ones my father created himself. Like the situation with Cal…
I loved my father, and my relationship with him was far easier—but I wasn’t blind to his faults. He was sensitive and bullheaded, easy to set off. Calum was the same, so growing up…it felt like one was always setting off the other.
My mother and I had taken on similar roles, defusing tempers and deescalating fights with our soothing personalities. We’d help them process their frustrations with each other, but it seemed this one was too big for us to mend.
Unlike most little girls, I had never placed my father on a pedestal and had always been attuned to his different wiring. Cal’s too. They were imperfect people, but they meant well, and they battled a lot more than they let on.
Dad might not know how to handle Calum, or fix what was broken between them, but I knew he loved him. I knew his silence and anger came from regret and shame. He didn’t know how to make it right, and each year Cal stayed away, Dad got more and more stuck in that.
Our family dynamics were complicated, to say the least. The distance university had provided me with had given me the foresight to acknowledge those complications came from my father’s difficult upbringing. I wasn’t privy to all of the facts, but there was a reason why he didn’t ever talk about my paternal grandfather. Mom said that was why Dad struggled when disciplining Calum, because he didn’t know how to father a boy. He didn’t know how to be gentle with him.
Dad was harder on Cal than he ever was on me. When my brother lived at home, they fought frequently, clashing like bulls, furious and unyielding. Their strong, similar temperaments were combustible together. Dad had expectations Calum fought at every turn: get good grades, help out around the house, take your future seriously.
My father had wanted Calum to work with him in construction, eventually taking over the business he’d built. Cal was good at construction—at building and creating things with his hands—but it didn’t capture his interest the way music did. Calum knew music was his future.
When Calum started the band with two of his friends at the encouragement of Gramps, our father thought the whole thing was a ridiculous waste of time. It cut into Calum’s availability during the summer, when Dad needed him.
