I dropped into it anyway, arms crossed, jaw locked tight as the clock ticked loud enough to be heard over the soft hum of vending machines and muted conversations. Sterling’s visiting room didn’t exactly inspire animated chat. Dull beige walls, flickering lights and suspicious eyes watching from every corner.
Across the table sat a man with the same brown shade of eyes as mine, though his had dulled since I’d last seen them. His prison-issued shirt hungloose on a frame that had once intimidated the hell out of me. Not anymore. Now he just looked like a tired version of someone I didn’t want to be.
“Good to see you,” he said, voice low and sandpaper rough. “Wasn’t sure I would.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, “I guess I needed a reminder.”
He leaned back, studying me with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Reminder of what?”
“Of everything that I don’t want for my life.” I let out a tired breath, wondering what the hell I’d been thinking coming to see him. “You asked me anyway, remember.”
“And I had to ask you twice. My first request was months ago.”
“Had better things to do, like clearing up horse shit.”
My dad rolled his eyes. “You always have to be so damn crass.”
“I’m my father’s son I guess.”
A guy over the other side of the room jumped up from his seat, sending it flying backward. He started yelling at the tired looking woman who was cowering in her seat.
“Damn animal,” my dad muttered.
A guard dragged him away while he continued to yell and point at his visitor.
“It’s supposed to be medium security here.” Dad cracked his neck, jaw tight. “And they have animals like that in here.”
“What did he do?” I asked. “Steal millions from his kids and hide his wife’s last will and testament?”
“You’re not funny, Wilder.”
Huh, strange because I thought I was fucking hilarious. There was nothing funnier than the fact that I’d decided to visit him. It was hysterical in fact.
The silence between us lengthened as we sat there with the ghosts between us, thick as the drab concrete walls surrounding us. All I could taste was the poison of disappointment in having a father like him.
I took a deep breath because this wasn’t about him. Not really. This was about me. About the answers I needed. About the validation I needed that him being here wasn’t my fault.
“You look good. Strong,” he said eventually, nodding like we were catching up over coffee, not years of silence, disgruntlement and disappointment. “How’s the ranch?”
I didn’t respond. Didn’t plan to. I was there for answers, not compliments. But mostly I wanted closure.
I leaned forward, voice low and even. “I’m not here to discuss the ranch. It’s none of your concern. Never has been, not even when you…ownedit.” I scoffed because he’d never owned. Not when Mom was alive and not after she was killed. Yet the whole time he acted like he did. Pushed us around and spent all our money like he did.
He blinked, the smirk faltering for just a heartbeat.
Good. Let him feel what it’s like to lose control.
“What do you want to talk about then?” He shifted in his plastic orange chair, crossing his legs and resting one elbow on the back of the seat. Like he was running a mayoral meeting about town taxes and boundaries.
“I want to know why? Why you were such a crap father.” I started to count them off on my fingers. “Why you felt the need to steal from your own flesh and blood? Why you cheated on Mom? Why you barely acknowledged us when we were kids,” I laughed emptily, “in fact, why you barely acknowledge us now. You know what, I just want to know why you’re such a shitty person, period?”
“You think you’d still have that ranch if it wasn’t for me?” he asked, his tone measured, the personification of cool and calm. Like he really believed that he’d been our savior. “Believe me you wouldn’t. It would have gone under long ago.”
“No.” I shook my head. “We have that ranch because after Mom died, after Nash came back from college, he was the one who stepped up and made sure the ranch made money. Because I’ll tell you something, Daddy dearest, it was going to shit before he did. All you’ve ever wanted to do is sell it and make a quick buck for yourself. But let’s not forget that it wasn’t actually yours to sell in the first place.”
“Wilder, when you’ve walked a mile in my shoes then you can comment.”
He actually believed he was innocent of any wrongdoing. I could see it in his eyes. The straightness of his spine. The superior tilt of his chin.
